This story is not meant for six-year-olds, but it is meant for us, though we should hardly handle it.
Despite how deep Habakkuk sank into doubt and despair, his faith was not entirely lost. He was merely taking his doubts where they belonged: to the Lord.
Decisionalism expects you to raise yourself through a choice, but Scripture says only Christ raises the dead.

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If he was not flesh, who was hung on the cross? And if he was not God, who shook the earth from its foundations?
Last night was one of those nights when I had an unscheduled 3:00 a.m. Life Assessment session.
Apart from bare, naked faith in Jesus' atoning work for us, no sinner is, or ever can be, holy.
The God whose Spirit hovered over the face of the dark, formless, void waters of the infant creation, now walks upon the waters of the sea like a boss.
This had been a lonely year, though. She could keep herself busy for a while with friends and she could distract herself for a few weekends by leaving town, but something was definitely missing.
They stood on their feet, the Father's host, Alive in the Son and Holy Ghost.
There’s some wild and untamed prayers in the psalms. But they’re fenced in by order, symmetry, predictability. They organize chaos. And they bring order and hope and stability to our chaotic lives.
Whether one believes Jesus to be God or not, His words and actions proclaim that He did not come to be served but to serve.
Some days, people need a touch. Not just any touch, but something that says, "I care about you, and I love you."
The God who's lifted up above Calvary, abandoned and forsaken, should draw a more discerning crowd of followers.
I’m still laughing now as hard as I laughed back then. And the salve that he gave me in that moment still works some strange magic on me to this day.
Inside our heads is a courtroom where our whole lives are put on trial. And we are declared guilty of things. Big things, little things. God things, human things. True things, false things. We never can measure up.