Filthy hands shine in the light of the beautiful pain.

Glistening in the promise sin offers to gratify the mind’s desires.

Relief from the pain in frozen blood cries out.

Trembling.

To choose foreign blades? Or burn in the freezing loneliness?

Neither are the comfort of which My broken heart seeks.

But here: under the shelter of a Mighty Fortress.

For me, not blood nor fire.

But My feet on Solid Rock and My hands under Holy Wings.

This is my relief.

God is my relief.