out of the mouths of babes

The Dark Side of Genesis

August 21, 2008

“In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the spirit of God was hovering over the waters. And God said, ‘Let there be light,’ and there was light. God saw that the light was good, and he separated the light from the darkness. God called the light ‘day,’ and the darkness he called ‘night.’ And there was evening, and there was morning—the first day.” (Genesis 1:1-5).

“Momma, how old is God?”

“God doesn’t have an age. God simply is. He is timeless.”

“Is he at least a hundred?”

“At least.”

“A thousand?”

“At least.”

“Was he here before it was dark?”

“Of course he was. Well…hmmmmm. Let me get back to you on that one.”

My children’s questions about God are the rich treasures in this season of our “doing life” together. Their hearts are tender and ripe for the seeding of sacred truth. They couldn’t have asked such questions a few years ago; their articulations prevented them from doing so. But they’ve grown, both in the physical and in the spiritual, and their hearts cry out for further clarity on some issues. For truth. For the firm roots that will form their theology about who God is and about his role in their world. Theology formed in the right now, will likely stay with them for a long season.

Thus, I want to answer them correctly and with the truth that is firmly entrenched in my own heart. I want to, but unfortunately, there are times when my “want to” doesn’t match up with my knowledge. Today was one of those days.

My daughter wants to know if God was around before there was darkness.

Darkness to her may not mean the same thing as it does to you and to me. As Christians, we level countless spiritual metaphors with the concept of darkness.

Evil.
Satan.
Sin.
Lawlessness.
Prodigal living.
Separation.
Hell.

But my daughter wasn’t asking for metaphors and for spiritual application. Darkness to Amelia means a few simple things.

Bedtime.
Bath and pj’s.
Absence of sunlight.
Moon and stars.
Monsters and an entire host of scary happenings that seem to only surface when the lights go down.
Insecurity.
Separation from mom and dad.

What Amelia wanted to know was where her God was when “dark nights” came into being. Was he alive? Was he aware? And I think, in part,

What in the world was he thinking?

If God was in the beginning, a God wrapped in unapproachable light and glory, why on earth did he create life with a dark side? Why, indeed?!

It’s a good question. And while darkness defines differently for my daughter and me, to ponder its beginning is a worthy dig for me tonight. Thus, I head back to the beginning—to the genesis of all beginnings. And here is what I know to be true as found in Genesis 1:1-5. In the beginning there was…

God (Elohim /plural).
Heavens.
An earth void of form.
Some dark.
Some deep.
Some waters.
Some holy hovering.

(Read it again, forming the picture in your mind…)

And then…

There was light. The first spoken word of creation. Light. Good light. A day’s light that allowed a day’s expression and appreciation for God’s creative genius. Darkness didn’t find its creation on that first day. It already was; it simply found its separation from that which received God’s audible and holy “good.”

Does this mean that darkness is bad? I’m not sure. But it was surely present in the beginning, and God thought it important enough for there to be a division between darkness and light. It makes sense that He who created the one is also the creator of the other. God speaks to this through the prophet Isaiah when he says,

“I form the light and create darkness, …” (Isaiah 45:7).

And to Job when he says,

“‘Who shut up the sea behind doors when it burst forth from the womb, when I made the clouds its garment and wrapped it in thick darkness, …?’” (Job 38:8-9).

So it seems as if I have an answer to the first notion of my daughter’s question. Yes, precious Amelia, I think that God is older than the darkness. But as to the second unspoken part of your question that deals with the darkness’s purpose, the answer is more veiled. And while I cannot fully reason the importance of a night’s darkness, God permitted its breath.

Perhaps to allow evil to find its metaphor.
Perhaps to allow free will to find its roam.
Perhaps to pulse the antithesis of God’s lighted witness.
Perhaps, because, God knew that without it, we would never fully appreciate the embrace of a new and every morning’s kind of faithful light.

And perhaps, just maybe, because he knew that the faith of a child lives pretty simply and that the mystery and seeming danger of a night’s hold would create the needful longing for the light’s approach.

Twenty-four hours of light, 365 days a year, breathes complacent and walks easy. But when half of our life breathes heavy and walks hard with the darkness that is allowed its measure of influence, well…it creates in us the same needful longing that it creates in my daughter.

A hunger for Light.
A desire for living, not sleeping.
A yearning for awareness and for participation in a day’s doing.
A longing to see that which cannot be visioned under the cover of darkness.

And that, my friends, seeds some purpose into any night’s pause. If it leads me to my hunger for Jesus in deeper measure, then heartily and willingly I pray,

Let the evening come, Lord, and let it blanket me with the expectancy of your morning’s Light. Let not the separation fuel my fear, but rather let the separation stir my longing for walking in the illumination of a new day’s faithfulness. Thank you for the mystery of my beginnings. Keep me to the study of your Word so that I am ready with an answer for the hope that breathes within me. But most importantly, keep me to my awe for the mysterious unanswerables in your Word. Root me in knowledge, but anchor me in faith. Amen.

~elaine

How grateful I am for the treasure of God’s Word and the study therein. I might not always do it perfectly, but I am confident of its effectual work in me. I hope that you feel the same. Thank you for the privilege of “digging” alongside you this day. May God’s Word breathe its strong witness over your heart and life even now! Shalom.

A Second Ladle of Grace from Amelia’s Wishing Well

May 28, 2008

“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).

She couldn’t have known what her time at the well would mean for her in the days to come. Truth had come to meet her at the point of her deepest need. And when Truth arrives,

Truth transforms and transcends. He reveals and he requires. He invites and he instructs. He confronts and he commissions. He loves and he lasts.

What she decided to do with that Truth would count for always. Rather than run from Truth, she drank deeply from his sacred ladle to know a lasting grace that would follow her into her always. It was an always that would soon transpire into a second ladle of grace, portioned out upon the soil of her past.

“Many of the Samaritans from that town believed in him because of the woman’s testimony, ‘He told me everything I ever did.’ So when the Samaritans came to him, they urged him to stay with them, and he stayed two days. And because of his words many more became believers. They said to the woman, ‘We no longer believe just because of what you said; now we have heard for ourselves, and we know that this man really is the Savior of the world.’” (John 4:39-42).

Can you trace the power of a journey’s thirst that leads one to pause at a well? A pause that stops along the way to cast a penny’s hope into the sacred waters that stir with the breath of a Father’s intent? The Samaritan woman came with her emptiness. She left with a spring of water welling up within her to eternal life.

Eternity for her. Eternity for those who witnessed her transformation.

That is the way of sacred wishing and sacred waters. One cannot experience a taste of the Truth and leave as unchanged. God’s grace extended beyond her single ladle of refreshment to become a second helping of grace for those who knew her best. As it was for this Samaritan woman and her community so long ago, so it was for my household this past weekend.

I didn’t know there would be a P.S. added to A Penny’s Worth of Wishing—a second ladle of grace dipped from the same fountain that cradled my daughter’s wish for her Father to come and to reveal himself to her. One ladle was almost more than this mother’s heart could handle.

Almost.

But God is like that. He is a more than God. And when the well of Living Water touches the life of one, it ripples outward to touch the life of another. In this case, another named Jadon. Another I call son.

I would be remiss if I didn’t take time to script this P.S., for its worth far exceeds a penny’s throw. Its worth measures eternal.

My son has been walking around his sister’s salvation story for a couple of months now. She asked Jesus into her heart on Good Friday, and I chronicled her moment in a post entitled A Cradled Surrender. At that time, Jadon made some mumblings about a similar wanting, but because my son is prone to following…to impulsivity rather than conscious decision…I confess that I gave little credence to his words.

My heart was tender to his thoughts, but I wanted Jadon to come to his own conclusion in the matter of faith…to come into a saving relationship with Jesus Christ in his own time, in his own way, rather than riding on the coattails of his sister’s experience. That moment has come, and just yesterday, while sitting on the back porch steps with my son, he told me a story that is worthy of my pen.

Jadon told me about his moments at the wishing well. He had accompanied us on our field trip to find a well that would cradle our pennies’ worth of dreams, and while my attention was solely focused on Amelia making her wish, my little boy was making one of his own.

“Mommy, I asked God into my heart at the wishing well the other day.”

“What does that mean to you, son?”

“I know he is here in my heart. All four pennies were worth everything.”

Brief words. Powerful in their impact.

Enough said. Enough time for him to come to his own conclusion in the matter. Enough words to silence this mother’s misgivings and to finally embrace the tender declaration of a son’s wish.

We talked further, and then we prayed a prayer of firm commitment.

How could I have known that a trip to a wishing well would mean one thing to one child, and then, in turn, would mean everything for another child? That is the power of a journey’s thirst that leads a soul to the ladling from God’s sacred well. A drink from the fountain of Living Water always exceeds the parameters of a single wish. It spills forth onto everyone within range.

Sacred ladling…

Reveals Truth. Reshapes hearts. Renews perspective. Revives the dying. Rewrites forever.

First and second helpings. Thirds and fourths and beyond. One P.S. after another until all the world has been given the opportunity to drink. You and I, even Jadon and Amelia, host the eternal waters of our living God as he churns within our frame. He is meant for the overflow. He is meant for the spilling. We all have been given the sacred trust of carrying his ladle to our near and to our far…to our moments that exist ahead of this one.

To cast his life’s wish into the fountain of humanity so that all people can fully know and boldly proclaim that he really is…

the Savior of the world who readily receives our four pennies worth of wishing and showers us, in return, with the gift of everything.

And so I pray…

Thank you, Father, for a second ladling of grace… for the times when your working exceeds my visioning. Thank you for the ladles that will come to others through my life and through the lives of my children. Keep our quenching to the eternal waters of your filling. Let our taste for the world drink bitter while our taste for You drinks sweet. You, alone, are worthy of every wish of my heart. May your name be glorified and lifted up because of our time spent at your well this week. Amen.

A Penny’s Worth of Wishing

May 27, 2008

“After he said this, he was taken up before their very eyes, and a cloud hid him from their sight. They were looking intently up into the sky as he was going, when suddenly two men dressed in white stood beside them. ‘Men of Galilee,’ they said, ‘why do you stand here looking into the sky? This same Jesus, who has been taken from you into heaven, will come back in the same way you have seen him go into heaven.’” (Acts 1:9-11).

“Mommy, someday if we see a wishing well, could I throw a coin in?”

“Yes, baby. What would you wish for?”

“I’d wish that Jesus was down here on earth so that I could see him.”

“What would you say to him?”

“I’d tell him that I love him.”

“I think you just did.”

A deep conversation between mother and daughter, packed within a stop-light’s pause. A moment worthy of a pen and some scrap paper—actually the back of a large manila envelope containing, yet, another rejection notice from a publisher.
My mind really wasn’t on the road. It should have been, but my heart was otherwise inclined to its wandering. My trailing thoughts were interrupted by her words. They were words meant for my ears, for they scripted the similar penchant of my heart.

Words that spoke of wishing wells and pennies and a throw that just might bring a heart’s desire to fruition. Words of invitation, asking for the Father to reveal himself in the flesh.

Amelia wanted to see the Jesus that lives in her heart, for with the seeing, faith becomes a little more real. And this mother and her little girl are all about our Jesus being real to us.

Indeed…this was a penny’s worth of some sacred thinking. Hopes and dreams. Mine. Hers. Yours. And the dearest wish of those who stood in the presence of the risen Lord just moments prior to his departure.

I wonder how many wishing wells the disciples passed that day on their way back to Jerusalem. Back to their waiting for the promised gift of God’s Spirit. Back to their uncertainty. Back to life in their new usual, for their old usual had been interrupted by the unusual, unexplainable, and unimaginable presence of the Divine.

Life would never be as it once was. That is the way of a sacred journey that has encountered the truth of Jesus Christ. Truth transforms and transcends. He reveals and he requires. He invites and he instructs. He confronts and he commissions. He loves and he lasts. What we do with that Truth—how we choose to walk in or to walk away from that Truth—is a choice allowed its lingering within the well of our will.

From that well, we either draw out a ladle of obedience or a portion of defiance. Both choices are laced with the wet of the living Water because once Christ crashes onto the scene of our current, we cannot leave as unchanged. We can ignore. We can pretend that He never happened. We can push him under the rug of our routine, but at the end of the day…at the end of a life,

All ignoring and pretending and pushing aside drains our cups to empty, while leaving the rim salted with the savor of the Sacred. We can no longer swallow life without swallowing him first.

It’s a bitter swallow for some, but for my daughter and me…

He’s the sweetest taste of our souls.

Perhaps this is reason behind her wish this day…her desire to throw a penny’s wish in hopes of seeing her Lord. A life span of almost six years has been more than enough time for her to begin in her understanding of her Savior’s love over her precious life. A young heart wrapped around this kind of truth, is a heart marked for kingdom living.

Miss Amelia has begun her quest toward her eternal. She reminds me of someone I once knew. And just today, that someone fell in love with her Savior all over again. At a stop light’s pause. Through a child’s words. In a penny’s wish for a Father to come and to be present, so that she could simply voice her love to him.

Face to face. Heart to heart. Child to Father. Sinner to Savior.

I don’t know the wish of your heart this day. We spend a lifetime wishing and wanting for more. More stuff. More money. More health. More purpose. More wisdom. More love. More time. More joy. More _______________.

I wonder what would happen if we would simply pause long enough to cease from our wanting “more” and to, instead, throw our penny’s wish into the one well that always ladles sacred. That always serves satisfaction. That always fills to overflow…to more…to beyond the portion that we could ever ask for or imagine.

I wonder.

And it is this wondering part of me—the childlike portion that remains tender to the possibility of a penny’s wish—that led me to find a few coppers and to navigate my van to a well not far from our home.

For all of the things we could have wished for in those moments before the fountain (we had a lot of pennies…), we first wished for Jesus to come. Then, we wished for other things, like telescopes and surprises and a publisher and some peace. And as we smiled and walked around the water’s edge, somewhere in the trickle of its cascade I could have sworn that I heard the whisper of my Father echoing from deep within…

Behold, dearly beloved child. I am coming soon! And I am bringing my reward with me. And my reward belongs to you and to your daughter and to everyone whose heart’s hope is scripted with my name. I am coming to take you home to the place that I have prepared for you. A place that exceeds your wish. Where faith becomes sight. Where forever becomes final. (Rev. 22:12; John 14:1-4; 1 Cor. 2:9, 1 Cor. 13:12).

And so I pray,

Come quickly, Lord Jesus, to the well of my hope. Today I throw my pennies…my life…in your regard and ask that you make yourself real to me. Split the sky and stand upon my current. How I long to see you face to face and to throw these arms around the arms the hung in surrender for me. You are my wish, for you are my beginning. My end. And my middle. Everything else…everyone else…is just filler. Keep my faith at a child’s understanding, so that pennies and wishes and wells become my portion, as my skepticism and doubting fade to black. Amen.

Fighting to Win (part one): Getting the Right Perspective

May 5, 2008

“ … He was ruddy, with a fine appearance and handsome features. Then the LORD said, ‘Rise and anoint him; he is the one.’ So Samuel took the horn of oil and anointed him in the presence of his brothers, and from that day on the Spirit of the LORD came upon David in power. … ” (1 Samuel 16:12-13).

“Mom…can you guess what Bible story I am pretending?”

After surveying his armor, along with the surrounding scene, it didn’t take me long. Perhaps you already know by looking at the picture. But if you don’t look closely, you’ll miss the reason behind this post…behind my desire for a closer examination of this story through a series of posts.

There, in the left front corner of the picture is a small soldier, lying on the ground in defeat. My son, playing the role of Goliath, had difficulty keeping his battle companion upright. David lay surrendered at the feet of my child’s imagination. And while the picture doesn’t rightly represent the real truth of Scripture, I am afraid it all too often represents the reality of how we choose to fight our Goliaths.

We posture ourselves for defeat.

Rather than stand for the battle, we surrender our backs for the piercing of the enemy’s sword. The wounding he brings cuts through the fabric of God’s divine intention, causing us to bleed a red that was never ours to bleed. Instead of claiming the victory that belongs to us through Christ Jesus, we bury our sacred identity and allow the enemy his “two cents” in the matter—a scripting that was never his to write.

Defeated. Loser. Sinner. Condemned. Unworthy. Unloved. Least of the least. Worst of the worst. Forgotten. Done. Finished.

Kingdom perspective is lost with such labeling. When we allow the enemy to name us, we forget the scripting of our God who calls us by a different name. A better name. A true identity, not based on a two-cents kind of hatred, but rather on a measureless, costly love that bled from intention and writes our name with its ink.

Child. Bride. Forgiven. Loved. Prized. Called. Filled. Heir. New. Eternal.

It is a hard perspective to keep when the enemy begins his assault on our hearts and minds. It is the right perspective, but it is a difficult holding. And what is not held in earnest, is prey to a fallen surrender that tills as fresh soil beneath the enemy’s feet.

King David kept kingdom perspective throughout his life. There were seasons of limited vision, but through them all, David always came back around to the perspective of his Father. He knew that he belonged to the bigger picture. David understood his place within that picture, and most importantly, he never lost sight of the Painter who graciously ordained him to walk within its frame.

David took hold of the one thing for which Covenant God took hold of him. David took hold of his calling…his God-determined kingship. His anointing by Samuel was a point of reference for him in all the days that would follow…for all of the uphill battles he would wage to find his crown and to receive his throne.

Before David would gird a sword around his waist, David’s heart would know the girding of a sacred identity. The truth of who he was came through the commissioning of Yahweh who scripted him with his powerful Spirit and shaped him to shepherd his flock, Israel.

David has a great deal to teach us about the aspects of battle…about fighting a war where the outcome is never in doubt. We could look at his entire life’s span as our teacher, but we will narrow our focus to one story. One you are familiar with, but perhaps, one you need to filter through fresh perspective. It is a story with more than enough intrigue and drama to capture the heart of a seven-year-old boy who has a lot of fight in him and who, most days, stands ready to wield his sword in strong defense.

I imagine that our journeys can boast the same, for we are a people of drama and intrigue. As long as our flesh inhabits this earth …this is exactly how long the enemy stands at the ready to engage us in battle. Like my son, we have got to find our fight. We must find our feet and stand ready for the battle with the sure and sacred identity that God has scripted within each one of us as his children.

We are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people belonging to God, so that we may declare the praises of him who called us out of darkness into his wonderful light. Once, we were not a people, but now we are the people of God; once we have not received mercy, but now we have received it…in abundance. (1 Peter 2:9-10). Thus, we have our perspective for the road ahead.

Kingdom perspective, my friends. Kingdom anointing. Yours and mine. The same Spirit that came in power and filled the heart of a shepherd boy is the same Spirit that comes to us and cloaks us with the power and strength of the living LORD as we believe on Him (John 14). Yahweh. Covenant God.

We are not left to war the enemy through our own defenses. We are left with the presence of Almighty God to wage the war on our behalf. And when we get that…when we really take hold of our Father’s sacred perspective…giants tumble. Kingdoms fall, and we find our crown and our throne within his painted masterpiece called Forever.

Today is the day to stand up and to find our fight, and so I pray…

Take my wounded spirit and clothe it with your Spirit from on high, LORD. Remind me of my calling…of my anointing that came, like David’s, at an early age. Let me find the fight of my youthful faith…before it was tainted by life and by the enemy’s attempts to re-script my identity. Forgive me when I see myself as anything less than what you’ve called me to be. I am your child, and you are my great BIG DADDY! Remind me of your presence on the battlefield of my current. Keep me holding to your perspective…the one truth that claims the victory before the battle begins. And let me find my feet, Lord. Raise me up in strong defense of all that you are…of all that you have called me to be. Amen.

Take some time today to familiarize yourself with David’s story by reading 1 Samuel 16. What part of David’s commissioning resonates within your spirit? How was God preparing David, even at his young age, to take his place as God’s chosen leader for Israel? How is God preparing you to do the same?

Over the next few posts, I will examine the story of David and Goliath to glean some truth that will help us in fighting the enemy whose sole objective is to steal, to kill, and to destroy our lives (John 10:10). Please leave comments along the way. At the end of our study I will select a name from all of the comments for a special give away. If you don’t have a blogger account, you can sign in as an anonymous contributor. I look forward to sharing this time with you! As always,

(allrightsreserved, elaineolsen, 2008).

The Pain of a Shut Door

April 14, 2008

“He went to Nazareth, where he had been brought up, and on the Sabbath day he went into the synagogue, as was his custom. And he stood up to read.” (Luke 4:16).

Her wail was undeniable. The piercing scream reverberated from the second floor, and I knew that my baby girl was in pain. My mother’s instinct also revealed the probable culprit behind her pain. Her brother.

Quickly, they made their way downstairs to offer their explanations. She howled inaudible utterances, while he echoed his apologies…fearing the worst. She was quick to offer up proof of his misdeeds—a tender, red, right-handed thumbnail, which apparently landed itself in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The crease of the bathroom doorway.

She wanted in. Her brother wanted her out, and in the brevity of a single moment, Amelia felt the wounding of her brother’s intentional exclusion. She experienced the pain of a shut door.

He didn’t mean to hurt her, but he didn’t deny his culpability in the matter. He meant to shut the door. He simply did not calculate that his means of exclusion would cause a wounding at a deeper level. And therein lies my contemplation.

The pain of a shut door. The taste of exclusion served up on home turf…a place where security and safety should abound. Where doors should remain open and acceptance greets with arms spread wide. A place, unfortunately, that often hosts doors that swing hard and close tightly.

Jesus knew about such exclusions. And unlike my son, those that wanted him “out”, swung with intentional and calculated motives.

Jesus had returned to his familiar. To the place of his nurturing. Nazareth was his home, and the synagogue was his custom. He came to reveal the truth of his identity. To fulfill the prophetic renderings of Isaiah’s sixty-first chapter. To preach, to proclaim, to restore, and to release. To announce to those who knew him best, that indeed, the year of the Lord’s favor had come.

It was a truth they were unwilling to receive. Their eyes were as blind. Their ears were as deaf. Their minds were as dull, and their hearts were as hardened.

“All the people in the synagogue were furious when the heard this. They got up, drove him out of the town, and took him to the brow of the hill on which they town was built, in order to throw him down the cliff. But he walked through the crowd and went on his way.” (Luke 4:28-30).

They shut the door on their native son. They closed off the possibility of him being God’s Son. And in the end, Jesus’ wail was undeniable, as his tears wept a painful rejection. It was a rejection felt at the deepest crease of a sacred surrender which landed him in the right place at exactly the right time. They offered no apologies for their intentions. Instead, they offered him nails for his tender flesh, and the misdeeds of their heart wounded red for all the world to witness.

The pain of a shut door.

Indeed, Jesus is familiar with all of our griefs and sufferings. With all of the “shut doors” that slam hard and wound deeply. Some swing with intention. Some swing with little thought. Some swing on home turf, and some swing on the soil of an unfamiliar earth. Regardless of their hinge, they swing, and with their exclusion comes pain.

Jadon did not mean to hurt his sister. Not really. But he knew that by shutting the door, he would maintain control of his surroundings. And when control becomes an issue, almost invariably there is a wounding of another who is caught within its crease.

I have stood on both sides of a shut door. Receiving its pain. Initiating its pain. Either way, there is no kingdom profit from its closure because a shut door equals exclusion. Shut doors separate. Shut doors isolate. Shut doors eliminate the possibility of relationships that were meant for our shaping…for our deepening…for our understanding of what it means to walk and to live in sacred community.

God has determined for us to live our lives as open. As instruments of his intention and his invitation. His door swings wide and was never designed for exclusion, but rather for the inclusion of all peoples…all races…all humanity for all eternity. We are given the privilege of monitoring its swing. We stand as its hinge to make sure that no one is caught in the painful crease of its closure.

When my daughter brought her wounding to my attention, I did what all good mothers do. I offered her a band-aid. She declined and told me that her “blankie” would suffice as her comfort. It did, and today her tears run dry. Her wounding from her brother’s “shut door” is well on its way to healing.

Oh, that all of us could recover so quickly from the pain of a shut door. Band-aids alone are not sufficient. It requires a deeper work. A greater salve. A warmer blanket that covers the entirety of our wound and speaks peace into our suffering.

It requires Jesus. He is our Peace, and through him we come to know healing as healing was meant to be known. Safely, securely, and with an open acceptance on his home turf that greets our pain with arms wide open. And so this day, I pray…

Cover me, Lord, with the healing blanket of your love. Heal the open wounds that have come to me through shut doors. Heal the wounds of others that have come to them through my culpability. Keep my hands to inclusion…never exclusion. And when I am tempted to shut a door on my brother or sister, remind me of the “exclusion” that you embraced so that a door would be opened for all of us to come and walk in salvation’s freedom. Amen.

Category Archives: out of the mouths of babes