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I’ve grown so cold. So distanced from that first fire that sparked my heart into motion.
Something I once held so dear, has decayed into something I no longer recognize.

I’ve lost myself.
My worries, fears, anxieties are crippling; strangling the good fruits of passion and purpose.

These works were intended to be a creation of honor, of reverence. An expression of who I am; a celebration of who I am no longer.

If I’ve lost my identity. If my purpose is muddled.
How can it be effective?
How can it last?

By focusing my gaze on how the world may perceive me. How my fruits may be taken.
I’ve lost everything.

I’ve built my foundation upon the sand, with withered wood, and the waters are rushing in.

I need a firm foundation.

Lord, reveal to me the errors of my ways.

May my heart be rekindled with purpose.
May my eyes be transfixed upon that which is eternal.
May my soul overflow with joy.
And may that joy spill into my works.