No Junk
No Junk Beloved, do you not see You are the. Pinnacle of Creation. In perfection, you have been created. In the Image of The Holy Author of All, You have taken birth. Not by fiat, Not by accident, The gift of Life is yours. God sought to be known; You, Dear One, are the result. With a glorious heritage like this, How can we explain Our fallen state? Holy wars, atrocities, Bely our sacred pedigree. Oh, Dear God, Is this our human lot? To be the pinnacle of divine perfection; Psychosis, our... Sign in to see full entry.