From the moment I could speak, my mother, a Sunday school teacher with a heart full of faith, taught me and all my siblings how to pray. It began with simple words of gratitude before meals. Then came morning prayers for guidance, which we prayed as sunlight crept through…
Heavenly Father,
hear my weeping prayer.
I am a rotten apple,
a bad element,
of the holy and sacred equation.
Unloved,
unworthy,
undeserved, I am,
because of me planting demonic seeds,
and watering them,
in my lifeless and dead spiritual garden.
I saw unholy statutes,
that enticed me,
and I took a sip of sins,
and bad deeds.
In my time of deep darkness,
I…