Beauty from the Broken Places

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Psalm 145:14 — The Lord helps the fallen and lifts those bent beneath their loads.

So, there is this story that I just love. It’s about an old a woman who carried two pots of water every day.

The first pot was solid and smooth, absolutely perfect. The other had a thin crack running down its side, and by the time she reached home, it would only be half full.

One day the cracked pot apologized.

“I am just so sorry for leaking.”

It can’t do what it was made to do. It expects correction. Maybe replacement. But instead, the woman smiles and points behind them.

“Don’t you see?” she exclaimed, “I planted seeds along your side of the path, and every day you watered them. Look at all these flowers.”

The pot then saw what she meant. Along the cracked pot’s side, flowers burst in vibrant colors everywhere, stretching toward the morning light. Life was spilling all over the dirt.

You know, God does the same thing with each and every one of us. He uses our cracks to water the world in ways we can’t even see. We can’t live in defeat when we make mistakes or when we can’t hold everything together.

That’s what Psalm 145:14 promises—that the Lord helps the fallen and lifts those bent beneath their loads. He doesn’t throw away what feels cracked; He carries it. Not after we fix ourselves. Not once the bent or cracked places in our lives disappear.

He is the One lifting you each and helping you every day along your path, and somehow He is even using the broken parts of your story to bring life to others.

So don’t be ashamed of your scars. Don’t be ashamed of your brokenness. Use how God healed you to share those with people who need the glory of God and who need healing, empowerment, encouragement, and hope.

Keep walking and trusting that even now, life is growing along the path behind you.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • Where in your life do you feel “cracked” or not enough right now?
  • Could it be possible that God is using that very weakness to bring life to someone else?
  • Are you living in quiet shame over something God has already redeemed?
  • What would it look like to trust that God lifts you even before you feel fully healed?
  • How might your story—especially the broken parts—become encouragement for someone walking behind you?
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Fixing What Grief Broke

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James 1:27 — Pure and genuine religion in the sight of God the Father means caring for orphans and widows in their distress and refusing to let the world corrupt you.

The bench had been broken for so long most people forgot it existed.

The park itself is lovely. Trees line the paths just right. Dog walkers pass. Joggers move along the trail. Flowers burst with color. The swings swing. The slides slide. Everything works—except that bench.

Its slats are split. The leg sags. Weather has worn it thin.

An older man comes to the park most afternoons. He walks slowly, hands folded behind his back. He stops at the broken bench, lets out a small sigh, and turns away. Day after day, the pattern repeats.

Across the park, three teenage boys dominate the basketball court. They joke, miss shots, argue—but one day they notice the man. He lingers at that broken bench like hope is leaning on it. They realize no one else seems to care.

They could ignore it. That would cost them nothing.

But caring would cost time, effort, and attention.

They talk, shrug, and finally one says, “We should fix it.” And the rest is history.

They gather wood, borrow a drill from one of their dads, and watch a few YouTube videos on how to repair a bench. When they’re done, it looks sturdy. Not perfect—but solid. It can hold weight again.

The next day, the older man returns. He stops like he always does, but this time he stays. He lowers himself carefully onto the bench and relaxes his shoulders. A smile spreads across his face.

The boys wander over. One asks if he likes it.

The man looks at them for a long moment. Then he tells them he used to sit there with his wife before she passed away. He thanks them for giving that place back to him.

They didn’t know they were fixing that.

Now he can sit there for hours, remembering the life they shared.

No one else seems to notice. Dogs walk. Joggers pass. Life moves on. But something sacred has happened—because those young men stopped long enough to care.

And that’s love doing what love does.

It sounds a lot like what James describes: “Pure and genuine religion… means caring for orphans and widows in their distress and refusing to let the world corrupt you.” — James 1:27

Real faith is practical. It’s sacrificial. It chooses “I didn’t have to, but I wanted to.” It notices broken places and quietly repairs them—without applause.

Because love does great things without expecting great attention. And bright lights don’t need spotlights.

So today, choose that kind of love. The world is still full of broken benches—waiting for someone to stop long enough to care.

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • What “broken bench” have you noticed in your everyday life but felt tempted to walk past?
  • How does James 1:27 challenge your definition of what real faith looks like?
  • Where might God be inviting you to choose compassion over convenience?
  • How can you practice quiet, unnoticed love this week?
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When Chains Start to Shake

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Colossians 3:2-3 — Think about the things of heaven, not the things of earth. For you died to this life, and your real life is hidden with Christ in God.

The chains are the first thing you notice.

Cold. Unforgiving. Every movement pulls at iron, and the chains answer back with a reminder: you’re not going anywhere. The air is thick enough to taste. The floor is hard stone. There’s no light to flip on, so you sit in pitch blackness.

This is an ancient jail.

Paul and Silas are here—bound in chains.

This is where the story should be falling apart. Fear should be crawling in. Bitterness would make sense—they’ve done nothing wrong. Most of us would focus on the injustice, the pain, the impossible situation.

And yet… they sing.

Their worship echoes through the prison. They don’t sing because relief is guaranteed, but because they’ve chosen where to fix their focus. Not on the chains. Not on the darkness. But on God—where their true help comes from.

Other prisoners listen. And heaven does too.

Suddenly, the ground shakes. Prison doors swing wide. Chains fall off. And that night doesn’t just change circumstances—it changes hearts. The jailer watches, falls to his knees, and puts his faith in Jesus. His whole family follows. Freedom multiplies.

Years later, Paul would put words to the perspective he lived that night:

“Think about the things of heaven, not the things of earth. For you died to this life, and your real life is hidden with Christ in God.”

Paul knew firsthand that earthly circumstances don’t define us. Chains don’t tell the whole story. What’s visible is never all that’s real.

Most of us aren’t sitting in literal chains today—but we know what it feels like to be stuck. Fear can feel like iron. Disappointment can lock doors just as tight. You don’t need stone walls to feel trapped.

But even the darkest night is stitched with stars.

The invitation here isn’t to deny the darkness. It’s to lift your eyes anyway. To choose joy. To trust that God is holding the outcomes—even when the situation hasn’t changed yet.

Because when you fix your mind on what’s above, freedom always has room to follow.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • What “chains” are most visible in your life right now—fear, disappointment, uncertainty, or something else?
  • Where have you been tempted to focus on circumstances instead of God’s presence?
  • How do Colossians 3:2–3 challenge you to shift your perspective this week?
  • What might worship or trust look like for you before your situation changes?
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Little Letters and Lasting Love

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2 Corinthians 1:4 – He comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others. When they are troubled, we will be able to give them the same comfort God has given us.

It’s a normal morning at church. Kids squirm on the floor. Adults smile politely and sing as the offering bucket passes by.

Love is everywhere—sung about, projected in big letters on the screen. But most days, love still feels a little abstract. Hard to touch. You know?

In the middle of all that, someone suggests a simple idea. A few people in the church are sick, so why not ask the kids to draw pictures for them? Nothing flashy. Just construction paper, stick figures, and whatever words a child can spell.

Across town, Mr. Jacobs stares at a hospital ceiling that hasn’t changed in days. The room smells like antiseptic and plastic tubing. The clock ticks, but time feels stuck. Chemo drips slowly, and his body is exhausted.

Later, his nurse tapes something above his bed.

It’s small. A child’s drawing. Crooked hearts in bright colors that don’t stay inside the lines. But the words are clear:

“Don’t give up. Jesus loves you.”

Mr. Jacobs keeps it there. When the pain spikes. When the room feels lonely. He looks at it and remembers he is not forgotten. Love found him—scribbled in crayon by kids who cared.

At church later, a video shows him in his hospital bed, that picture still taped above him. He tells how it arrived on his hardest day, and how those simple words gave him strength.

The room goes still.

The kids sit up straighter. There isn’t a dry eye in the building. God’s comfort had traveled on paper, from one heart to another.

That’s exactly what Scripture describes:

“He comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others.” (2 Corinthians 1:4)

Comfort was never meant to be stored up. It’s meant to move—to circulate from God, through us, to someone else. Sometimes it comes through deep conversations. Other times, through shaky handwriting and paper hearts.

Love doesn’t need to be complicated, expensive, or impressive. It simply asks us to notice who’s hurting and dare to show up. A note. A drawing. A text.

That kind of love still travels. And when it does, God’s comfort goes farther than we ever imagined.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • When has God comforted you during a difficult season?
  • Who in your life might need that same comfort right now?
  • What simple, practical step could you take this week to show care to someone who’s hurting?
  • How does knowing God’s comfort is meant to be shared change the way you see your own struggles?
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Holy Ground in Unexpected Places

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Luke 15:7 — In the same way, there is more joy in heaven over one lost sinner who repents and returns to God than over ninety-nine others who are righteous and haven’t strayed away.

The bass is thumping down the Nashville sidewalk, laughter spilling into the street, and a line of people wraps around the corner.

I know this scene. We all do. Late night. Music. A club promising escape but usually delivering regret. I almost brace myself for what I expect to find.

But step inside, and something feels… different.

It looks like a nightclub. The lights. The movement. The joy. But the air doesn’t feel heavy. No one’s performing. No one’s trying to outrun their pain or drown out their thoughts.

People are dancing because they want to. Laughing because it’s real. There’s no pressure to impress. Folks look comfortable in their own skin—and for a moment, my brain doesn’t know what to do with that.

Now stay with me. This isn’t a typical nightclub. It’s faith-based. And standing here, I realize how easily I’ve absorbed the idea that following Jesus means trading joy for discipline. That holiness and happiness can’t coexist. That somehow delight got left out of the deal.

But that idea didn’t come from Jesus.

Across the room, I hear someone praying. Hands lift—not for attention, but in worship. And suddenly it clicks why this place feels so alive.

This isn’t just a nightclub. It’s called The Cove. It was started by seven young men from Tennessee who believed joy doesn’t compete with God—it comes from Him. They believed celebration doesn’t belong to the world alone, and that a space centered on Christ could still be full of movement, laughter, and life. A place where people leave lighter than they arrived. Where fun doesn’t cost you your peace.

It reminds me of something Jesus once said—that heaven erupts with joy when one lost person turns back to God.

“There is more joy in heaven over one lost sinner who repents and returns to God…” (Luke 15:7)

Not quiet approval. Not polite applause. Joy. Celebration. Rejoicing.

You can almost picture it—heaven isn’t stiff or silent. It’s alive every time grace wins. Every time someone chooses restoration over running. That’s what I see here.

When people leave this Nashville space, they don’t stagger out hollow or ashamed. They walk out hopeful. Because when Christ is present, even dance floors can become holy ground.

And maybe that’s the reminder for this week. The world told you one thing, but love—real love—doesn’t leave you empty. There is a better joy. One that restores instead of depletes. One that lifts instead of weighs you down.

So wherever you find yourself—a coffee shop, a sidewalk, or even a dance floor—know this: when grace takes center stage, heaven still rejoices… and earth starts to look a little more like heaven too.

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • Where have you unconsciously believed that following Jesus means giving up joy?
  • What does Luke 15:7 reveal about how God responds when people turn toward Him?
  • Are there places or people you’ve written off as “unlikely” spaces for God to work?
  • How might your life look different if you believed joy and holiness were meant to walk together?
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When Obedience Becomes the Strategy

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Isaiah 40:29 — He gives power to the weak and strength to the powerless.

I can’t stop thinking about how fascinating the stories in the Bible really are.

I’m sitting with my Bible open, mid-afternoon light slipping across the room, and I land back in the story of Gideon. I’ve read it so many times before, but this time it feels different—like it’s reading me right back.

Gideon starts with a decent-sized army. Thirty-two thousand men. That’s not small. That’s comforting. That’s the kind of number that lets you breathe a little easier when you know a fight is coming, and then God says something that makes absolutely no sense. “It’s too many.”

I can’t help but picture Gideon blinking at the sky, thinking, “Lord… have You seen their army?” Because if I’m honest, I’ve said that same thing—about my finances, my energy, my confidence, my resources. Too many is not the problem. Too few is.

But God keeps trimming. He sends some home. Then more. Then comes that strange moment by the water where God trims them down even more based on how they drank water—and suddenly Gideon is standing there with three hundred soldiers left. Three hundred. Against an enemy that should have crushed them.

I imagine the awkward silence. The weight of it. Three hundred people holding torches and clay pots, not swords. This is not the kind of strategy you brag about. This is the kind you only follow if you trust the One who gave it.

And when they do exactly what God says shattering their pots and sounding the trumpets, the enemy panics and runs. This was no clever military strategy or show of strength. No, it was just obedience, and God does the rest. He gave that ragtag band of three hundred men victory.

That’s when I think about how scripture tells us “He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak.” Isaiah 40:29. Did you see that? He gives strength not after we get stronger. Not once we feel ready. But right in the middle of our lack.

God has never been impressed by our numbers. He’s interested in our trust.

So today, whatever feels trimmed down in your life—your energy, your options, your confidence—don’t despise it. Hold it faithfully. Step forward anyway. Let God put His strength on full display through what feels painfully small, and walk in the confidence that the victory was never meant to come from you.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • Where in your life do you feel “trimmed down” right now—emotionally, financially, spiritually, or relationally?
  • How have you been measuring readiness or success by numbers, strength, or resources instead of trust?
  • What might God be inviting you to do in obedience, even though you don’t feel fully equipped?
  • How does knowing that God gives strength in weakness—not after it—change how you view your limitations today?
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The Road That Let Me Breathe Again

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Psalms 31:7-8 — I will be glad and rejoice in your unfailing love, for you have seen my troubles, and you care about the anguish of my soul. You have not handed me over to my enemies but have set me in a safe place.

Sometimes you don’t need a five-year plan. You just need your keys and a full tank of gas.

That’s where I was that weekend. Life felt crazy. School deadlines stacked up, responsibilities kept tugging at my sleeve, and even though I go to college online, the pressure still somehow followed me everywhere. I was tired in that way that sleep doesn’t fix, where your soul just wants to exhale.

I didn’t need answers. I needed air.

So late Friday afternoon, I did something mildly irresponsible on paper but wildly responsible for my sanity. I jumped in my car. No big speech or overthinking. Just me and my dog, riding shotgun with that goofy smile dogs get when they know something good is about to happen.

The road stretched out in front of us. We were Oklahoma-bound, toward my best friend from high school and her little farm.

As the miles passed, the mental noise didn’t immediately quiet down. My mind tried to drag school assignments and stress into the passenger seat. Part of me wondered if I should’ve stayed home and pushed through. But another part of me—quieter, wiser—knew this wasn’t avoidance. It was permission. Permission to pause. Permission to breathe. Permission to trust that God doesn’t only meet us in productivity.

When I finally pulled onto that gravel drive, something changed. Laughter came easier. The air felt lighter. We talked, we rested, we did nothing important, and somehow, that was everything. I didn’t have to manufacture joy. It met me there. It always does when I stop gripping life so tightly.

That night, sitting still for the first time in weeks, I was reminded of words I’ve known for a long time but needed to feel again:

“I will rejoice and be glad in your faithful love because you have seen my affliction. You know the troubles of my soul and have not handed me over to the enemy. You have set my feet in a spacious place.” Psalm 31:7–8

That’s it. God sees the tired places. He knows the weight we carry. And sometimes His kindness looks like open roads, old friends, and wide open, holy space for your heart to rest.

I came home refreshed, not because I escaped my responsibilities, but because God met me right in the middle of them. He knew what I needed before I did.

So here’s the invitation—simple and real. Pay attention to your weariness. Let yourself take a small, intentional pause. Call the friend. Step outside. Take the drive. Trust that God is not disappointed in your need for rest. He is the One who sets your feet in spacious places, and He delights in refreshing the souls He loves.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • Where do you feel most weary or overwhelmed right now, and how have you been responding to that weight?
  • What does a “spacious place” look like for you in this season—physically, emotionally, or spiritually?
  • Are there ways God may be inviting you to pause or rest that you’ve been resisting out of responsibility or guilt?
  • How does knowing that God sees the anguish of your soul change the way you approach your need for rest today?
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When Conviction Costs Something

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Daniel 9:4 — Lord, you are a great and awesome God! You always fulfill your covenant and keep your promises of unfailing love to those who love you and obey your commands.

I’m sitting at my desk in my little apartment, Bible open, notebook spread out, pen in hand, and a mug of lukewarm coffee cooling at my side. The city hums softly outside the window, but in here, it’s just me, the pages, and the challenge of wrestling with faith.

Tonight, my mind keeps circling back to Daniel, like from the Book of Daniel. Him, Shadrach, Meshach, Abednego. Their stories won’t let me scroll past without notice.

Their courage—it’s shocking in its simplicity. They don’t bow when it’s inconvenient. They don’t compromise when it’s scary. Every time, they choose God. And my chest tightens because I know those moments in my own life when I’ve wavered—when being faithful felt like stepping out on a ledge without a net. Could I stand firm if everything in me wanted to run?

I scribble a note in the margin, pen hovering as a thought lands on Daniel 9:4: “O Lord, the great and awesome God, who keeps His covenant of love with those who love Him and obey His commands.” I read it aloud softly. It’s not just history. It’s a reminder that even in the pressure, the unseen work of God is moving, shaping circumstances, nudging hearts, and orchestrating outcomes in ways I can’t always see.

Faith isn’t passive. It’s choosing Him when it’s hard, when the walls are closing in, when fear whispers that compromise would be easier.

In the quiet, I let the thought sink in. There’s a subtle thrill in recognizing that my ordinary desk, my small apartment, and my daily choices are not too small for God to use. I write in bold at the bottom of the page: Stand firm. Trust Him. He’s in control.

And so, I sip my coffee, cold now, and feel it—the reassurance that choosing God, matters. Obeying Him matters.

Faith is not just for the grand, dramatic moments. It is for the quiet, for the mundane, for the small places no one sees. Let today be the day you choose Him. Let the corners of your life—the desk, the kitchen, the hallway between meetings—be the places you stand firm.

God is already working there, through what you do, through the people around you, and through circumstances that seem impossible. Stand, trust, and let Him move.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • Where in your life is God asking you to stand firm, even when it feels uncomfortable or costly?
  • Are there areas where compromise feels easier than obedience right now? What fears are behind that tension?
  • How does remembering God’s faithfulness and covenant love strengthen your trust in Him today?
  • What “ordinary” places or daily moments might God be using to shape your faith right now?
  • When have you seen God at work behind the scenes, even when you couldn’t see it in the moment?
  • What is one small, faithful choice you can make today to honor God where you are?
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Time to Train Your Thoughts

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Isaiah 26:3 — You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you, because he trusts in you.

I am sitting at my kitchen table with my Bible open, sticky notes scattered like confetti around me.

I wanted some new habits. Better ones. Ones that didn’t make me spiral every time a negative thought showed up uninvited. But habits are funny like that. They sound inspiring until they get hard and ask for consistency.

How long does it take to form a habit? Twenty-one days? Sixty-six? Two hundred and something? I Googled it of course. Every article disagreed, but they all circled back to the same word: repetition. Do it again. Then do it again tomorrow and again when you don’t feel like it.

And our minds have habits too don’t they?

I had a conversation with my friend about this, and it keeps replaying in my mind. She’s starting a food diary this year. She’s measuring portions, tracking macros, and trying to learn what works and what doesn’t.

She told me it was exhausting and confusing and kind of annoying, honestly. But she also said she knew it would get easier if she just kept showing up and kept her mind in the right places.

That’s what it comes down to for me too. I just know that if I want my life to move in a healthier direction, my mind has to go first.

Breaking thought patterns is messy work. Some days the negative thoughts crowd in so thick I lose sight of why I started at all. Other days quitting sounds amazing, but instead of giving up, I ask God for help. I write words on my mirror. I tuck verses into my pocket. I let them interrupt me when my thoughts start running wild.

I don’t do it perfectly. I just do it again tomorrow.

This morning, without forcing it, a verse surfaces in my mind: Isaiah 26:3, “You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on You, because he trusts in You.”

That’s so good. It makes me want to run around the room.

It’s so true. Over time, something always shifts. Scripture stops feeling like an assignment and starts feeling like food. The repetition stops draining me; it steadies me. And without even noticing when it happened, other goals begin to move forward too.

This is how real change grows. Quietly. Daily. One small decision at a time.

So, the question isn’t how long it takes to form a habit. The real question is whether I’ll open my Bible today, and let it shape the way I think tomorrow.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • What thought patterns do you notice repeating most often in your mind right now?
  • Where do you feel the tension between wanting change and struggling with consistency?
  • What is one simple way you could “stay your mind” on God today—through Scripture, prayer, or reminders?
  • How have you seen repetition shape growth in other areas of your life?
  • What might change if you trusted that small, daily choices can lead to lasting peace?
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Broken But Bright

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Romans 8:18 — For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us.

You know, sometimes we have got to get broken in order to grow.

I have got this great story. Oh, I love it, and It goes like this.

“The other night, I was in the dollar store, and there was a mom there with her kids. One was a big kid, and the other one was a toddler. The bigger one had a pack of glow sticks, and the toddler was screaming for them.

So the mom opened the pack and gave him one, which stopped his tears. He walked around with it, smiling, but then the bigger boy took it. The toddler started screaming again. Just as the mom was about to bust, the older child bent the glow stick and handed it back to the toddler.

As we walked outside at the same time, the toddler noticed that the stick was now glowing, and his brother said, ‘I had to break it so that you could get the full effect of it.’

Wow.

When I saw that happening, I could hear God say to me, I had to break you to show you why I created you. You had to go through it so you could fulfill your purpose.”

That precious child was happy just swinging that unbroken glow stick around in the air because he didn’t understand what it was created to do, which was glow.

There are some people who will be content just being unbroken, but some of us know that God has chosen us. We have to be broken. We have to get sick, we have to lose that job. We have to bury our spouse, our parents, or our best friends.

In those moments of desperation, God is breaking us, but when the breaking is done, then we will be able to see the reason for which we were created.

Just like it says in Romans 8:18, “For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us.”

What if the places that broke you were never meant to end your story? What if they were preparing you to shine in ways you could not imagine until now?

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • Can you think of a season in your life that felt like breaking—but later revealed growth, purpose, or deeper faith?
  • Where might God be inviting you to trust Him in the middle of suffering you don’t yet understand?
  • Are there places in your story you still see only as pain, rather than places God may be preparing to bring glory?
  • How does Romans 8:18 change the way you view hardship—not as the end of the story, but as part of a bigger one God is still writing?
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