Currently reading <a href="">X-Men: Dr. Doom</a>. Yes, I often do read such inane books.
In the short chapter I read last night, Betty Braddock (Psylocke, for those of you less Marvel-enthused) had a resurgence in her psychic powers. I won't go into the details of all the alternate dimension and multiverse theories Sci-Fi writers love to indulge in. During that time, Betty begins to hear the thoughts of every human being around her. Unable to control her powers, she is deafened by the sheer multitude of voices and faints over and over from the strain of it all.
That is how I feel. Though I was far removed enough to avoid the trauma, the shooting that occurred at the <a href="">school</a> I attend feels like the straw that broke the camel's back.
Everywhere I turn – death. Talk on the TV – death. Newspapers – death. Reading the Bible in the mornings makes me long for His second coming. Yet how can I face the One for whom I have toiled so little? The Keith Green song goes,
<center><em>it's so hard to see
when my eyes are on me</em></center>
I need to breathe, to live, to see. <em>Hosanna!</em> (Save us)

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