Fine flour

 As fine as flour to fingers, our purpose and being must be to God. God must feel us. Yes, feel us as a gentle people ready for refinery. 

Persecution, sickness, predicament, upheaval and torment are the grit amidst us. God is ever ready to crush this grit to powder with his fingers, on our behalf. Smile always, no task is too hard for our Papa-God. 

This grit is dirt. Sooner or later it will turn into powder. Crushed of course! Be still, the trouble you see today you will see it no more. The water will turn into wine. The grit to white flour. Rejoice for He already conquered the world and defeated death. His name starts with a 'J' and ends with an 'S'. No matter the situation, dry white bones will rise again. Even though the grit may be scarlet it will soon be as white as snow or flour. Cheer up! God is in control. He is busy crushing our circumstance into fine substance, flour. An ingredient of life. We are the flour of life. Waiting for a perfect season to rise like dough. And give life to the hungry, lifeless and wordless. Our purpose and being, fine flour. Tiri hupfu hwakatsetseka. Alleluia.

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