Tag: writing

The Offering Plate is Half Empty – Now What?

Hey.
It’s Sunday morning.
The worship band just landed on that last sustained chord, the one that makes everyone feel like the roof lifted off for a second and maybe goosebumps have appeared on your arms.
But now, here comes the part nobody asked for on the original tour bus of Christianity: the offering.
The ushers start their slow walk down the aisle.
Baskets. Plates. Little velvet bags on sticks (Our church has the boxes in the back and we give afterwards).
Whatever your tradition calls it, it shows up like clockwork.
And lately, maybe you’ve noticed—like I have—that the plates (or in our case the Offering Box) looks…lighter.
Not dramatically empty, not yet, but definitely not overflowing.
Half empty, maybe even a little less than half.
And here’s the thing: nobody says it out loud, but everybody feels it. The pastor (me, in this case) feels it when the finance report lands in my email inbox before our next board meeting.

The treasurer feels it when the mortgage and other bills are due.
The single mom feels it when she drops in a twenty and wonders if it’s enough.
The guy in the back row feels it when he pretends to check his phone so he can let the plate pass by without anyone noticing.

So let’s just talk about it.

No announcements.
No guilt slides.
No Malachi proof-texts dropped like grenades.
Just us.

The offering plate is half empty—now what?

First, can we admit that tithing can feel like the last surviving relic of rule-based religion?
Ten percent.
The word itself sounds like it was invented by an accountant who moonlights as a Puritan right?!
And somewhere along the way we turned a wild, ancient practice of trust into a spiritual report card.

You didn’t hit 10%?
F minus in faith, see me after class.
No wonder there’s resistance.
No wonder there’s guilt.
No wonder some of us just… pass the plate. I’ve been on both sides of this.
I’ve been the broke twenty-something who genuinely had $11 in the bank and felt like a failure when the plate came.
I’ve been the pastor who stood up front and said “God loves a cheerful giver” while secretly scanning the room to see who looked cheerful and who just looked constipated.

Here’s what I’m learning—slowly, painfully, wonderfully: The goal was never to fill the plate.
The goal was to free the heart.

In the Old Testament, people brought crops, animals, oil, flour—stuff they actually lived on.
Handing it over was a way of saying out loud, “I can’t make the sun come up tomorrow, but You can.
Here’s my trust, in grain form.”

Jesus sits down opposite the treasury one day and watches the river of coins clinking in.
Rich people tossing in heavy bags—impressive, loud, tax-deductible.
Then a widow drops in two tiny coins worth almost nothing.
And Jesus loses His mind (in a good way).
He calls His disciples over like He just saw the Grand Canyon of faith.
“She put in more than all the rest.” Not because the budget was suddenly balanced.
But because her heart was suddenly free.

If I’m honest – that story wrecks me, because I want my giving to be about freedom, not fear.
I don’t want to give because I’m afraid God will take something if I don’t.
I don’t want to give because I’m afraid the church lights will go out.
I don’t want to give because I’m afraid of what people think when the plate passes by my row (or I pass by the box in the back).

I want to give because I’m stunned again that everything I have is borrowed anyway.
I want to give because I walked into this building carrying wounds and walked out carrying hope, and somebody paid for that hope.
I want to give the way I want my kids to see their dad give—eyes wide open, grinning, no arm-twisting required.

So if the plate is half empty right now, maybe it’s not a crisis.
Maybe it’s just an invitation.
An invitation to ask better questions than “Am I hitting 10%?”

Questions like:
What would it look like to move from guilt to gratitude?
From obligation to overflow?
From resistance to release?

Start anywhere.
Five bucks. Fifty. Five hundred. Zero.
Just make it honest.
Make it a moment where you look up—literally or figuratively—and say,
“This is me trusting You with what feels impossible to let go of.”

Because here’s the secret nobody tells you in stewardship season: the plate is not a tax.
It’s a testimony. Every coin, every crumpled bill, every direct deposit, or online payment is a little postcard that says,
“I was afraid, but I did it anyway.”
“I was broke, but I’m not broken.”
“I thought I needed this more than God did… turns out I was wrong.”

So yeah.

The offering plate is half empty.
Maybe that just means there’s room for something new to be poured in.

Your move.

-Grace and peace,
Pastor Scott

View Post(opens in a new tab)

0

The Upper Room Door Buster

Hey friends,
it’s Scott, sitting here in an old office chair, it’s an old faux-leather thing that smells faintly of wood polish and long days or burning the candle at both ends. Outside of my window, there’s an old maple that’s bleeding out its last furious red, each leaf a small, slow-motion fire spiraling down to the ground like it’s trying to write something on the earth before it dies.



I can’t stop thinking about that upper room (John 20). The air was thick with terror and unshed tears. They too had probably been burning their candles at both ends. The disciples are all bolted in that musty room, breathing shallow, convinced the story just ended in a splatter of blood and a borrowed tomb.

Then the impossible.
He’s there.

Not a ghost.
Not a metaphor.
Flesh.
Breath.
Heartbeat.

And the first word out of the mouth that once called Lazarus out of the dark is the same word He offers them now: Peace.
But watch (watch close), because He doesn’t hide the damage. He lifts the robe, turns those once-ruined hands palm-up, lets the ragged light fall straight through the holes. The resurrection body still carries the crucifixion. The wounds didn’t get airbrushed out in some cosmic Photoshop.

They glow.

And I’m wrecked by this:
Maybe glory isn’t the absence of the scar but the scar set on fire by love.
I have scars that still throb when the weather turns. (Anyone else have old soccer knees and battle scars like me?)

You do too.
Places we were torn open and never quite sewn back the same.
Rooms we keep locked.
Stories we rehearse in the dark like a verdict.

But the Risen One walks straight through those locked doors, breath warm and steady, and says,
“Look. Touch. These are the places the nails went in… and these are the places the world will know it was love that held me there.”

The wounded hands are the ones flipping fish over coals at dawn, feeding men who swore they never knew Him.
The pierced side is the doorway He keeps inviting Thomas to reach into (doubt and all).
So maybe resurrection isn’t erasure.

Maybe it’s the wound transfigured, still telling the truth about Friday while singing the louder song of Sunday.
Maybe the cracks are where the light is planning its jailbreak.

So today, friend, open the fists you’ve been clenching around the shards.

Let Him breathe into the fractures.

Let Him turn the scar into a window.
Because the leaves are falling like grace, and the tree looks dead, but I’ve seen what happens in spring to wood that remembers it was once a cross.
The wounds remain.
The love remains more.
Grace & Peace be with you.
Really.

-Scott

0

Embracing the Disruptive Leadership Model

by Scott Strissel

Hey there, friends! Pastor Scott here, sitting in my favorite coffee shop, sipping on a latte, and pondering something that’s been rattling around in my soul lately: disruptive leadership. Yeah, I know, it sounds like the kind of thing that makes people clutch their pearls and whisper, “Oh my, that sounds dangerous!” But stick with me here, because I think this is the kind of leadership that Jesus modeled, the kind that shakes things up for the sake of love, justice, and transformation. So, let’s dive into this idea of disruptive leadership, unpack what it means, and explore five key characteristics of a successful disruptor. Ready? Let’s go.

What’s This Disruptive Leadership Thing All About?

Picture this: you’re walking through a crowded marketplace, and there’s this guy—let’s call him Jesus—flipping tables in the temple, calling out the status quo, and inviting people to see the world in a whole new way. That’s disruptive leadership. It’s not about being loud or chaotic for the sake of chaos; it’s about challenging systems, ideas, and structures that aren’t serving people anymore. It’s about saying, “Hey, there’s a better way to do this, and I’m not afraid to shake things up to get us there.”

Disruptive leadership isn’t about destruction; it’s about creation. It’s about seeing what could be instead of what is and having the courage to step into that possibility. In the church, in our communities, in our world, we need leaders who aren’t just managing the machine but are willing to reimagine it. Leaders who ask, “What if?” and then actually do something about it. So, what does it take to be a successful disruptor? Let’s break it down with five key characteristics that I think make this kind of leadership sing.

1. Vision That Burns Bright

A disruptive leader sees something others don’t. It’s like they’ve got this fire in their bones, this picture of a world that’s more whole, more just, more alive. Think of Moses staring at a burning bush, hearing God’s call to lead a people out of slavery. That’s vision. It’s not just a vague idea; it’s a vivid, compelling picture of what could be.

Successful disruptors don’t just see the vision—they feel it. It keeps them up at night. It makes them restless. It’s why they can’t just sit still and let things stay the same. They’re not content with “good enough” because they’ve glimpsed something better. As a pastor, I’ve learned that this kind of vision isn’t just about dreaming big; it’s about listening to the Spirit, letting God paint that picture in your heart, and then daring to share it with others.

2. Courage to Break the Mold

Let’s be real: disruption makes people nervous. It’s like showing up to a potluck with a dish nobody’s ever tried before. Some folks will love it, but others will side-eye it like you just brought kale to a fried chicken party. Disruptive leaders have the courage to break the mold, to say, “This isn’t working anymore,” even when it’s uncomfortable.

Think about the Apostle Paul, stirring things up everywhere he went, preaching grace in places where people were clinging to rules. That took guts. Successful disruptors know they’ll face pushback—maybe even a lot of it—but they step into the tension anyway. They’re not reckless, but they’re resolute. They trust that the God who calls them will carry them through the storm.

3. Empathy That Connects

Here’s where it gets beautiful: disruptive leadership isn’t just about shaking things up; it’s about caring deeply for the people caught in the systems you’re trying to change. A successful disruptor doesn’t just see broken systems; they see broken hearts. They listen. They feel the pain of those who are marginalized, overlooked, or stuck.

Jesus was the ultimate at this. He didn’t just challenge the religious leaders; he sat with the outcasts, the sinners, the ones nobody else saw. Empathy is the heartbeat of disruptive leadership. It’s what keeps it from becoming self-righteous or destructive. You’re not just tearing down walls; you’re building bridges to something better, and that starts with loving people right where they are.

4. Creativity That Sparks New Possibilities

Disruptive leaders are artists. They don’t just point out what’s wrong; they imagine new ways of doing things. They’re like kids with a box of crayons, coloring outside the lines and creating something vibrant and unexpected. Think of someone like Esther, who didn’t just lament the fate of her people but came up with a bold, creative plan to save them.

A successful disruptor asks, “What if we tried this?” or “What if we looked at it this way?” They’re not afraid to experiment, to fail, to try again. In the church, this might mean rethinking how we gather, how we serve, or how we talk about faith. It’s about trusting that the Spirit is always doing something new and having the creativity to join in.

5. Resilience to Keep Going

Let’s not sugarcoat it: being a disruptor is exhausting. You’re swimming upstream, challenging norms, and sometimes even your closest friends don’t get it. But successful disruptors have this deep well of resilience. They keep going, not because they’re stubborn, but because they believe in the vision and trust that God is in it.

Look at someone like Martin Luther King Jr. He faced opposition at every turn, but he kept showing up, kept speaking, kept loving. Resilience isn’t about never getting tired; it’s about finding the strength to take one more step, to pray one more prayer, to have one more conversation. It’s about leaning into the One who never runs out of strength.

Why This Matters for Us

So, why am I so fired up about disruptive leadership? Because I believe this is what the church needs right now. We’re living in a world that’s shifting faster than we can keep up with, and the old ways of doing things aren’t always working. We need leaders—pastors, teachers, parents, friends—who are willing to dream big, take risks, love deeply, think creatively, and keep going even when it’s hard.

Disruptive leadership isn’t about being a rebel for the sake of rebellion. It’s about being faithful to the call to make all things new. It’s about joining God in the work of redemption, restoration, and hope. So, my friends, where is God calling you to be a disruptor? Where do you see a system, a habit, a mindset that needs to be shaken up for the sake of love? And what’s stopping you from stepping into that call?

Let’s be people who don’t just accept the way things are but dare to imagine the way things could be. Let’s be disruptors—not for our own glory, but for the glory of the One who’s always turning the world upside down with love.

Grace & Peace,
Pastor Scott

See my other articles on this topic: 3 Warning Signs

0

Holy Crap, This is Hard: A Pastor’s Take on the Mess

Okay, friends, let’s be real. Ministry. It’s beautiful. It’s inspiring. It’s… sometimes brutally, gut-wrenchingly hard. Like, harder than trying to explain the Book of Revelation to your five-year-old nephew while he’s hopped up on Mountain Dew and birthday cake. We’re talking sleepless nights, tough conversations, the weight of the world on your shoulders kind of hard. And if you’re a pastor, you know what I’m talking about.

So, what do we do with all that? How do we navigate the messy, complicated, sometimes heartbreaking realities of leading a community? Because let’s be honest, pretending everything’s sunshine and rainbows isn’t going to cut it. We’ve all seen that. It doesn’t work. It actually makes things worse.

Here’s the thing I’ve learned (and I’m still learning, by the way, this is a lifelong gig): It’s okay to not be okay. Seriously. You’re not a robot. You’re a human. You have doubts. You have fears. You have moments where you just want to throw in the towel and move to a secluded cabin in Montana and raise goats and maybe a miniature donkey. (Anyone else have that fantasy?)

And that’s perfectly normal. In fact, I’d argue it’s essential. Because when we’re honest about our struggles, when we acknowledge the pain, that’s when we open ourselves up to something bigger than ourselves. That’s when we create space for grace.

Think about it. The stories that resonate with us, the stories that stick with us, they’re not the ones where everything is perfect. They’re the stories where people wrestle with the hard stuff. They’re the stories where people face their fears, their doubts, their brokenness, and somehow, through it all, find a way to keep going.

That’s the kind of community I want to be a part of. A community where it’s okay to say, “I’m struggling.” A community where we can be real with each other, where we can share our burdens, where we can support each other through the tough times.

Now, I’m not saying it’s easy. Dealing with hard things is, well, hard. But here are a few things I’ve found helpful:

  • Find your tribe: Connect with other pastors, mentors, friends, people who get it. You need people you can be honest with, people who will listen without judgment, people who will remind you that you’re not alone.
  • Take care of yourself: This sounds basic, but it’s crucial. Get enough sleep. Eat healthy food. Move your body. Do things that bring you joy. Seriously, schedule it in. It’s not selfish; it’s essential.
  • Embrace the questions: Doubt is not the enemy of faith. In fact, I think it can be a catalyst for growth. Don’t be afraid to ask the hard questions. Don’t be afraid to wrestle with the mysteries. That’s where the real transformation happens.
  • Remember the bigger story: Sometimes, when we’re in the thick of it, it’s hard to see the bigger picture. But remember, there’s a story unfolding, a story of hope, a story of redemption, a story that’s bigger than our individual struggles. And we’re all a part of it.

So, yeah, ministry is hard. Life is hard.
But we’re not in this alone.
We’re in this together.
And maybe, just maybe, in the midst of the mess, we’ll discover something beautiful, something profound, something truly holy. And that, my friends, I believe is so worth it!

Grace & Peace,
-Pastor Scott.

0

The Dust Still Sings…

“Then the Lord God formed a man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living creature.” -Genesis 2:7 (NIV)

Hey, you. Yeah, you—reading this right now, on March 21, 2025, with the world spinning wild and beautiful outside your window. Can I tell you something? You’re made of dust. I know, I know, it doesn’t sound like a compliment at first. Dust is the stuff we sweep off the shelf, the gritty bits we try to shake out of our rugs. But stick with me here—because this dust thing? It’s actually the most stunning, mind-blowing thing about you.

Think about it. The Scriptures, those ancient, poetic pages, tell us in Genesis that God scooped up the earth—mud, dirt, dust—and breathed into it. Breathed. Like a divine exhale, a holy wind, filling the ordinary with the extraordinary. And that’s you. That’s me. That’s all of us walking around today, carrying coffee cups and chasing deadlines and wondering if we’re enough. We’re dust with breath in it, animated by something sacred, something alive.

So here’s the question I’ve been wrestling with lately: What if the dust still sings? What if that original breath hasn’t stopped echoing through us? I mean, look at your life for a second. The way you laughed with a friend yesterday, the way you paused to notice the sky turning pink this morning, the way you keep showing up even when it’s hard—that’s not just random. That’s the song of the dust, the melody of a Creator who doesn’t give up on what He’s made.

Sometimes I think we forget this. We get caught up in the noise—scrolling X, scrolling social media apps on our phones, chasing the next big thing, worrying about what’s broken in the world or in us. And trust me, there’s plenty broken. You don’t need me to list it out; you’ve seen it, felt it. But here’s the twist: What if the brokenness isn’t the end of the story? What if it’s just the place where the breath gets louder?

Jesus—this guy who walked around kicking up dust of his own—kept saying things like, “The kingdom of God is near.” Not far off, not locked away in some perfect future, but near. Like, right here, in the mess, in the dust. He ate with outcasts, touched the untouchable, and told stories that flipped everything upside down. And every time he did, it was like he was saying, “Listen, the song’s still playing. You’re still part of it.”

So today, I wonder—what’s your dust singing? Maybe it’s a quiet tune, a little shaky, because you’re tired or scared or just not sure what comes next. That’s okay. The breath doesn’t stop when we falter; it carries us. Or maybe your dust is belting out something bold today—hope, defiance, love. That’s the beauty of it: the song shifts, but it never quits.

Here’s what I’m learning, and maybe it’s for you too: You don’t have to have it all figured out for the dust to sing. You don’t have to be flawless or fearless or “fixed.” You just have to let the breath move through you. That’s faith, isn’t it? Not a perfect performance, but a willingness to lean into the melody, to trust that the One who started the song isn’t done with it yet.

So, wherever you are today—whether you’re soaring or stumbling—take a deep breath. Do you feel that? That’s the holy wind still at work, stirring the dust, calling you alive. You’re part of something vast and good and unbroken, even when it doesn’t feel like it. The world’s a mess, sure, but it’s a mess with a pulse. And so are you. So, perhaps like the song, He’s calling you to “Come Alive Dry Bones.”

What if you lived like that today? Like the dust in you is still singing?
What might happen? I don’t know exactly, but I bet it’d be beautiful. I bet it already is.
Breathe it in.

Grace and dust,
-Pastor Scott.

1

One More Phone Call (A Poem)

The phone, a black slab,
a dormant beetle, lies face down.
Not ringing.
Not his number, a ghost-echo from the 417,
the voicemails I can’t erase,
like frost-flowers breathed on glass.

He’d call, a rumble in the static,
a long highway road leading to his recliner,
a slow drawl about the cardinals at the feeder,
the ice cream melting down the cone.
He’d tell me that joke again,
“Have you heard about the husband whose wife died in Israel?”

I’d heard it before, but I’d welcome it again,
He would pray with me, emotions over the line
passion and a need for salvation.
He knew, of course,
knew the shared grief of the earth,
the way the light thins,
the way the old dog sleeps deeper.

Now, the silence is a thicket,
a bramble where his voice should be,
a phantom limb of the receiver.
I reach for it,
the way a blind man reaches for a familiar door,
only to find a wall,
cold and unyielding.

No more stories of the ARC
and of Salvation Army Officership
although it’s all still coursing in our veins
– this passion to serve and love…
No more humorous bantering about the Cubbies, or the Chiefs or
those cheese heads up there in Green Bay.
His knit-yellow and green stocking cap
worn proudly on his head…

The phone, a black stone,
a monument to the void,
a reflection of the temporary
And I?
a little bit less than I was before those old tired jokes,
there is a loss I cannot put to words
a lost connection,
no more calls from 417
but this too is temporary.
It’s a silence that stretches, for a time
a continent of grief but not the whole of it,
Something else, more constant
and everlasting is just on the horizon

But perhaps just tonight
I’m getting ‘mad’
and my kids will be happy
and we’ll think of him.
Thanks, Grandpa, GrandStan
Pawpaw…so many other names
these terms of endearment.


I’ll see you again
and we can get mad
all over again,
and you can regale me with
One more awful joke
that you’ve told me before.

0

Announcement: Pastor’s Ponderings – “Perspectives”

Power of Words

I hope the new year is treating you well and that you know the rich blessings of the resurrected Christ!

I wanted to let you know of something very exciting taking place here on this site in the coming months.  I have asked various writers, speakers and thinkers to contribute to this site in what will be called “Perspectives”.  This wonderful segment will be posted at the end of each month with a featured writer/pastor.  I would like to invite you to join us and offer support as well as be nourished under their very talented words.

It’s coming…are you ready for it?

0

Thanksgiving Contest Winners Announced:

Okay, the delay is now over, and with bated breath I am pleased to announce our first annual Thanksgiving Creative arts contest winners!  All three winners will receive a bag of Starbucks coffee!   I am sure all of you have been anxiously, collectively, nail-bitingly holding your breath for this announcement, so without further adieu:  Here are the contest winners and below please find their submissions, which they so kindly and thoughtfully submitted.  They are not in any specific order or placement, but rather as I chose them.  Thank you all for participating in this first annual event, there will certainly be more to come so stay tuned!  

Image

 

1) Rebecca Tekautz

“Give Thanks” 

Give Thanks

 

My friend begins singing Christmas carols and the shopping mall is a cacophony of twinkling lights, Santa, and gift displays. It is October.

 

“Respect the turkey!” I say firmly to my friend and to the world in general. I have a rule: No Christmas music until the day after Thanksgiving. I am not a scrooge. I am not anti-Christmas. I am simply pro-Thanksgiving.  I cringe as I watch the spectacle of Christmas encroach upon the season of thanks.

 

I am not the first to note the contradiction in the biggest shopping day of the year coming immediately after the day we give thanks for what we already have. Or that our eagerness for the best deals is resulting in more and more stores opening their doors on Thanksgiving day. We’re turning Thanksgiving into “Thanks, I’ll take it!”

 

The breath we take to give thanks is being suffocated by our cry for more. We are creatures of infinite want. There is always more. More to accomplish, more to do, more to have.

 

Thanks requires stopping, becoming still and noticing that which we already have. But we are much more comfortable in moving, seeking, finding the new and the better. It’s no wonder, in a culture that spends billions and billions of dollars annually in advertising to show us the latest “new and better,” that we easily buy into the lie that more will make us happy. It is the hallmark of advertising: This is it. This is what you have been searching for. This is the thing that will fill the void at last. 

 

Our searching is spilling into our season of stopping. Stopping to take a breath, to look around at the blessings we have, recognizing that enough is already here. More stuff will not fill up the void. More stuff is only a distraction from our deepest need. Finite things can never fill the space that was meant for an infinite love.

 

As we enter the holiday season, let’s stop and remember that this is the season of Infinite Love coming to earth. There is nothing more we need. God’s Best has already come to fill up the void. Before we get swept up in the joyful season of gift-giving, let us first stop and offer our thanks for all the gifts He has given us. Let’s not let the rushing of the wants crowd out the moments to stop and offer thanks. As Psalm 136 declares over and over, “Give thanks. . .His love endures forever!”

 ———————————————————————————————————————————————————————-

2) Jeff Carter: “Sunlight in the Apple Tree” 

http://thatjeffcarterwashere.blogspot.com

Image

———————————————————————————————————————————————————————–

3) Kaitlin Shadle 

http://www.kaitlinshadle.com

“”Give thanks to the Lord for He is good. His love endures forever!”

 

Image

 

“ImageImage

1

Reminder: Thanksgiving Creative Arts Competition

Image

Here’s just another reminder about a fun competition that I would like to begin here on my blog. This is our first annual (with more to come I hope) creative arts competition.

Criteria is listed below:

 

Hey fellow writers and avid readers! I would like to announce a writing competition that I would like to conduct right here on this blog site: http://www.scottstrissel.wordpress.com
I am looking for your entry submissions for the following categories:

Photographs:
Submissions to this category MUST be your own work and not cut and pasted from someone else! These photographs should represent elements of “Thanksgiving” not just the holiday but the emotion, family, Christ, Salvation, our spiritual journey. Please limit your photo entries to five photos.

Poetry
Submissions to this category MUST be your own work and not cut and pasted from someone else!
Again the topic is Thanksgiving and as mentioned above should include some of these thematic elements. Please utilize a total of 750 words, less is fine , but no more that 750 words.

Prose (Story form or article format):
Submissions to this category MUST be your own work and not cut and pasted from someone else!
Again the topic is Thanksgiving and as mentioned above should include some of these thematic elements. Please utilize a total of 800 words, less is fine but more will be rejected.

Winners:
Of each category will be announced on November 29th (the day after U.S. Thanksgiving, AKA Black Friday)
The winners will be post here on this blog site and will receive a bag of Starbucks Coffee (hey I wish I had cash prizes to give you but I’m a broke Pastor with four kids to feed).
I will accept international submissions and if chosen I will post your submission here, but I WILL NOT be able to mail you coffee (sorry).

DUE DATE OF SUBMISSIONS:
November 23rd, 2013 by NOON CST (US central standard time)

HOW TO SUBMIT YOUR ENTRY:
Please submit your entry to: scottstrissel@yahoo.com
Please, also label it on your e-mail “Thanksgiving Writing Competition”

0

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑