I was pruning my roses the other day, as must be done every winter. Well, it doesn't have to be done, but if you prune you get more beautiful, bountiful roses.
Still I am rising from the mire of illness and pain. This is my promise to put to words what runs in my head so that you may be encouraged.
Pruning is painful. For the roses. For me.
But the promise of beauty never fails.
I feel weak, at times defeated. But I will not succumb. When I am stronger I will write this story. Until then, I will read yours and be encouraged that yes, even I, can be a powerful voice of promise and change.
Love to all my dear sisters (and brothers) here.