When you remember your baptism, you're not recalling a ritual. You're standing under a current of divine action that has not ceased to flow since the moment those baptismal waters hit your skin.
“The fear of the Lord” is our heart’s awakening to and recognition of God’s outrageous goodness.
The women at the tomb were surprised by Easter. Amazed and filled with wonder at Jesus' Easter eucatastrophe. And so are we.

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Into the suffocating prison of sorrow, God sends his Breath, his Holy Spirit to help us. We may suffer, but we will not be alone.
We think that if we are good enough, brave enough, or at least if we try hard enough, we will be someone who can be both fully known and fully loved.
Should we really be surprised that it would happen this way, that the servant would suffer for our salvation and die for our forgiveness?
By every conceivable category, grace shouldn't exist. It shouldn't have been bestowed. It's the card in God's trick we never saw coming.
Most days, we're not okay. We're not good enough, strong enough, or "Christian" enough.
Our brokenness cuts deeper than just the times when we recognize it needs to be fixed.
God does not combat the impending armies of Satan with might and power, but with the weakness of a babe.
I can only disbelieve you or believe you. If I disbelieve you, I go on being a miserable bore.
We are still so much closer to Peter in our flaws than his virtues, and Christ is still our rescue.
If someone confesses their sins into my ears, I have no options but to forgive them in the name of Christ.
Could it be that the root of not asking is not believing, either in the power, or worse, the graciousness of the Lord to address the issue that lies before us?
“I forgive you,” must be said and it must be said often in a marriage.