Broken.As I search for hope, In the same eyesI lost it.

Through windows, in wishing wells, whispering in the wind...that's where I find you.

In that wounded place, buried betweenmy ribs and letting go, I miss you.

I die a little, In the echo of your silence.

I was just an option.Blown easily to piecesand offered to the skyby the sweet laced painupon your lips.

I can't love anymore.Except for you...I love you so much it hurts to breathe.

Bridge burned from end to end, and I don't miss you anymore.You delivered silenceI've birthed freedom.

You are the poemthat sticks in my throatteaching me to whisperwith the voice of my heart.

I've never seen beauty so devastatingas in the linesthat trace our hopeand fall from the stars.

Steep fall to the groundshatteringlike clay pigeons missed by bad shotsand unsteady hands.

I build boxesand place them at your feet, to measure the distance between dreams and reality.

This is what the past is for! Every experience God gives us, every person He puts in our lives is the perfect preparation for the future that only He can see.

Future is ours, but victory is mine!

If you cannot trust God for the temporal, how dare you trust him for the eternal?

Instead of bringing it back and putting the money to work, because they can't work out a deal to - and everybody agrees it should be brought back.

I am a proud Montrealer. Jobs will take me where they take me, but nothing will ever be able to convince me to leave my home.

Music is edifying, for from time to time it sets the soul in operation.

every generation has a conceit of itself which elevates it, in its own opinion, above that which comes after it.

People who really want help may attack you if you help them. Help them anyway.

Believers are increasingly aware that, unless the Good News is made known also in the digital world, it may be absent in the experience of many people for whom this existential space is important.

There's no point that an album should sound like a watered down version of another album.