caustic soul madness and deflated balloons.

My heart is on the verge of something great, revolutionary even; To my soul anyway. I'm getting this sense, this feeling. Presumptively I believe it's "the Lord", soberly I believe it's something far more mortal. My resident guerrillas inevitably emerge to hose me with their caustic soul-battering slurs of *Fraud! Fraud! Fraud! You silly little girl with your deflated, subject-to-pooling-where-you-lie-stomach and your shallow mind, and your godforsaken well of so-called knowledge. You'll be found out, you will.*

*Darn.*

The truth is, I've learned to be amused by their banterings, their curses. They've become less consequential, less inducing. Indeed, I've happened upon the God who holds my breath in His hands and owns all my ways. He has captured me fully. I am now undeniably and irrevocably His; always have been. There's something about the written Word of God that just makes things better, simpler, more sound. Oh crap! Here they come. *Seriously, Christie? You've just now figured this out?*

*Silly Satan.*



So yeah, so my stomach looks, in part, like it belongs to an 80 year old. It's been inflated and deflated twice with two glorious, state-of-the-art kids to show for it and my knack for knowledge and wisdom and the like is puny at best. But so what? My Dad is God, ok?