living God’s truth | Elaine Olsen

Guarding the Sacred

October 22, 2008

My son was watching for his morning ride to school. I was waiting for my rest. The latter wouldn’t come until the former had walked its course. It did, and after hugs and kisses good-bye, I made my way to the bedroom and opened up the Word of God.

I didn’t know at the time that his watching and my waiting would eventually weave together as a sacred portrait of truth, but God knew. He began the portrait even before I began my daily reading. But as so often the case with a heart in a hurry for a quick fix of Jesus, the holy breath of a single moment is sometimes missed. Overlooked and pushed aside in favor of a seemingly more divine approach to doing life with Jesus.

I missed it this morning, temporarily. But God knew that I needed it. Thus, he tendered my heart with his Word, and opened up my eyes to receive a gift that might have, otherwise, gone unnoticed. It would punctuate on the other side of my reading from Proverbs 4:23-27.

“Above all else, guard your heart, for it is the wellspring of life. Put away perversity from your mouth; keep corrupt talk far from your lips. Let your eyes look straight ahead; fix your gaze directly before you. Make level paths for your feet and take only ways that are firm. Do not swerve to the right or the left; keep your foot from evil.” (Proverbs 4:23-27).

Guarding the heart. What does that look like? It looks intense. From the Hebrew transliterated word natsar:

“To guard, watch, watch over, keep; to preserve, to guard from dangers; to be kept close, to be blockaded; watchman.”[i]

Further is carries the heaviness of the Hebrew transliterated word mishmar meaning “a place of confinement, prison, guard, jail, guardpost, watch, observant.”[ii]

Guarding the heart is serious business. Why? Because the heart houses the wellspring of true living.

“Jesus answered, ‘Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.’” (John 4:13-14).

“On the last and greatest day of the Feast, Jesus stood and said in a loud voice, ‘If anyone is thirsty, let him come to me and drink. Whoever believes in me, as the Scripture has said, streams of living water will flow from within him.’ By this he meant the Spirit, whom those who believed in him were later to receive. …” (John 7:37-39a).

Our hearts are worthy of watchful care. Not only do they rhythm with the pulse of our next breath, but greater still, they rhythm with the pulse of the Holy Spirit’s indwelling. And that combination, friends, is a proverbial dam waiting to burst its wet onto the lives of those who walk within its reach. He is a worthy cause. His holy dwelling—our hearts—are a worthy upkeep.

Keeping purity at a premium requires more than a casual approach to heart tending. Keeping purity means keeping watch. It means a straight walk from today into tomorrow. A fixed gaze on the unseen, yet fully accessible God who seeds our lives with the truth of his identity everyday and in everyway. It means sticking to the beaten path even when the unmarked trails proffer their adventure and intrigue. It means putting one foot in front of the other, even though the dance on the peripheral voices a fanciful escape.

It means not worrying about the scenery on the right and in the left, but only on the scene that landscapes directly in front of us. The long awaited finished line that punctuates with an eternal glory that far outweighs the exploration of temporal paths. Guarding the good and sacred deposit given to each one of us as believers in Jesus Christ comes with a deliberate and focused watch over the heart … over what’s getting in and what’s flowing out.

We do it through spending time on our faces in prayer with that God. We do it by training our minds with the truth of God’s Word. We do it by refusing the world’s dressing and, instead, dressing ourselves in full battle gear that includes: a belt of truth, a breastplate of righteousness, two shoes (not one) of peace’s gospel, the shield of faith, the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the indwelling and uncompromising Spirit of the living God.

And if you’re a little child, one who houses a wild and tenacious imagination toward all things that go bump in the night or otherwise, you do it by keeping your rifle in hand, pulling up a chair, and fixing your watchful gaze on the world outside.

This is God’s portrait of truth, painted for me without my knowing. Saved for me and for a moment when I was unhurried and unconcerned about a quick fix of Jesus. The holy breath of heaven breathed its witness in my house this morning. He came in his Word and spoke a good teaching. He came through the witness of my son’s imagination and shouted his profound punctuation.

Doing life with Jesus has never tasted any sweeter. I’m guarding it more closely today. Thus I pray,

Thank you, Lord, for the eyes to see the tracing of your hand in my life—through your Word and through the simple posture of a child’s imagination. Never let my spiritual routine become my excuse for not living in the moment. For not pausing to contemplate the extraordinary wrappings of any extraordinary grace that comes in all types of packages, big and small. I thank you for my son’s watchful care of our home. May the watchful care of my heart speak with such similar and fervent intention. Amen.

[i] http://studylight.org/desk/?l=en&query=Proverbs+4%3A23-27&section=0&translation=nsn&oq=&sr=1
[ii] http://studylight.org/desk/?l=en&query=Proverbs+4%3A23-27&section=0&translation=nsn&oq=&sr=1

Copyright © October 2008 – Elaine Olsen. All rights reserved.

The Rhythm of Eternity

October 18, 2008

“He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end.” (Ecclesiastes 3:11).

My college-age son is home for the weekend. He is my delight and joy and the welcome of my heart on every occasion. He is becoming the man I never imagined him to be because as a young mother at twenty-three, I wasn’t prone to my imagination. I was simply prone to survival. Both his and mine.

In many ways, those days seem long ago and packed away as a seasonal remembrance. I don’t recall them often. But every now and then, even though he is well on his path toward manhood, I am reminded about the springtime of his youthful beginnings. I catch a glimpse of a little blonde-headed boy who took to life with a passion for the process. It was a process seeded and watered and grown alongside his younger brother.

They are quite a pair. Best friends. Fierce warriors. Competitive in most things, yet quick to applaud one another’s accolades. I can’t imagine one without the other, but when Nick left home almost two years ago, I had to. Imagine. Them apart. The silence was palpable. The room above my bedroom no longer bore the strain of two sets of feet. The late night conversations between them no longer kept me awake or forced my intrusion in the matter.

And while I welcome the more quiet approach to nighttime routine, I miss their voices. I miss their laughter. I miss knowing that all of my children are safe and sound and tucked in for another night of rest under my roof. We don’t have many of those nights now, but when we do—when Nick comes home to rest in his old and with his familiar—the floors creak their resistance and the late night conversations return.

Last night was one of those nights. Rather than reaching for the broom that stands bedside as my implement for reminding the boys about my need for rest, I reached for the earplugs. And instead of hearing the sounds of my sons’ laughter and conversation, I heard the echoes of something far different. Remote at first. Louder and more persistent as time elapsed.

I heard the beat of my own heart.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Over and over again, until the sound took the stage of my imagination, and I began to ponder the magnitude of what I was hearing. Last night, over the din of an upstairs conversation and through the rhythmic lull of a heart’s beat, I heard the cadence of heaven’s pulse. I heard …

Eternity.

What does eternity sound like? How does it hear? Greater still, how does it breathe?

It sounds precise and continuous. It hears vivid and real. It breathes genuine and on purpose. One beat after another and with the focused intention of keeping me alive and keeping me as useful.

God knew what he was doing when he seeded eternity into the hearts of men and women. No other vessel in the human body could house such significance. No other organ could more appropriately dress the magnitude of such a gift. No other portion of this fleshly frame could support the creative genius of an eternal pulse. None. Why?

Because our hearts are the navigational force behind our steps.

Our feet won’t move forward without the beat of the heart.
Our minds won’t motion their purpose without the beat of the heart.
Our giftings won’t serve the world without the beat of the heart.
Our plans won’t come to fruition without the beat of the heart.
Our love won’t wrap its arms without the beat of the heart.
Our souls won’t find their rest without the beat of the heart.
Our sins won’t find their grace without the beat of the heart.
Our lives won’t live their sacred worth without the beat of the heart.

In every way and in every day, the heart completely and holy matters. The heart is the significant linchpin when it comes to living the gift of a single day. Without its pulse, we are dead. Done. Completely and fully out of options. When the heart stops servicing our frames, the eternal seeding therein moves elsewhere.

Either onto the full and promised perfection of heaven or into the full and promised ruination of hell. That, my friends, is what eternity sounds like. That is how it hears and, greater still, that is how it breathes.

Forever.

Not just today or in the things that we can touch and feel and manage with our minds. But for always and especially in ways that are beyond our understanding and our reasoned grasp. There are untold mysteries encased within the parameters of a heart’s pulse. We cannot fully fathom nor plumb the depths of such treasures.

If we are Christians, then we can begin in our understanding of one of them. His name is Jesus, and he owns the pulse of our hearts. He lives within this sacred vessel and tends to our eternal seed with the loving grace that will carry us home to our forever.

But for those who are not Christians, for those who have yet to begin in their understanding of all things sacred, their eternal seed lies dormant. Tended to by the wisdom and careful watch of an enemy who shrouds the truth of God’s unseen eternal with the lies of a temporal “as good as it gets.” With the voice that breathes the deception of…

An absent everlasting seed.
A day that walks in isolation.
A life not worthy of further examination.

Regardless of the lie, eternity’s seed still exists. No amount of pretending that it doesn’t changes the truth that it does, in fact, exist. Every human being is created with a heart worthy of heaven. In this very moment, it beats with the witness of sacred possibility. For you. For me and for the sake and salvation of a created race who has never taken the time to listen. Can you hear it? Won’t you try?

Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.
Thump … thump.
Thump.
T h u m p.
T h h h—————————-u———————m——————————–p.

Where will your eternity land?

With holy fear and trembling, I pray that yours will be seeded and watered alongside mine … with Jesus in heaven. Thus I pray,

Thank you for seeding us all with the gift of eternity, Father, even when our soiled hearts refuse the planting. Prod us toward further understanding in the matter, and stir our need in restless confusion until we pause to clarify your truth. Thank you for choosing the likes of my heart as your dwelling. Make me ever mindful of your presence within and ever careful to acknowledge your living witness to others. You are the treasure of my flesh. Thank you for making me yours. Amen.

Have a blessed Sabbath rest, sweet ones. You have been so kind and gracious in your words and prayers for me this week. I love you dearly. Shalom!

Copyright © October 2008 – Elaine Olsen. All rights reserved.

The Mirrored "Truth"

October 15, 2008

“When Sanballet heard that we were rebuilding the wall, he became angry and was greatly incensed. He ridiculed the Jews, and in the presence of his associates and the army of Samaria, he said, ‘What are those feeble Jews doing? Will they restore their wall? Will they offer sacrifices? Will they finish in a day? Can they bring the stones back to life from those heaps of rubble—burned as they are?’” (Nehemiah 4:1-2).

I read her words this morning. They immediately paused my spirit and required my notice. I will be buying her book. I have no idea the format for the book, but I know a good writer when I read one. Words move me. Spin me. Challenge me and speak to the deepest need within me. And when a writer can do that with just a few sentences, it catches my breath and enlivens my spirit with a passion for the read.

This kind of pull creates an interesting mix of emotions for me. I celebrate her gift. I appreciate her gift. I have no doubts that I will enjoy her gift of words in the days to come. That being said, when I read the obvious giftings of another writer’s pen, I sometimes wonder why I bother with my own.

And while I am overjoyed with the thought of digging into another good read, I look in my own mirror this day with thoughts of confusion. Thoughts of pain. Thoughts that dig at the root of my own giftedness and the reality that there is still so much I want to say, while feeling so ill-qualified to do so.

When I look at my reflection, I don’t see possibility. Today, I see less. I see brokenness … rejection … failure. I see a 42 year old woman who allows herself the taunt of the enemy, even as it voiced over 2500 years ago to Nehemiah and God’s people.

What is your feeble flesh trying to do, Elaine?
Will you restore your wall?
Will you bring your limited giftings … your sacrifices … as an offering to God?
Will you finish in a day? After all, we’re at 42 years and still counting…
Can you bring your stones back to life … your heaps of rubble, burned as they are—fractured, splintered and unworthy of notice?

The moment paints grim. I know. I’m sorry if it bothers you, but I imagine that you have authored your own share of such moments.

It won’t last. God’s work and Word in my life are too powerful … too willing and too truthful to let the lies of the enemy own the stage. When God looks in my mirror, his perspective is different from mine. This is a very good thing, for I am prone to my confusion when it comes to reasoning the difference between God’s truth and the enemy’s version therein.

In my own strength, and in my own willful pursuits for healing, my feeble flesh will fail. My wall will never know restoration. My giftings will remain as they are—limited. I cannot finish in a day what has taken some four decades to build. And above all, I cannot breathe life into my stones of rubble that have known deep fracture and heated burn. I can try, but honestly, my efforts at restoration haven’t moved me beyond moments like today. I’m still looking in the mirror with regrets. I can do very little to change the condition of life.

But God can do it all. Everything. He is the one who holds the blueprints for my life. And for all of the times when I see the fracture and burn of a disobedient life, he visions better. He sees promise. Rather than casting my rubbled remnants aside, he lovingly picks them up, dusts them off, and breathes his healing into their broken. He uses the stones of my yesterday to rebuild the walls of my today.

I am a living stone being built into a spiritual household that will endure the test of time and survive the vicious taunts of the enemy.

Oh that my healing would walk its course in a day’s time. That would be lovely and seemingly picture perfect. But God never intended for my perfection to author in a day. Lasting beauty births with the brushstrokes of longevity. The colors in my Father’s palette paint living and vivid and real. He seeds my restoration according to his time table, not mine. I cannot understand his wisdom in the matter, but I humbly respect it and bow to accept it. Not out of resignation because I am unable to force his hand in the matter, but rather because his grace has been so willing to paint me into his eternal landscape.

I am the penchant of my Father’s heart. A true work in progress. Some would say, I’m not worthy of Louvre Museum. And I would say that I’m not after the Louvre.

I’m after Jesus.

And if my portrait never makes the front page here, it has already made the front page in heaven. In part, on the day when Calvary painted its cross on a hillside. In part, on the day I accepted the grace of that cross as my own. In full, on another day yet to come when God’s words, via his pen, will punctuate his well done on my behalf.

There is nothing else that matters, even though the world begs to differ. Even though I beg to differ in times like these, when I focus on my failing flesh rather than the masterpiece that God is after. I know the truth. I love God’s truth, but there are seasons in my journey when living truth’s depth and breadth is the hardest requirement of my feeble faith.
Such has been my week. Maybe yours too. Thus, I pray…

You alone, Father, make me worthy. You, living in me, allow my brokenness to know healing. My failures to find purpose. My sacrifices to breathe acceptable. My restoration to be complete. Forgive me when I can’t see your grace at work and enable me to receive it, even when the mirror breaks in temporal rebellion. You have died for my freedom, for my beauty and my renewal. Paint me complete, and grant me the patience for the process. Today, once again, I surrender the brush. Amen.

God’s Plow … My Longing

October 6, 2008

“He said to another man, ‘Follow me.’ But the man replied ‘Lord, first let me go and bury my father.’ Jesus said to him, ‘Let the dead bury their own dead, but you go and proclaim the kingdom of God.’ Still another man said, ‘I will follow you, Lord; but first let me go back and say good-by to my family.’ Jesus replied, ‘No one who puts his hand to the plow and looks back is fit for service in the kingdom of God.’” (Luke 9:59-62).

There is a difficult tug that exists within my heart.

A pull between my love for the plow and my longing for a backwards glance. There exists a sacred tension between the two because I am cut from a cloth that weaves accordingly. God seeded within my temporal flesh the eternal possibility of a life beyond my flesh. Thus, the rub.

Flesh verses forever … housed together within each one of us, requiring that we understand and overcome the strain that exists between these extremes. We were made the plow; yet, we are prone to a backwards glance. And somewhere in the midst of our understanding the difference, we must overcome our fleshly tendencies in order to undertake the higher cause of Jesus Christ. If we refuse the learning, we are as useless before God and in his service for the greater good of humanity.

I felt this simply and yet profoundly in the past week. There is a new song out on country music radio, and I liked it the first time I heard it. It had a good beat … a lively rhythm and a catchy chorus that awakened my interest. But after a first listen and further examination of its questionable lyrics, I realized that it was not a song I should further indulge. Not because I am bound by legalism, but rather because it tugged at something deeper within me.

A backwards glance.

A life I no longer live, and yet a life that I can quickly retreat to in a moment’s pause. Sometimes through a song. Sometimes through all manner of triggers that call for my retreat. And because I am not in the business of retreating from God’s calling upon my life, I must refuse the invitation.

Because God’s Spirit lives inside of me, it is within my power to do so; but when I neglect his promptings, when I choose a backwards glance over the plow that grips my heart, I lose a portion of the holy ground that is mine to claim and mine to plow for God’s kingdom agenda.

A cluttered mind filled with a backwards longing is a mind unfit to move on with God.

He said as much to a few well-meaning pilgrims who intended to join his cause, but who refused his calling (see Luke 9:57-62). At first glance, it is a difficult teaching to understand. Jesus’ words seem harsh; after all, these men simply wanted to bring some closure to their past before moving on with Jesus in their present.

He calls into question their motives and their usability within his kingdom purposes:

“‘No one who puts his hand to the plow and looks back is fit for service in the kingdom of God.’” (Luke 9:62).

What a reproof! What a rejection. It is warranted, but the reason for Christ’s stern rebuke is often missed, simply because we are painfully focused on the severity of Jesus’ response.

The culprit for his reprimand? Four seemingly harmless words spoken by both men, yet when placed in context alongside the Savior’s sacred call for discipleship, words that became hugely complex and worthy of a harsh reproach.

“‘Lord, first let me… ’”

“Lord” and “first let me” is an unholy coupling. My firsts and the Lord’s firsts are incompatible. We cannot claim him as Lord and still harbor a “me first” within. We can try. In fact, we have mastered the vernacular. We simply cloak our “me first’s” in less obvious and less offensive terms.

We don’t mean to; not always. But on each occasion when our minds trade in the plow of God’s current for the pull of a backwards glance, we offend the cause of the cross for which he died. We are limited in our holy usefulness because our “first let me” takes the lead. And when it comes to the Gospel of Jesus Christ and the seeding of it within the soil given to us for the plowing, his leading takes a back seat to no one. No thing. No memory. No backwards glance. No time for another agenda other than the one that he has entrusted to us.

If we choose to bury his agenda in favor of our “me first”—our backwards glance that refuses the pulse of the present—then we need to understand that little, if any, kingdom influence will be allowed our flesh. Period.

When God calls, God requires a response. And if our response is anything but a resounding “yes” to the present and to our beyond, we will remain shackled to a past that breathes without hope and within the boundaries of an irreversible history that has already been written.

I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to be stuck in my history. I want to be present with my Jesus in my now. I want to move forward with him. With my hand to his plow and his earth beneath my feet. With his seed in my heart and his yoke around my neck. I want to walk the fields of harvest with Jesus, sowing and watering and gleaning to the outer edges of my faith.

I don’t want to miss his ahead because of the “me first” of my behind. Honestly, I can’t think of one moment in my yesterdays that is worthy of sacrificing one moment of my now with Jesus. Can you? If you can, may I be so bold to suggest that you are going nowhere with God?

You’re stuck, and being stuck isn’t an excuse for staying as you are. You are a sinner saved by grace who is given the high and holy privilege of moving onto perfection. It is within your power to do so because, if you are a Christian, you house the presence and the living power of God’s Spirit within.

There is no mystery to your moving forward. It simply requires your refusal to longingly entreat the pull of a backwards glance. Backwards glances come in all shapes and sizes. Maybe through something as simple as a song, a book, or a television show. Maybe through something as complex as a relationship, an addiction, or a sin that entreats your imagination and pulls hard at your will. Regardless of the trigger, if allowed safe sanctuary within your mind and your heart, its voice will be heard.

It sounds a lot like me first. It sounds a lot like retreat. It sounds a lot like refusal.

And whenever we refuse God’s invitation to follow, his voice will be heard. It is louder than ours and cuts with more clarified precision than any justification we can offer in the matter. And that, my friends, sounds a whole lot like holy rejection—a painful contrast to what I truly and deeply desire.

I want to be fit for kingdom purpose. I want the privilege of sacred participation in the higher cause of Jesus Christ. I want the same for you. Thus, I pray…

Purify and cleanse our minds, Lord. Purge and eradicate the “me first’s” from our wills. Let your plow be our portion and the pull of a backwards glance be our refusal. Fill us to the outer edges of our flesh with the wild and untamed overflow of your Spirit. You are our future. You are our forever. Keep our eyes fixed accordingly. Amen.

Copyright © October 2008 – Elaine Olsen. All rights reserved.

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My Father’s Heart

October 2, 2008

“‘For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.’” (John 3:16).

My father’s heart.

It sat for examination yesterday under the microscope of the learned. A blockage was found. A stint was inserted, and today he rests in the care of his beloved wife who’s been tending to his heart for nearly fifty years.

He didn’t know what the scrutinizing would yield. He only knew that he must submit his heart to the process of thorough assessment because earlier indicators urged him accordingly. He didn’t relish the idea going in. Who would? After all, heart business is hard business.

It requires.
It relinquishes.
It refuses.
It reminds.

Requires submission. Relinquishes control. Refuses the easy road. Reminds us of the fragility of life.

Indeed, heart business is hard business, and for those who are unwilling to bow to the authority of the learned, a heart’s health is often ignored. Left unexamined, a heart can become the fertile soil for a terminal disease. A death—physically, and even more so, spiritually.

But when a heart is allowed the light, when a heart is laid bare beneath the scope of understanding and superior wisdom, disease is quickly detected and a regimen toward heart healing is put into action.

Here’s the verdict according to John 3:19-21:

Light has come into the world. For a reason. For our heart’s examination. But men love darkness. Why? Because light exposes evil—the diseases that are eating away at the health of a heart. And quite frankly, we are a people prone to the easy of our hidden rather than the hard of our exposure.

We fear the light because of what it will require. Because of what we must relinquish. Because light always refuses the quick road to recovery and because light reminds us of our tenuous and frail condition. Light is our necessary portion, but often it remains our continual refusal because light insists on the truth.

And the truth about truth is this: Truth is the holy ground where the enemy will always wage his fiercest battles.

Evil thrives in the deep and in the dark and in the secrets that cower in perceived hiddenness and silence. Perceived because, even in the hidden and the quiet, Satan would have us to believe that this is where evil will remain. But this is his grand and unholy lie. Evil is never silent. Evil is never hidden. Evil insists on its own voice and evil persists in its peeking in and around the corners of our hearts until we can no longer refuse its anonymity.

Evil is the penchant of an unexamined life, and until our hearts are laid bare for a thorough assessment by the learned, evil will fester its growth and will foster its fatality into a life that was never meant to die.

Here’s the good news:

We were not made for the darkness. We are a people of light. A people who do not shrink back from the embrace of its exposure, but rather run toward it and bask beneath the light’s illumination because our faith dictates such a response (Hebrews 10:39). Jesus is the Light of the world, and it is for freedom that he has set us free.

Freedom to come into the light. Freedom to expose the deeds of our former darkness, and to walk in the truth of just how far we have come in the journey toward heart health and kingdom perfection. When we stand in the unveiling light of God’s truth for all the world to see, we stand as a witness to the transforming work of a lavish grace that bled for our release.

And here’s the truth about that Truth:

If our Father had never allowed his heart a thorough assessment—a full surrender to the process of a world’s heart cleansing through his son Jesus Christ—we would still be stumbling and fumbling around in our dark … in our death.

Unlike us, God knew what the scrutinizing would yield. It would necessiate his Son’s obedience to a cross. A Son who willingly chose the hard of an exposure that required his submission. That relinquished his control. That refused an easy road, and that painfully reminded them both about the frailty of the human condition.

Our condition. Yours and mine. A heart disease that required his heart’s submission, even unto death upon a cross.

My Father’s heart.

Who can fathom the depths of such a wondrous love?! Light has come into the world, my friends. He calls for our surrender today. Not to embarrass us or to shame us, but rather to free us from the chains of sin’s darkness. We can walk in the light because he is in the light (1 John 1:7), and he is our Father whose heart bled long and wide and high and deep in order to bring his children home. Thus I pray,

God of Light, illuminate my darkness. Shatter the lies of my sin with the truth of your grace. Strengthen my steps for the journey into the light, even though my flesh cries out for the secrets and for the dark. And when I am scared Father, about my exposure and the hard business required of me for my heart’s health, remind me of your Son’s willingness to sit for examination under the microscope of Calvary’s purification. Humbly I bow my heart to your authority and to your scrutiny this day. Amen.

~elaine

If you have the occasion today, please re-visit John 3:1-21. Read it again with fresh eyes. There’s a treasure trove of truth revealed through the Apostle’s pen and our Savior’s words. Shalom.

Category Archives: living God’s truth