On this last day of the month of May I feel as though some great hope is being squashed. The past thirty days have been a blur of optimism and opportunity, but tomorrow will be different. Likely, it will rain, I will get up late, spill my coffee and my dog will get ran over, and I don't even have a dog. Why?
It's simply because the May is all used up, and we have crossed into the dark, dank month whose name has no alternate meaning at all.
June O what I mean?
Suffering Honestly: Philip Yancey’s Undone
6 months ago
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