Words
I felt it slipping out of my hand, seconds later, crashing into the zinc. One of my favorite vision pots - glass was everywhere … splintered glass ... chunks of glass … glass in all shapes … glass in all sizes. I loved cooking with that pot. I stared in shock wishing I could put the pieces back together. It was too late. Like my words sometimes. Brash words, that slip unexpectedly through the door 1 of my lips of clay. Words I wish had never spoken. Father let my words always be pleasant 2 and gracious, 3 In Jesus name, ...