Welcome, loves, to the P’osies Cafe Series, a new gathering for lovers of language and narrative. Our name, a playful blend of “Poetry” and “Stories,” perfectly captures the essence of what we’re about. In this series, my best friend and fellow writer will join me at our writers’ cafe with our laptops, pens and paper, and a couple of iced mochas or chai lattes. We’ll be sharing our own work—from whispered verse to sprawling tales—and we invite you to listen, reflect, and get lost in the power of storytelling.
Mr. Daniels and His Cup of Coffee Pt 4
(c) 2025
Written by Tannika Nikeya
[Flashback from pt 3: Just then zzzz, zap could be heard and then a pop.
Gregory jumped back from one of the major coffee machines, with his eyes wide and his head leaned back.]
It had sat comfortably for years on the café’s counter turning one cup of coffee or chai tea at a time. The cafe crews had done their best to keep this old machine alive and lately it had been so temperamental. Gregory touched the machine, an idea he knew he shouldn’t have accepted into his mind, but it was instinctive. “It’s cool,” he said as everyone behind the counter watched.
Mr. Daniels was also watching. Gregory set a long cup under one of the openings of the machine and pressed a button. Out flowed brown liquid whose scent pleasingly filled the air of the little cafe.
As Lesliana left the cash register, Jacob, another daytime crew member, stepped up with a warm smile to ring up the next customer. It was a quick break for Lesliana. She often sat down at one of the little tables to check her emails and eat and drink a little something, a blueberry muffin and hot Chai tea, her usual in the morning. She scoured her emails and then checked her student portal anxiously as she sipped her tea. She had submitted her research paper a couple of days ago to her psychology professor and was awaiting her grade.
In the midst of the morning, song after song played in the café adding to the cozy vibes and morning pace that had picked up. Mr. Daniels took another sip of his cup of coffee. This time no steam greeted him.
Kimberly just then rushed from the back with a cell phone on her ear propped up by her shoulder and a bunch of pastries in her hand all concealed in their individual wraps. She dropped them down on the small counter next to the pastries display. She would put a couple of them in the display to show their delectableness and store the rest for customers to purchase. When her hands were clear, she grabbed her cell phone to hold it, her face filled with concern.
We see Lesliana anxiously checking her student portal while trying to enjoy her break. What’s one time you had to wait for important news (like a grade, a job offer, or a diagnosis) while trying to carry on with your normal daily routine? How did you manage that stress?
Welcome, loves, to the P’osies Cafe Series, a new gathering for lovers of language and narrative. Our name, a playful blend of “Poetry” and “Stories,” perfectly captures the essence of what we’re about. In this series, my best friend and fellow writer will join me at our writers’ cafe with our laptops, pens and paper, and a couple of iced mochas or chai lattes. We’ll be sharing our own work—from whispered verse to sprawling tales—and we invite you to listen, reflect, and get lost in the power of storytelling.
Some paths don’t make sense until you look back and see the world you helped heal. Trust your calling. Trust your glow. The journey is worth it. 🌍💛
Welcome, loves, to the P’osies Cafe Series, a new gathering for lovers of language and narrative. Our name, a playful blend of “Poetry” and “Stories,” perfectly captures the essence of what we’re about. In this series, my best friend and fellow writer will join me at our writers’ cafe with our laptops, pens and paper, and a couple of iced mochas or chai lattes. We’ll be sharing our own work—from whispered verse to sprawling tales—and we invite you to listen, reflect, and get lost in the power of storytelling.
Today at the P’osies Cafe we have Part 3 of Mr. Daniels and His Cup, written by me, Tannika Nikeya.
In today’s story we have humility, hope, humor… and a coffee machine about to snap. So sit back and enjoy.
Part 3 Daytime Crew
(c) 2025
Mr. Daniels nodded his head, his face serene, and proceeded back to his seat at his usual table in the middle of the café.
“Shrek was about to blow his lid about his darn wallet he lost.” exclaimed Gregory. The café broke out into united chuckles.
The momentary burst of laughter then faded, leaving the familiar, comforting clatter of cups and the low hum of conversation. The café went on about their usual routines and morning bustle serving each customer and sending them on their way with their favorite beverages and pastries.
Mr. Daniels watched the staff settle back into their rhythm. His coffee, from which he had just taken a tiny sip, sent up a faint, comforting steam.
He noted Kimberly wiping down the counter with long, firm strokes. She was such a pleasant young lady who embodied the virtue he just told the man in the expensive blue suit to possess. She served more than just coffee; she served humility and patience that accompanied her smile. She doesn’t know her power yet, but it is immense, he thought.
Next was Lesliana, shy and timid, back at the register, her big smile reappearing as she thanked a customer. Lesliana worked to help pay for her college classes. It wasn’t easy to juggle her studies and a job but she needed the money for school. This was her seventh year at a four-year university, but this was her last year. My last year of college she would tell Mr. Daniels. Many of them mistake velocity for progress, Mr. Daniels mused, but patience and trusting God’s timing is a virtue. She carries hope, a quiet fire that needs only gentle tending.
And Gregory, who had a rough childhood in foster care, was already making the next customer laugh. He thought his job was only making the latest latte or frappuccino. It was not. His task is the balancing of sorrow and bringing joy to customers, Mr. Daniels thought as he observed him. For Gregory, laughter was a mechanism he used to aid himself in difficult times. And now the laughter he coaxes out is a necessary pressure release for the souls gathered there.
Mr. Daniels folded back his newspaper and set it on the table next to his cup of coffee. He often poured his attention into the stories of the daytime crew more than he read the newspaper.
Kimberly would often talk about her parents. Her dad was gravely ill. As often as she smiled, no one knew just how worried she was about her dad who had lost so much weight and could barely walk now, and her mom who looked after him. After work, Kimberly would stop by to check on her dad and her mom. This Saturday, she looked forward to sitting in with her dad while her mom got a 60-minute massage courtesy of Kimberly. But at this moment, worry lay right behind her smile because her mom reported her dad hasn’t been eating much.
She had prayed with her mom after her mom gave her the news, trying to chuck fear aside and nurture hope for a miracle.
Mr. Daniels knew about her dad as he had listened intently to every detail Kimberly shared about him. He had watched as her colleagues wrapped their arms around her and assured her it would be okay.
Kimberly threw herself into her work, making sure the cafe ran smoothly and delivered those same cozy vibes it gave each day. The sun settled in just as the crew did, alternating spots and illuminating the cafe through the big picture window. The crew picked up their pace as the store became more alive.
Just then zzzz, zap could be heard and then a pop.
Gregory jumped back from one of the major coffee machines, with his eyes wide and his head leaned back.
Hey Friends, welcome back to the P’osies Cafe Series! We apologize that P’osies Cafe was closed yesterday. Some things came up and we got a bit delayed. Nonetheless, we are open today and have a new treat here at the cafe: part two of Mr. Daniels andHisCup of Coffee.
Enjoy!
Mr. Daniels and His Cup of Coffee: The Lost Wallet (c) 2025
But Kimberly didn’t think he was rich at all. She had watched him on numerous occasions pull out coins and count them slowly, then hand them gently over to her or one of the baristas in exchange for his routine coffee.
And today was the same. Mr. Daniels limped in, gave his usual nod and proceeded to the line. When it was time for him to order his morning coffee or shall we say daily coffee. He would sip on this one cup his entire stay. Kimberly appeared from the back with a stack of cups in her hands. “Hi, Mr. Daniels, good morning!” “How are you today?”
“I’m well, Kimberly,” he slowly replied. “I hope all is well with you, today.”
“Oh, Mr. Daniels, this morning has been rough.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that Kimberly,” Mr. Daniels empathized. “But don’t worry, things will work out just fine,” he continued.
Kimberly let out a sigh and then released a smile. Mr. Daniels, in the midst of paying for his coffee, pulled 16 quarters out of his coin pouch. He laid them down on the counter, counted them one by one, and then picked them back up and handed them to Lesliana. Lesliana was another daytime crew member but also a full-time student at the local college. She seemed shy and timid but always smiled big. In fact the daytime crew at the P’osies Café, no matter what happened at the cafe or in their personal lives, never hesitated to smile. That was what set them apart. Their smiles were just as warm and inviting as the café.
After Mr. Daniels received his coffee. He sat down at his usual table. He set his coffee down and picked up the newspaper that was placed on the table by Kimberly earlier anticipating his arrival. While the steam rose from his coffee, he opened the newspaper to read or browse. No one knew if he read the newspaper thoroughly but he sat there quietly. Not one word.
The chimes on the door eagerly announces the next set of customers coming in one by one. A rosy cheek woman with a baby in the stroller who too had rosy cheeks. Two teen girls giggling, excited about the day ahead. A tall teen boy with glasses and corn rows whose face was buried in his phone. A petite woman with long hair, dressed in a mustard color blazer, long leather black skirt and leopard heels. She quietly and confidently walked in. And then a buff man wearing an expensive blue suit, white shirt and carrying a briefcase and talking on his phone came into the café.
Mr. Daniels slowly looked up at the man. In fact, everyone turned their attention to him as he came in because he was loud, a little too loud for the morning time where people had only been up for one to a few hours.
Some of the daytime crew felt relieved when he received his coffee and exited the café. But five minutes later he was back. He frantically rushed in even louder than when he came in before. And the chimes retreated back to their resting position just as quickly as they did when he rushed in. His briefcase swinging in his hands. “Where’s my wallet?” he belted out.
“Excuse me sir,” Lesliana softly responded.
“Where is my wallet?” he repeated. “I remember having it here at the counter.”
Kimberly walked over to the cash register and Lesliana. “Sir, we can surely take a look around the store right quick. Are you sure this is the last spot you had your wallet?” asked Kimberly.
“Come on, I know when I last had my wallet.” He retorted impatiently.
The man announced that he will call the cops.
“That will be fine sir but while you do that I will continue to check the floor. Can you retrace your movements?” She asked him.
Kimberly took a deep breath and told Lesliana to help the next customer who had come in after the man. Kimberly stepped from behind the counter and began to walk around the store looking at the floors and tables.
The man turned red and demanded his wallet, his voice high and grating. Kimberly grew worried. She frantically searched for the wallet of the man with the expensive blue suit, her eyes darting under tables.
Just then, Mr. Daniels slowly rose. Every joint seemed to creak a silent protest, but he moved with quiet, deliberate determination toward the belligerent man. Mr. Daniels didn’t speak until he was right beside him, and then, he gently extended an old hand holding a black leather wallet.
The man stopped mid-sentence, his jaw hanging. “Who the hell are you?” he snarled, his eyes narrowing at the old man’s patched coat and worn shoes.
“And how did you get my wallet?”
Mr. Daniels held his gaze—a gaze that held no judgment, only patience.
“You dropped it here on the floor as you left,” Mr. Daniels stated simply. Then, his voice softened, carrying just enough weight to cut through the man’s anger. “Whoever is patient has great understanding, but one who is quick-tempered displays foolishness. I understand that you lost your wallet, sir, but please be patient and kind.”
The man snatched the wallet back. He looked down at the soft-spoken old man, ready to unleash another loud, dismissive retort. But something in Mr. Daniel’s eyes—a depth that seemed out of place in a coffee shop, or perhaps the sheer, unruffled calm—captivated his attention.
The man didn’t soften completely; the impatience was ingrained. Instead of arguing or shouting, the man merely gave a curt, tight nod—a visible effort at restraint.
“Right,” the buff man muttered, shoving the wallet into his inner suit pocket. He looked around the cafe, his face still flushed, then spun around and walked out the door, mumbling something under his breath.
“Thanks, Mr. Daniels,” Kimberly said with a relieved smile, watching the door swing shut.
Welcome, loves, to the P’osies Cafe Series, a new gathering for lovers of language and narrative. Our name, a playful blend of “Poetry” and “Stories,” perfectly captures the essence of what we’re about. In this series, my best friend and fellow writer will join me at our writers’ cafe with our laptops, pens and paper, and a couple of iced mochas or chai lattes. We’ll be sharing our own work—from whispered verse to sprawling tales—and we invite you to listen, reflect, and get lost in the power of storytelling.
Mr. Daniels and His Cup of Coffee pt 1
(c) 2025
Written by Tannika Nikeya
An hour after the sun rose to announce the morning, “Here Comes the Sun” by The Beatles serenaded the small café on the corner of a quiet street. As the song played, the sun smiled on the café, beaming its light through the big front window with its sign: P’osies Café.
It wasn’t a major coffee spot, but it was a quaint and cozy “mom and pop” shop in the neighborhood—a true staple.
Warm colors, potted Pothos and Fiddle Leaf Fig plants, and dim lantern-style light fixtures hung over some of the tables. Unique abstract artwork adorned the walls. The wood tables and chairs added to the cozy charm, complemented by faux fur throw pillows in autumn hues of yellow, orange, and red.
One by one, customers walked into the café, the door chimes eagerly announcing each entrance. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. A new spice—pumpkin—hinted at the arrival of a new season.
Some customers came in with smiles and cheerful greetings; others offered polite nods, still adjusting to the morning and mentally preparing for the day ahead.
As each customer entered, the daytime crew greeted them with warm smiles and hearty good mornings. Some even had custom greetings for their favorite regulars. But when Mr. Daniels walked through the door with a slight limp and a soft nod—just as he did every morning at 7:45 a.m. sharp—the entire morning crew chimed in together:
“Hello, Mr. Daniels.”
And Kimberly, as always, asked,
“How are you this morning?”
Kimberly was one of the managers and the supervisor of the daytime crew. She had long locs and a beautiful smile—one that included both her eyes and her mouth and illuminated her rich, dark skin. Mr. Daniels often reminded her that she was beautiful and that she had the loveliest smile.
“In life,” he would say, “a smile from the heart and a joyful laugh are just as potent as medicine.”
Kimberly loved when Mr. Daniels shared his wisdom or stories from his younger days—sometimes about life, sometimes about the war. He was a sweet old man, kind and gentle, who looked fragile and poor. She would often tell the baristas to give him his change back, but he always refused. He would not take his drink if they didn’t accept his payment.
Every time he visited the café, he sat at the same table. He wore the same old brown jacket with patches, the same brown slacks, and the same white shirt. His black shoes were worn and cracked—just as weary as his jacket. And he always ordered the same coffee: almond milk, no sugar.
Most of the daytime crew thought he might be homeless because of his worn clothing and how he stayed for hours, sometimes until the crew clocked out.
Gregory—the one who kept everyone laughing—would always joke,
“That man ain’t homeless. He probably got a one-bedroom with a closet full of money. He’s rich, how much you want to bet?”
Welcome to my Persevere Series. God has been teaching me that perseverance is less about how strong I am and more about how faithful He is. Through these posts, I want to encourage you to keep going, trust His timing, and remember that even small steps count. Perseverance isn’t about perfection — it’s about leaning on God’s strength in every season, whether you’re walking, crawling, or getting back up after a fall.
Reflection:
Have you ever tried to run for a bus with your hands full, hoping nothing spills or falls out of your bag? I have, and sometimes I would miss the bus altogether. Sometimes it was because I didn’t leave on time, and other times because the bus arrived earlier than expected. But one thing I’ve noticed: the run is always easier when I’m carrying less.
That’s how it is in life and in our faith. When we’re weighed down by stress, fear, distractions, worries—or even sin—those weights slow us down. They drain our motivation. They cloud our focus. They make it hard to obey God, to see clearly, and to walk unashamed.
But thank God for Jesus! When we pause and place our burdens in the hands of the loving Savior, the One who both initiates and perfects our faith, He gives us the strength to persevere. He doesn’t just help us carry the load, He offers us an exchange: His yoke for ours. And His is easy, His burden is light.
If you haven’t yet made Jesus Christ your Lord and Savior, I encourage you to do so today. I can testify that even in life’s storms, He has never left me nor forsaken me. He is always near, ready to help and comfort us.
Scripture:
Hebrews 12:1–2 (NLT)
“Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a huge crowd of witnesses to the life of faith, let us strip off every weight that slows us down, especially the sin that so easily trips us up. And let us run with endurance the race God has set before us. We do this by keeping our eyes on Jesus, the champion who initiates and perfects our faith. Because of the joy awaiting Him, He endured the cross, disregarding its shame. Now, He is seated in the place of honor beside God’s throne.”
Prayer:
Father God, Forgive us for holding onto what You’ve asked us to release. Forgive us for the sin that so easily entangles us. Thank You for Your mercy, for Your forgiveness, and for Your unfailing love. Thank You for the grace that enables us to run with endurance the race You’ve set before us. Help us fix our eyes on Jesus, never ashamed to bring Him every concern of our hearts. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
Happy Fall Season!!!!! Did you grab your favorite coffee, iced coffee, or chai tea this morning? Well, if you did, make sure you also check out writers, Saneatra Polk and Tannika Nikeya. They’re serving up poems and stories, creativity, encouragement, and inspiration.
📖☕️ So come On In! Dive into the Posies Cafe Series on YouTube as well as our other platforms for captivating short stories & poems. And stay tuned for this Friday’s new post. You don’t want to miss it!
Facebook and Instagram Saneatra polk TikTok Saneatrap
Welcome, loves, to the P’osies Cafe Series, a new gathering for lovers of language and narrative. Our name, a playful blend of “Poetry” and “Stories,” perfectly captures the essence of what we’re about. In this series, my best friend and fellow writer will join me at our writers’ cafe with our laptops, pens and paper, and a couple of iced mochas or chai lattes. We’ll be sharing our own work—from whispered verse to sprawling tales—and we invite you to listen, reflect, and get lost in the power of storytelling.
Today, we have an awesome story by my bestie, Saneatra Polk. So come on in and have a sip of suspense and your favorite coffee!!!!
A New Hope Pt 1 (c) 2025
Have you ever felt pulled in a direction you couldn’t explain—like a whisper from God, or the weight of something greater than yourself? That’s how the voices came to Zayah. For weeks, they urged her to go east, toward a gold box hidden in the wasteland. She tried to drown them out with the bass of her battered CD player, but the voices grew stronger—until the music itself refused to play.
Zayah crawled from her tent. The air was heavy with dust, glowing orange under a pale white sun that looked more like fire than light. All around her, people emerged from tents, their eyes set on the rubble field where they would spend the day digging for scraps. Scraps meant survival—a doughy posie to chew, maybe a sip of water, maybe tea if luck was kind.
Zayah slung her knapsack over her shoulder, but instead of joining the slow line of scavengers, she turned the other way. Her heartbeat was fast. If anyone noticed, they’d ask questions, maybe follow her. They couldn’t know she had the power to sense treasures in the rubble, or that the voices had chosen her. They couldn’t know she was leaving it all behind.
East meant desert. East meant danger. East might mean nothing at all.
But Zayah took one last bite of her posie, tasting sugar and dust on her tongue. She pulled a strip of cloth across her mouth and nose for protection against the dust and stepped forward into the unknown.
Welcome, loves, to the P’osies Cafe Series, a new gathering for lovers of language and narrative. Our name, a playful blend of “Poetry” and “Stories,” perfectly captures the essence of what we’re about. In this series, my best friend and fellow writer will join me at our writers’ cafe with our laptops, pens and paper, and a couple of iced mochas or chai lattes. We’ll be sharing our own work—from whispered verse to sprawling tales—and we invite you to listen, reflect, and get lost in the power of storytelling.
What Is Lingering (c) 2025
By Tannika Nikeya
It was another late night at the office, but Angela didn’t mind. She thrived in the silence—free from constant interruptions, free from Alison’s mile-a-minute chatter about boyfriends, politics, and vacations. Angela liked people, but conversations like that drained her, leaving her overwhelmed and overstimulated.
Being alone at her desk and immersed in her work was bliss, however, because it kept her busy. Her thoughts didn’t seem to be all over the place.
Angela buried herself in her tasks—not because she lacked a life, but because she loved the craft of marketing. Research, strategy, and planning were her passions. She aimed for perfection in every campaign, and each presentation sent her stomach into knots. Her mind raced beforehand, her body tensed—headaches, restlessness, sweaty palms, an upset stomach that sometimes lasted for days. Each time, she wondered if this presentation would be her last, the one to ruin everything she’d worked for. Somehow, she always made it through, only to start the cycle again with the next presentation.
By 6:30, the sun had long since clocked out. Angela sipped the last of her warm chai tea—her daily lunch staple, which also did wonders for her queasy stomach. She packed up her files, slipped them into her beloved bookbag (she preferred it over a stiff briefcase), and wiped down her desk in her daily Lysol ritual.
Coat on, bag slung over her shoulder, she stepped into the cold.
Downtown Chicago greeted her with sharp air and quiet streets. A few stragglers hurried by, their breath forming little clouds in the moonlight.
Angela walked quickly, three blocks to the Red Line. The Red Line was not for the faint of heart. At certain times, it was super crowded—noisy teens, someone smoking on the train, unusual smells, and uncanny individuals. It was often reported as dangerous, either by the news or even Chicago residents. But Angela was a native, and she loved Chicago. And although she felt a level of comfort in the familiar chaos, she stayed alert. Some of the other riders—never too many unless there was an event—had become familiar faces. Like her, they were just trying to get home after a long day’s work.
Her long black hair peeked out from her winter hat as the train pulled in. She stepped aboard and immediately sat down near the doors. Usually, she rode up front with the conductor, but tonight, fatigue made her careless. Her stomach churned from the cream-of-mushroom soup and Caesar chicken wrap she had eaten for lunch.
At first, the train car was empty. She scrolled her phone, glanced at the tunnel ads reflected in the glass, then back down. That’s when she felt it—someone else. She looked up and froze.
A woman sat at the rear of the train car. Long black hair, stiff posture, eyes fixed straight ahead. For a moment, Angela’s chest tightened.
The woman began sliding down the seat. Angela’s pulse quickened. “Hey—are you okay?” she called.
But when she rushed down the aisle—there was no one there. Am I seeing things? Am I just exhausted?
The lights flickered. The train jerked to a stop. Angela stumbled off at her station, heart thudding. Usually, a few people got off with her, but tonight the platform stretched empty. Too empty.
From the corner of her eye—movement. The same woman stepped behind a subway beam.
“Hello?” Angela called. Silence.
Her instincts screamed “don’t be that girl in the scary movies,” but footsteps suddenly rushed behind her. She bolted toward the escalator—only to be grabbed.
Angela spun around, ready to fight, but it was just a bewildered homeless man. “Here you go, ma’am. You dropped this,” he said, handing her the black-and-gold water bottle her best friend had given her. Shaken, she thanked him and hurried up the escalator. The man was gone when she looked back.
At the top of the escalator, she saw her, the woman, turning her head slowly toward her.
Angela’s skin prickled as the escalator kept going up. Angela forced herself upward, and when she reached the top—nothing. No one.
She walked the blocks to her apartment, trying to shake the dread. But on the stairwell inside the building, the sound of footsteps echoed behind her. Slowly and fearfully, she looked down.
Through the window at the bottom of the stairs, she saw the woman again—head bowed. When Angela blinked, the steps were empty. But the reflection in the glass…
The woman looked up. And she had Angela’s face.
Angela staggered back, her heart pounding. A quiet thought rose in her mind: Maybe I’m just exhausted. Maybe it’s all in my head.
Panting, she rushed inside her apartment and bolted the door. She managed to inhale a few breaths and released them slowly. And then she repeated her new coping mantra:
“He did not give me a spirit of fear, but of power, love, and a sound mind. He did not give me a spirit of fear, but of power, love, and a sound mind.”
Inside her bathroom, she filled a small cup with water and swallowed her medication. She steadied her breath, watching herself in the mirror—slower, calmer. Phone in hand, she called her mom for prayer. Fear would not claim her. Not tonight. She would face the recurring dread—steady, present, unafraid. Yet in the mirror, her reflection lingered, watching her breathe.
What do you think was really lingering? ☕📖 Share your thoughts below.
Video:
Prayer
Father God,
I lift up anyone who is dealing with mental struggles or battling mental illness. I ask that You grant them grace and courage to seek the support and even the medical help they need. Day by day, strengthen them to overcome. Reveal the root cause of their struggle—both naturally and spiritually—and bring healing in the hidden places.
Lord, Your Word declares, “For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind” (2 Timothy 1:7). Help us not to embrace fear as our identity but to stand firmly in the power and peace You freely give.
Your Word also reminds us that “the weapons of our warfare are not carnal but mighty in God for pulling down strongholds” (2 Corinthians 10:4). So, in Jesus’ name, we pull down every stronghold of fear, depression, anxiety, and confusion. We take every thought captive and make it obedient to Christ (2 Corinthians 10:5).
Let us hear Your Word for faith comes by hearing and hearing by Your Word. Father, we trust Your promise that He who is in us is greater than he who is in the world (1 John 4:4). Deliver us from the evil one, and remind us daily that Your power is greater than any force in this world.
We seal this prayer in the mighty and matchless name of Jesus. Amen.
Tannika Nikeya 