Keep It Classy

I dream there are people made of skies. The wind is their dance and they wear clouds like crowns. They sob as it rains, and when their hearts break, snow falls. There are people made of oceans, too. They glimmer on the surface, until the chaos underneath rises up. I tell the sky, “they’ll kill you for nothing more than going too deep.” (and when the sky falls, the ocean never cares)

The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands. Day after day they pour forth speech; night after night they reveal knowledge.

We do not remember days. We remember moments.

The Son is the radiance of God’s glory and the exact representation of his being, sustaining all things by his powerful word. After he had provided purification for sins, he sat down at the right hand of the Majesty in heaven.