Time holds the marvelous quality
of hope. Hope, for tomorrow will be better, hope that the moment will live on,
the kiss linger, that roses will always be roses and puppies always
puppies. But behind every moment of
time lies the despair of finality.
A caterpillar becomes a butterfly but a butterfly flies away and sooner
rather than later we will be the top branches of the family tree.
Who can deliver us from the
despair of time and all its accompanying wrinkles and warts? Praise be to God in Christ Jesus; “up
from the grave He arose…”
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