Superficial Christian

  I can sit on my hands look around once again in judgement I could sit and stare, shake my head and just sit there. But what am I, the hands and the feet the motion the action the compassion where is it? Brothers and sisters at the end of the day? Or brothers and sisters in arms? All the things let go it's the cost of discipleship, the friendly nods, the raised eyebrows, and pleasant disagreements. I live a spoiled, charmed life. And for this I have nothing left to write about.