We don’t flinch at sin. We speak Christ into it.
One might say that the first statement of the Reformation was that a saint never stops repenting.
Wisdom and strength require bootstrap-pulling and the placing of noses to grindstones.

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Heaven is not our ultimate hope. Our promise is not to live forever riding on rainbows and soaring in the clouds.
That week, I began to doubt myself. Did I really believe?
It seems like the sky is falling every other day now. From politics to culture to religion to about anything else, there’s one purported cataclysm after another on the horizon.
Beware the lament, dear readers, that is not soothed with the good-goods of Jesus.
The story of Christ crucified has a happy ending. Jesus has conquered the grave. He beat the death rap.
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.
Looking at our dining room table most days, you might think we were running a cartoon factory out of our house. Drawings. Everywhere.
In the twinkling of that eye the perishable will become imperishable, and our bodies will be changed and become more glorious than we ever could have imagined.
Their love story was a long time in coming. He was 82 and she 74. And this was the first, and the last, marriage for both.
Then He went to the coffin. He touched it, like a carpenter sizing up the piece of wood He plans to turn into some sort of new creation, running His hand down its side.
So it is with my little garden as well; dead, so it would seem. Nothing. Barren.
He finds the woman and the man in the Garden and fought back for the identity of His people.