Poppy Lee (燕)

“My Bride is like a Rock rose, a garden in the desert. She prospers no matter what the natural circumstances are, because I am her Source, her life supply.

My bride will go through difficulties and face the thorns of other's rejection, but because she is dead in My death and alive in My resurrection, she is not moved, she is not hurt, because she propers through it and bears the fruit of beauty.

In the valley of the shadow of death, because she finds comfort and rest in the shade of Me, she grows to even greater beauty.

I take her into the low places of the valley so that she may strip away all the leaves of self that shuts up her heart and her beauty.”
― Sarah Jubilee

“What outwardly presents as emotional eating is at its core, an inability to accept the self. This, like so many things, is learned. No one is born feeling that they're not good enough.”
― Pixie Turner, Food Therapy

“Hold the seasons of your heart as the seasons of the field. Watch with serenity through the winters of your grief.”
― Kahlil Gibran

“Then came a lady - I cannot now remember whether she was naked or clothed.

If she were naked, then it must have been the almost visible penumbra of her courtesy and joy which produces in my memory the illusion of a great and shining train that followed her across the happy grass.

If she were clothed, then the illusion of nakedness is doubtless due to the clarity with which her innermost spirit shone through the clothes. For clothes in that country are not a disguise: the spiritual body lives along each thread and turns them into living organs. A robe or a crown is there as much one of the wearer's features as a lip or an eye.

“Who are all these young men and women on each side?”

“They are her sons and daughters. Every young man or boy that met her became her son - even if it was only the boy that brought the meat to her back door. Every girl that met her was her daughter.”

“Isn't that a bit hard on their own parents?”

“No. There are those that steal other people's children. But her motherhood was of a different kind.

Those on whom it fell went back to their natural parents loving them more.

Few men looked on her without becoming, in a certain fashion, her lovers. But it was the kind of love that made them not less true, but truer, to their own wives.”
― Cs Lewis