(Source: heatherbybee, via whereartthouwildthings)
Beautiful // Phil Wickham
When we arrive at eternity’s shore
Where death is just a memory and tears are no more
We’ll enter in as the wedding bells ring
Your bride will come together and we’ll sing
You’re beautiful
(Source: andresasousa, via whereartthouwildthings)
All that matters is the rain and the cars rushing by on the highway.
Because rain makes you feel truly alive.
And the cars hold people who deserve to feel this way.
(Source: samflowerr, via becoming-light)
(Source: fashionhype)
I need to start training tomorrow.
I will.
Pinky promise.
"I’m just scared of ghosts, Pudge. And home is full of them."
-John Green, “Looking for Alaska”
So true.
God, create in me a passion for your Word that would never die, a thirst for Your love that can never be quenched, a heart for the lost that will always be broken.
(Source: vous-3tes-mon-coeur, via ivebeenfoundworthy)
A lot of my prayers recently have turned from endless ramblings and strings of words to this: “Your will be done, Lord.” Because in the end, that’s all I really want. And I know that is what needs to happen.
Britt Nicole - All This Time
Reblogging again because it’s awesome
“when peace like a river”
When peace like a river attendeth my way,
when sorrows like sea billows roll,
whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say:
“It is well, it is well with my soul.”
Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
let this blessed assurance control:
the Lord has regarded my helpless estate,
and hath shed His own blood for my soul.
My sin, oh the bliss of this glorious thought:
my sin, not in part, but the whole
is nailed to the cross and I bear it no more,
praise the Lord! praise the Lord, oh my soul!
And Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight,
the clouds be rolled back as a scroll;
the trump shall resound and the Lord shall descend,
even so, it is well with my soul!
It is well with my soul; it is well, it is well with my soul.
because working out is hard.
and i like my headband.
(via thediamondsinlucyssky)
each morning;
When I woke up this morning, the window was open and for just a half-second, I thought you were there. Your side of the bed was empty, but I forced myself to see wrinkled sheets; I made myself believe that the pillow was still warm; I could nearly hear footsteps in the hallway. I don’t sleep with the window open any longer because I cannot. I can’t do it because I’ll hear the birds singing and keeping my eyes closed, a smile will pass like a shadow across my lips. I’ll smell coffee and hear you on the stairs.
That’s why, when I woke up this morning and heard the birds and felt the sunlight on my face, my heart attached itself to the small shard of hope that I’d provided. I kept my eyes closed and pushed all thoughts of reality from my mind. Because though it is simply one half-second each morning, that fleeting hope, that almost-truth, keeps me going after I’ve opened my eyes, made my bed and walked down the stairs to start my own pot of coffee.
That’s why, when I crawl into bed each night, I make sure the window is left open.
