Let me begin with a warning for the reader: My purpose in this post is to praise the depth of divine condescension in a way that eschews politeness. And in so doing, I’m going to talk about poop. You have been warned. My four-year-old is now daytime potty trained. This is a huge accomplishment for him and a great relief to his father and mother. Increasingly, he doesn’t even need help finishing up in the
There is no need to obscure or deny what everyone already knows, either subconsciously or plainly, to be ominously true; the idea of persecution is terrifying and intimidating. It is something we often relegate to the realm of “super-Christians.” Persecution, at least in this context, is not the occasional slighting comment made in our direction or the under-the-breath mutterings we hear when we espouse Christian convictions in the course of conversation. In consideration of this
All those golden autumn days the sky was full of wings. . . The wings and the golden weather and the tang of frost in the mornings made Laura want to go somewhere. She did not know where. She wanted only to go. “Let’s go West,” she said one night after supper. “Pa, can’t we go West when Uncle Henry does?” . . . “I know, little Half-pint,” said Pa, and his voice was very
“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practise resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep
The night skies sing the glory of God! Dark and light, clouds and constellations are crafted by his deft hands. Daily they declaim, night upon night they raise a chorus of praise. Even though our ears cannot hear their speeches and symphonies, Still their message of God’s glory and splendour has filled Every crevice and crack in all of the cosmos. Thus I paraphrased the opening verses of Psalm 19 a few weeks ago.
It is getting late, as I tuck in a full day, the wind wrestling its way ’round my cabin. Snuggled under the blankets, I think back on the day… I awoke in the golden arms of the sunrise, a day older. A year older. A decade older. It is not often that these round milestones are placed in our palms, slipped into the pockets of our lives. They are a gift, marking a still moment