God has this habit of allowing me to reach my wits end, letting my head convince me that this one thing is enough to make my world fall apart and my foundations crumble, letting me weep on my bedroom floor and cry to Him that everything is wrong and i’m losing it, and then sorting the whole thing out in the quietest, loveliest way possible. Always exactly what I needed, always exactly as He’d planned it. He shows me that my head was wrong and everything is alright, and then whispers “My child, when are you going to trust me?”

S/o to black people who aren’t “black enough” because they don’t do or act like a stereotypical “black person” your blackness still valid homie fuck the ignorance

Y'all ever text somebody and they so boring that you have no idea what to say back

*CLAP CLAP*

- CLAPS ARDENTLY- (8 times because I cannot handle uneven numbers)