there’s this constant tension between what I find fascinating and what I believe is right. I love history, and the stories surrounding great battles are compelling, but I can’t begin to understand violence and the brutal events that play out when nations make war.
“Grace” is more than my mother’s name, and “David” really is “a man after God’s own heart.”
The goodness that Good Friday makes possible is foundational to practical Christianity. If we are not excellent to each other, then Christ is not alive in us.
Why do so many relationships fall apart? Because we fail to practice the essential principles of Christ’s teachings.
The love spills over. That’s really what made me tear up so often over the weekend. Not so much the pain as the love. Love that is rich, and authentic, and love that points to such overwhelming truth. It wouldn’t hurt so much if it wasn’t so real.
It’s not that God has any opinion one way or the other as to my wardrobe… it’s just that God wants me to understand what is really worth the care and the attention – and that is my hear
God ripping apart the boundary of separation and reaching into time and space to find me, then gently parting the soil and planting the possibility for redemption.
Maybe it really is true that the younger children are, the closer they are to remembering – that they have a history with God (that we all have a history), a story we easily forget in this terrestrial plane, and that so much of faith is really about remembering…