This Thanksgiving season, I’ve been pondering what these three words printed on fall decor, clothing, and signs mean together: Grateful, Thankful, Blessed.
God, do I ever need you! I pray that you guard my tongue, cleanse my soul, and kill my pride. I seek silence, peace, and humility at a time where I’m getting worn down by my personal devil, the one that gets so alluring and cozy that he hitches a ride and bullies me to carry him around like a brand new backpack. He’s awfully heavy because he latches on to my strengths and makes them weaker, yet I adjust the straps and make it more comfortable, so he lingers because I get better at hanging out with him.
Today marks the twelfth anniversary of my beloved father’s death. This blog is a chapter of my memoir, The Reckoning of the Black Butterfly. May the memory of Frank. T. Snyder be eternal.