There are those sights and those sounds that change the way I see the world. Seeing a wildflower bloom in the midst of mess, I realize the mess never defines the wildflower. All the hell’s on the outside, none inside.
Where does strength come from? Where does courage come from?
Sometimes seeing something so pure, it makes me worry that it is so vulnerable. Light and happy, standing erect and free. All that I desire. All that I respect. So gentle and unassuming.
I feel like it has to protected. A desire to shield that which is lovely and true from a very messy world.
But does it need any such protection? Where does strength come from?
I think it comes from happiness deep within. It comes from integrity, love, and light. That which is pure has such tremendous strength.