Like fast growing weeds,
or spongy mushrooms,
fear springs up after storms assail.
Feeding on my insecurities,
stealing my confidence...
What if I fail? Suppose I get sick?
Does love wither? Will friends forsake me?
Children forget me?
Sunlight and fresh air
soon wither short-lived mushrooms.
So the bright bleaching light
of faith scours the landscape,
cleansing the soil so
lilies can bloom..
"If I have to be this girl in me, Then I may as well be."
Reindeer