Divorced with three children and one on the way Lost, her world hanging on a thread, no a fray Running from abuse and the cruelty of a man Taking care of three, herself doing what she can All the while being hunted and stalked like prey Watching over her shoulder every night and day Lonely for a companion, someone to love her right She prayed that God might send her a loving knight To protect her and allow her to finally feel shielded From all the evil people and past weapons wielded She began seeing a man but he was only in dreams He loved the kids, he loved her, perfect so it seems Months later he would show up in her real life. They dated shortly then he ask her to be his wife. CDK 2-17-2026

God, I’m tired. Not the kind a night of sleep can fix. I’m soul tired. Bone-deep. The kind that settles behind the ribs and refuses to move. I don’t have big words tonight. No polished prayers. No Sunday voice. Just this. I tried being strong today. Tried smiling like the cracks weren’t spreading. Tried walking straight while everything inside me leaned sideways. People think faith looks like certainty. But tonight mine looks like sitting on the edge of the bed with my hands hanging loose and nothing left to hold up. God, I’m tired of carrying versions of myself I don’t recognize anymore.Tired of memories that don’t knock before coming in. Tired of pretending that healing doesn’t take more out of me than breaking ever did. And I know I’m supposed to say thank you. Supposed to say I trust you. But tonight all I’ve got is honesty. So here it is unfiltered, unfinished, barely standing: If you’re still here, sit with me. I don’t need answers. Don’t need lightning. Don’t need a miracle speech. Just stay. Because sometimes faith isn’t a fire. Sometimes it’s a flicker that refuses to go out. And if that’s all I can offer tonight God, I hope it’s enough. by Jason Strickland

Were you in the skillful hands of the potter being shaped and gently molded as the wheel of life turned slowly a tragedy unfolded the image the potter created took on a different shape robbed of its first intention the vessel begin to break it cracked under false pretense hurts, wounds and scars left with no defense left with no holds barred tossed within a discarded a pile helpless, abandoned a wounded child but the potter stumbled upon its remains then put the vessel on its wheel again gently, carefully melting it down The potter spoke these words out loud who broke you cracked you, messed you up? left you ruined amongst this stuff I broke you first but the plan was divine they broke you again but the plan is still mine I still have the blueprint you're still in my hand and though you have been broken I'll make you over again

I needed to walk away from the love of liquor My mind knew that but my heart wanted to bicker I went staggering to the mirror this morn One black eye and a busted lip now worn What in the world has happened, who have I become? How could I allow myself to get in this position to be so numb? My face a mess my jaw is swollen and broken I really want a cigarette, got it lit, now it’s smoking Abuse is real. Numbing was my only way of escape Hide behind closed doors and fully drawn drapes, Let no one see just how bad it had got This was my battle alone now to be fought My wounds will heal, my desires would change No more beating nor alcohol won’t this be strange? A life of peace of knowing I am in a safe place Only thing left behind are scars upon my face CDK 2-15-26

Half a Prayer It wasn’t a full prayer. Didn’t have structure. Didn’t rise clean. It broke in the middle like a sentence that forgot where it was going. Half a prayer is what happens when belief is still breathing but barely. I didn’t kneel. Didn’t fold my hands. Didn’t close my eyes like the pictures say. I just whispered into the dark like it might answer back. Not even words, really. Fragments. A name. A sigh. A maybe. Half a prayer sounds like someone trying not to disappear while asking not to be saved too loudly. Because hope can feel dangerous when you’ve watched it break before. So I didn’t ask for everything. Didn’t dare reach that far. Just asked for enough. Enough strength to get through morning. Enough mercy to outlast the memory. Enough light to see one step ahead and not panic. And somewhere between the silence and the almost something shifted. Not thunder. Not angels. Not certainty. Just a small warmth in the hollow place where fear used to echo louder. Half a prayer won’t make headlines. But sometimes it’s the bravest thing a tired heart can give. And maybe God has always understood a truth we forget: You don’t need perfect faith to be heard. Sometimes half a prayer is still fully seen. By Jason Strickland