Words

Play Me

I live near this field.

And near this field, my boy gets into the sticker patch. {Repeatedly.}

They attach everywhere and are hard to remove without breaking into smaller, equally itchy/irritating pieces.

I've been thinking. 

Our words are a lot like these stickers.

And we have the choice to make them sweet, or dig them in like barbs. Either way, they stick.

Each thought leaves a trail of stardust from your heart to your mouth, and I can't get your words out of my head.

Father, help me to change. {To forget. To forgive. To let You reign over my speech.}