The Saint

THE SAINT She stripped herself of complaining, that awful garment, with a long train, never ending, out of sight. She tossed her arrows, guns, hammers, rolling eyes all aside. Grabbed a shovel, buried them. In the dark of night, she gathered the stars. She pieced them together and dressed herself, a child of day. Her face lights up, an ethereal countenance, a presence felt, not unlike Moses. People gather outside their tents, to see her arms and face lifted toward heaven. Some bathe in the baptism of the sunlight, worshipping alongside the saint. 8/5/2017 Philippians 2: 14-15 (NIV) Do everything without complaining or arguing, so that you might become blameless and pure, children of God without fault in a crooked and depraved generation, in which you shine like stars in the universe...