The Promise of Eden (part two): The Language of Covenant

“Then the LORD said, ‘I will surely return to you about this time next year, and Sarah your wife will have a son.’ Now Sarah was listening at the entrance to the tent, which was behind him.” (Genesis 18:10).

Take some time this day to read, again, our scripture from Genesis 18:1-14. Allow yourself participation in the scene. Hear the words of covenant as spoken by covenant God, afresh and anew in your heart this day. This will be our focus.

Covenant language is not something we understand. We are a promise-making, promise-breaking society. Our word is only as good as our depth, and most days we run shallow. We are surfers, gliding atop the waves of life with little thought of anchoring our words…our souls…to something deeper. Something stable. Someone solid.

A someone named Yahweh…LORD. A covenant speaking, covenant keeping God. He knows about making promises intended for keeping. There are no “gotcha moments” or “maybes” with him. When he utters promise, it is a finished word—a completed history that comes to fruition with the passage of time. His time…not ours. When God says, “I will”…he does. Hovering between his spoken promise and the completion of that promise exists a faith journey that requires trust. And trust is sometimes a difficult embrace.

It was for Sarah. For nearly twenty-five years she had wandered in the desert of her “maybe.” Maybe this year would be the year for her womb to know fulfillment, but with each year that passed, her trust began to fade. Her hope for a child found its deferment…buried beneath the aged flesh that framed her want. Years earlier, her husband took a night walk with this covenant God where the language of covenant was spoken—something about stars and descendants and a night sky filled with a kingly heritage. That had been then, but this was her now. And right now, Sarah was unprepared and, perhaps, unwilling to receive another “maybe.” A long season of waiting (nearly 90 years) boasted the laughter of her doubt.

“So Sarah laughed to herself as she thought, ‘After I am worn out and my master is old, will I now have this pleasure?’” (Genesis 18:12).

And therein lies our pause for this day…

God’s “I will” and our “will I’s?”.

I don’t know about you, but I have had a few “will I’s?” in this season of my current. Questions that voice my doubt. Self-centered seeking that asks…

Will I ever get a book published?
Will I ever own my own home?
Will I be able to pay my bills?
Will I ever lose this weight?
Will I ever be able to memorize Scripture?
Will I ever fulfill what I perceive to be my life’s calling?
Will I ever fully be able to articulate my faith?
Will I ever be able to love others with agapao?
Will I ever manage this balancing act I call my life?
Will I ever be satisfied?
Will I ever get to preach again?
Will I ____________________?

How about you? What are some of the “will I’s?” that inhabit your heart this day? Yours are not mine, but all of them issue forth from our want. Perhaps some of them from our deep well of desire…of lingering hopes that have known deferment for a long season. Like Sarah, we are tempted with our laughter when God makes a visitation to our tent to remind us of spoken covenant—the “I will” from the “I AM” who comes to make good on his word. God intentioned promises that proclaim…

I will never leave you nor forsake you (Hebrews 13:5).
I will remain in you if you remain in me (John 15:4).
I will cause you to bear much fruit if you remain in me (John 15:5).
I will give you whatever you ask if you remain in me and my words remain in you (John 15:7).
I will send the Holy Spirit to be with you always (John 15:26, 16:7).
I will see you again (John 16:22).
I will provide for your needs (Matthew 6:33).
I will give to you because of your asking…your seeking…your knocking (Matthew 7:7-8).
I will love you with an everlasting love (Jeremiah 31:3).
I will work all things together for your good (Romans 8:28).
I will acknowledge you before my Father because you have acknowledged me before men (Matthew 10:32).
I will write my law upon your hearts and minds. (Jeremiah 31:33; Hebrews 8:10).
I will be your God. (Jeremiah 31:33; Hebrews 8:10).
I will return (Acts 1:11).
I will _____________________.

No “gotchas”…no “maybes.” Only absolutes because our God speaks only one language. Covenant. His “I will” will always trump our “will I’s?”. Let me write that again, just so you are clear.

God’s “I will” will always trump our “will I’s?”. Why?

Because his words are couched in faithful promise. Our words are laced with questioning doubt. His words run deep. Our words run shallow, and this day, he asks us to ponder the chasm between.

Before we get to Eden (and we are headed there with the next devotion), we must explore this chasm. God required the same of Abraham and Sarah. He asked them to trust a little longer. To believe a little deeper. To linger a little further into the sure probability of seeing promise come to pass. He requires the same from us this day.

As you and I consider the “I will” of our covenant Father, are you willing to trust him a little longer? To believe him a little deeper and to linger a little further within the parameters of his promise for your life? I sure hope so because what awaits you on the other side of your pause is the promise of Eden. A return to the garden of your sacred beginnings. It is a trip I want to make, and I want to make it with you. And so I pray…

Get us there Father…to a portion of sacred trust that walks us all the way home to Eden. You know the way. You made the way, and through our study of your covenant promise, we come closer to tasting the delight of the garden as it was meant to be tasted. Walk us through our “will I’s?” until we safely arrive on the shore of your “I will”. You are covenant God. Yahweh. Promise is your language. Write it across my heart. Penetrate my shallow and pen it deeply within the fabric of my faith. Amen.

As you linger in the truth of God’s Word this day, please add your thoughts by clicking on the word “comment” below and offering some salt and light to our ponderings. Feel free to sign in as an “anonymous” participant if you so desire. I am praying that God’s Word would transcend time and history to become a “now” Word within your spirit even now.

PS: If you have an extra moment, please surf over to Liz’z blog, Kentucky Bound. You will understand why once you arrive.

post signature

(allrightsreserved, elaineolsen – 2008)

The Promise of Eden (part one): The Posture of an Expectant Heart

“The Lord appeared to Abraham near the great tree of Mamre while he was sitting at the entrance to his tent in the heat of the day.” (Genesis 18:1).

This day, I invite you to sacred participation—an opportunity for you to come alongside your God and partake of a privilege given to you as a believer in Christ. It is privilege that, unfortunately, is often forsaken for the need of the immediate. Making time to absorb God’s Word into your very core is a pursuit of intention. The seeds of his truth will never embed within a soul’s soil without some cultivation. And so, this week, I want to dig, to plant, and then to water some of the seeds of Genesis 18:1-14 into my soil and to allow you the opportunity for the same. Thus, the invitation to sacred participation is open. Come and feast on God’s Word.

Take a moment now to read Genesis 18:1-14, out loud if possible, and posture your hearts to receive.

Posturing the heart to receive the promise of God is today’s focus.

For nearly twenty-five years Abraham had been wandering in the land of Promise…waiting for God to make good on his word. A word that had earlier promised him a night-sky filled with the lineage of descendants. So far? Only one star. A boy named Ishmael, birthed through the plans of man rather than through the promise of God.

Abraham believed God…believed that somehow all things would work out for a good and perfect end. But at this particular moment…on this particular day…in this particular season of aged living, Abraham did, what I imagine that he did on most days as he wandered within the heated boundaries of promise. He waited beneath the shade of tree. And thus begins the “posture” of an expectant heart.

An expectant heart…waits. (Genesis 18:1). Abraham’s heart waited under the great oak trees of Mamre…a word in the Hebrew language meaning “strength or fatness.” He picked the right location in which to do his waiting…a place of rest and shelter from the heat of the desert. Can I say the same? Most days, my “pausing” for the promises of God is couched within the heated sands of my current chaos, as I offer up my quick prayers amidst an even quicker pace. Rather than finding my rest beneath the strength of a shade tree, I posture my heart for a quick fix beneath the heat of a sun that blinds and blisters and bleeds a soul dry.

And so I say…teach me, father Abraham.

An expectant heart…asks. (Genesis 18:2-3). Abraham, upon noticing his visitors’ approach, invited his visitors to remain. “He said, ‘If I have found favor in your eyes, my lord, do not pass your servant by.’” Scripture gives no indication that Abraham was immediately aware of God’s identity, but Abraham was quick to realize that a visit from a “stranger” held more excitement for him than the usual of his routine. And so he asked for God to pause and to find his rest beneath his tent.

And so I say…teach me, father Abraham.

An expectant heart…attends. (Genesis 18:4-8). Abraham made ready for his guests. He monitored the surroundings in order to create an environment of sacred fellowship. It was his custom to feed and to water his guests from the abundance of the land. He brought his best as an offering of his heart. No left-overs for God. No “less than” laid before the feet of his Father. Abraham attended this particular visitation with selective and choice provision. He did what he needed to do to make sure that his guests felt welcomed.

And so I say…teach me, father Abraham.

An expectant heart…lingers. (Genesis 18:8). Abraham lingered with his guests. He did not rush a visitation. He allowed them their rest within his tent while he stood in close proximity. When God, by sacred invitation, comes to our tent…when God finds his rest within our hearts and through our attending…we would be wise to linger within earshot. The closer we get to him…the clearer his voice. And when God speaks, I don’t want miss his words because of my distant lingering. I want to press my ear to his lips and feel the breath of promise as he breathes it over my frame.

And so I say…teach me, father Abraham.

An expectant heart…receives. (Genesis 18:10, 14). Abraham listened as God, once again, spoke promise over his and Sarah’s life. God reminded him of a night sky and of the stars that would illuminate its darkness. A star that, in accordance with his perfect timing, would make an appearance in a year’s time. Abraham received the words. So did Sarah…sort of. Her laughter spoke the witness of her receptive heart, but that is another story for another day. Regardless of their response…both received God’s promise. A spoken promise that visited their tent because their lives were postured with expectation.

And so I say…teach me, father Abraham.

The posture of an expectant heart is a heart that…

Waits. Asks. Attends. Lingers. Receives.

So often we miss the visitation of God because we neglect to posture our lives with sacred expectancy. Expectations frame our forever, and when expectation is couched in “less than” limitations, then promise is never tasted as God meant for it to be tasted. Not only tasted…but absorbed down deep into the marrow of our want…to the birthplace of our dreams, our hopes, and our sacred possibilities.

God means for our lives to breath with promise, and so this day, I pray…

Come to my tent, Lord. Today I wait for your arrival. I ask for your presence. I attend to our time by offering you the best portion of my heart. I linger close to hear your voice. I bow ready to receive your promise into my life. You have taught me through the witness of Abraham. Thank you, Father, for your words of covenant that breathe true and that call me to shine as a starry witness to their current and sure fulfillment. Amen.

Feel free to share your thoughts about the “posture of an expectant heart” by clicking on the word “comments” below. If you don’t have a blogger account, you can add your comments as an “anonymous” contributor.

post signature

(allrightsreseved, elaineolsen, April – 2008)

A Gracious Grace

A Gracious Grace

“Abraham and Sarah were already old and well advanced in years, and Sarah was past the age of childbearing…”. (Genesis 18:11).
 

…flawed perspective

…better perspective

 

I challenged them this morning to examine Abraham and Sarah’s “old.” To think about their current state of being and to pinpoint the ways in which they, too, felt old and advanced in years and past the age of bearing anything new. It was an appropriate question to ask this congregation of 400 plus, for many of them are at retirement age and have been doing this “life thing” for a long season.

Some of them are long past having a dream or a hope for anything new. Most of them are simply living out their days along the sandy shores of South Carolina…in a community called Little River…in a church nestled along highway 17…on the way to a beach named Myrtle.

I don’t know why God allowed me the privilege to serve them this morning with his Word. I believe that it had everything to do with his lavish grace. I feel like the Apostle Paul’s “least of these,” while at the same time knowing that I am well qualified to parcel out the message of God’s abundant grace. It is a message that I have lived and breathed and am now able to articulate with a knowing and thankful passion. His has been a gracious grace. A mysterious and reaching grace that is transforming my flesh into a vessel of his design.

It is difficult for me to frame for you just exactly what this weekend meant to me. My emotions run deep, and I am profoundly moved by my experience. But while it is fresh within my heart, I wanted to tell you about one moment…about one saint of God who gave me a gift this morning.

His name is Calvin, and he has been walking with the Lord for nearly 90 years.

After the first service at 8:30, Calvin was quick to make my acquaintance. He told me that he has been a life-long Methodist, surrounded by a family heritage of Methodist preachers. My heart glowed, for I can boast the same. My husband is a Methodist preacher and was able to make the trip with me this weekend. My father, a Methodist preacher, stood behind his own pulpit this morning, and we were able to share a brief but precious conversation prior to the start of our days. So Calvin and me? We had some common ground and quickly became friends.

When I told Calvin how blessed that I felt to have met him and how I looked forward to sharing heaven with him, he told me that I hadn’t seen the last of him. He would be back for a second go around at the 9:50 service.

He was there to participate in, what I perceived to be, a new experience for him—a contemporary-style type of worship. Not quite sure of the tunes and the clapping and the freedom of worship, Calvin willingly offered his participation. At the close of the service, I once again commented to Calvin about my joy in serving such a saint of God. He quickly told me that the real saint—his bride of sixty-two years—had recently passed away and that I would see him again…at the 11:00 service.

When the time arrived for me to preach the same sermon for a third time, I commented from the pulpit that Calvin was either unsure of this peculiar woman who had taken siege of the pulpit or that God was up to something…an Abraham and Sarah kind of something, and that perhaps, the third time would be the charm. Perhaps this time, something would take hold. I think that it did, for at the close of the service, Calvin made his way up front, bowed his knee at the altar, and raised his hands toward heaven.

With the “amen” spoken, I made my way to the back of the church to greet the members as they left. Calvin soon found me and asked me to step aside. He needed to tell me something. I wasn’t prepared for his words of blessing. He said…

“I’m from the old school…the old tradition. I used to think that the pulpit wasn’t a place for women. I used to think that, Elaine, but I don’t anymore. Yes…I’ll see you again. If not here, then there.”

And with these words, Calvin spoke a benediction to my heart that I will never forget.

He gave me a gift. This saint of God, well advanced in years and thinking that he was past the age of bearing anything new in his life, bowed the knee one more time to his Savior to receive the promise of grace. A “new every morning” kind of grace. A grace that fell as a fresh word upon his aging heart this day. A grace that offered a blessing to me in the process–

the privilege of sacred participation.

What God did for Calvin…what God did for Abraham and Sarah…God has done and is doing for me. For he has planted a seed of promise within my aging flesh for something “new.” God did it this morning through one of his most precious saints. A saint with whom I will share eternity.

I want to spend some time this week exploring the treasure trove of Genesis 18:1-14. Perhaps it has been a while since you have examined its worth. I welcome your participation. Take some time this day to read the scripture. Find yourself somewhere within the story, and then ask yourself the question that I asked of God’s saints at Little River UMC.

Calvin asked himself the question. Calvin answered the question with a bowed knee and a surrendered heart, proving to me that I am never too “old” to receive the promise of God’s “new.” God’s grace has, indeed, been gracious. I will not soon recover from my time in the pulpit. I think that God has planned it accordingly.

And so tonight, as I lay my weary and well-satisfied head on my pillow, I say a prayer of thanks to you…my new friends in Little River. Especially for you, Dan & Cheryl, for you Pastor Randy, and for you Beth for your gracious invitation to sacred participation. You all…every last one of you…have marked me forever with your love and with your benedictions of grace over my life. It has been my privilege to wash your feet this day, and so I pray…

Thank you, Father, for the boldness of Peter. For the eloquence of Paul. For some of the wisdom of Solomon, and for the Spirit of Elijah. You have answered the prayer of my heart, and readily I receive the “new” that you have breathed into my life this day. Bless my new friends at Little River with a fresh explosion of your presence. Blow through that church and bring new life into its pews. Strengthen its people with power of your Spirit. Guide and direct Pastor Randy as he seeks to shepherd your flock. Let this day be the day when the journey of faith begins anew for each person in unexpected measure and with the glorious freedom that comes with Calvary’s grace. You have given me more than I expected, Lord, and to You, alone, I bow in surrender and praise. Amen.

 

Keepers of the Light

Keepers of the Light

“There the angel of the Lord appeared to him in the flames of fire from within a bush. Moses saw that though the bush was on fire it did not burn up. So Moses thought, ‘I will go over and see this strange sight—why the bush does not burn up.’ When the Lord saw that he had gone over to look, God called to him from within the bush, ‘Moses! Moses!’ And Moses said, ‘Here I am.’” (Exodus 3:2-3)

I am drawn to fire.

Be it through the single flame of a candle or the collective kindling of a winter’s hearth, a fire calls for my notice and beckons my participation.

Partly because of its beauty. Partly because of its warmth. But mainly because of the effecting power contained within its blaze. A power that, if not restrained, will quickly leap boundaries and consume surroundings. Fire possesses the strength to force change and to alter a forever. Fire grabs the attention of the curious and begs their approach for a closer look.

For within such closeness, the heat is felt, and once the heat is felt, the fire kindles the light of another wick that was meant to burn. A heart that was meant to flame with the effecting power of a consuming God who calls for our notice and who beckons our participation as his torch bearers in a world that longs for warmth.

Moses noticed the fire. In the midst of his normal, his eyes fixed upon the abnormal—a burning bush that flamed with furious intention, all the while refusing the fire’s consumption. Moses could have moved his normal to another location…could have taken pasture on another mountain, but he didn’t. Instead of shuffling away from danger, Moses chose to draw close to its perimeter. And once inside, he felt the flames of an eternal calling that would consume his normal and kindle his forever.

There is much we can learn from Moses about God’s kindling of a sacred fire if our hearts are so inclined for its warmth. Here are a few…

God lit the fire. Moses acknowledged its presence.

All around us…each and every day…there are fires that burn. Most burn with the flames of our normal—flames that could all too quickly consume our every moment if not for our watchful gaze. But there are other fires…a few that burn with the abnormal, sacred flames of God’s purposeful intent. Too often they go unnoticed because we are too busy putting out the fires of our routine. The key lies in discerning which fires are worthy of our pause…worthy of our Father’s fanning into flame.

God stood within the fire. Moses approached its parameters.

Fires worthy of our approach are those that contain the presence of God. How do we know the difference? We look for fires that do not die. Fires that do not smolder to ashes over time. Fires that burn with intensity…today, tomorrow, and into the next. Fires that remain. Temporal, normal fires can be quenched by temporal means…by water from an earthly well. Sacred fires can never be quenched. They burn with the heat of eternity and are meant to fuel our desire for God. Is there a fire in your life right now that won’t go away? A burning bush that exceeds the parameters of an earthly kindling? Perhaps God is calling for your approach to its flames. Only by moving closer will you be able to hear him calling your name.

God spoke from the fire. Moses accepted its proclamation.

God never forces our approach to his sacred flames. But once we arrive in obedience, he is quick to offer his voice. “When the Lord saw that he had gone over to look, God called to him from within the bush, ‘Moses! Moses!’ And Moses said, ‘Here I am.’”

God looks for our approach…for our desire that fosters our release of our normal in order to embrace the extraordinary heat of a burning bush. It is a sacred fire that never grows dim, that never breathes cold, and that never burns to ashes. With its embrace, we hear our names spoken from the lips of our Father who has ordained our lives for the kindling of his sacred and mighty purposes. It is a burning bush–a sacred calling–that we cannot afford to miss and so this day, like Moses…

Let us acknowledge its presence in our lives. Let us approach its parameters with cautious pause, and with a lot of holy fear and a portion of sacred trembling, let us accept its proclamation.

God’s sacred fires surround the normal of our every day. Our future is shaped by our embrace or by our neglect of their warmth. Nearly three months ago, God interrupted my normal with the flames of a burning bush that required my acknowledgement. In faith, I began my approach to its heat, and the closer I moved within its parameters, the clearer my Father’s voice as he called… “Elaine! Elaine!” I have accepted his summons, and this weekend I will stand in a pulpit and ask him to fan into flame the proclamation of his heart.

Am I scared? A little, but what scares me the most is what I stand to miss by not approaching the flames of God’s calling. And I don’t want to forsake the sound of my name falling from the lips of my Father’s sacred intent. I don’t want to miss the fire’s consumption for the sake of preserving my normal. Neither do you, for with the fire comes a life as it was meant to be burned—with passionate purpose and with a power that cannot be contained, and so I pray…

Burn us Father, with the sacred flames of your intent. Gives us the eyes to acknowledge your presence. Give us the courage to approach your parameters. And when our knees bow in humble submission, gives us the clarity to accept the proclamation of our calling. To go and make disciples. To go and proclaim the truth. To go and kindle the flame of another wick that longs to burn with intensity of your sacred heat. Humbly I ask. Readily I receive my calling to be a keeper of your light. Amen.

PS: For those of you in the Myrtle Beach area, I would love to meet you at Little River UMC this coming Sunday morning for worship. I’ll be preaching from Genesis 18. It’s a portion of scripture that I will be exploring with you next week via this blog. If you can’t join me in MB, then I hope you will come back next week for a look into Sarah’s question to God, and God’s question to Sarah. Be blessed, my new blogging friends! You already mean so much to me, and I covet your prayers.

post signature

a gracious Much

“Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. Let us fix our eyes on Jesus… .” (Hebrews 12:1-2).

What did your prayers sound like this morning? Here’s a glimpse into mine.

I prayed for a life that boasts…

The boldness of Peter. The reasoning and eloquence of Paul. The wisdom of Solomon. The spirit of Elijah.

A prayer simply spoken from a heart that believes in the sure probability of its fulfillment. A prayer deeply spoken in reverence for those who have gone before and finished the race marked out for them. A prayer confidently spoken to the one God who hears and who is faithful to respond.

I didn’t ask for minimal. I asked for much. And the God who created me for his glory has always been about my much. For within his blessing of my much, he stands to receive some glory…some praise…some of his much returned back on him as the Author of such a sacred plenty.

If God is willing to give much, then I bow ready to ask and to receive.

There are some saints of old…sixty-six books worth of saints…that compass my prayers. The lives that they lived were meant for our examination–for our strengthening and for the fortification of the lives that now cloak our flesh and frame our steps. Their much was, indeed, a healthy portion of their Father’s gifting. Without such abundance, it is unlikely that their stories would have found their home on the pages of holy writ.

God scripted each of their stories into his Word, not as an example of an unattainable life, but rather as a true measure of what he intends to give all of his children—the much that is available to each one of us. You and me…as we come to the table of his grace to receive our portion of such promise.

There are days when I have prayed for the patience of Job. For the courage of David. For the love of John and for the dedication of Dr. Luke. Seasons when I have asked for the faith of Abraham. For the trust of Hannah. For the strength of Mary.

Prayers I have voiced for the…

the commitment of Ruth.
the expectation of Zaccheus.
the surprise of the shepherds.
the tenacious drive of the wisemen.
the acceptance of Joseph.
the willing surrender of the boy with loaves and fishes.
the __________________________________.

Each saint in Scripture authors a sacred characterization that is worthy of our pause. Their much is meant for our now, for they are the great cloud of witnesses that hover around us in whispered tones to remind us that while our race is not yet finished, our race can be finished well. Finished with much from the same Almighty God who crowned each of their steps and walked them home to their forever.

I don’t want to finish this life with minimal expectation and mediocre existence. I want to run my race in abundance. I want to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus has taken hold of me, and a minimal grasp will never accomplish such a maximum finish.

And, my friends…I am after big. Much. Far much more than what I am due, for what I am due is hell. What I have been given is life. Abundant and overflowing…brimming with the sure probability of a saint’s existence—my very own chapter scripted within the annals of faith that boasts a story and a characterization that stands worthy of a Father’s pause.

Thus, I pray boldly this day for a portion of Peter’s boldness. For a voice that boasts some of Paul’s eloquence. For a mind and heart that thinks with Solomon’s wisdom, and for a life that exudes the fragrance of Elijah’s spirit.

They are mine for the asking because it is to my Father’s great glory and good pleasure to bestow my feeble flesh with such an anointing. He, too, wants me to finish well and to find my place amongst the cloud that houses the saints of old. He wants the same for you.

And so, I ask you again. What did your morning prayers sound like? How about the prayers of your right now? Are you praying for the minimum or for the much of God? Who amongst the great cloud of the saints stands as a witness to your greatest, current need? What portion of his or her much is your needed requirement for this day…for this running and for this finishing of your race?

I welcome you to add your prayers to mine by posting them in the comment section below. Be specific with your needs. Your Father wants to bless you with the same measure of abundance that he bestowed upon his saints in Scripture. Your need is specific, and our God is specifically concerned for that need. May we all walk in the bounty that is promised us because of his love that reaches beyond the reasonable and that extends further than the outer edges of our understanding. And so I pray…

Give us this day, Father, what we need to flourish…to live in the “much” that is promised us through the power of you Word and the presence of your Spirit. Remind us of the great cloud of witnesses that surrounds our every step and that beckons our participation in the race that will count for all eternity. Let us throw off everything that entangles…everything that minimizes the maximum that you long to accomplish through us. Forgive us when we limit your abundance. Keep our feet to the fire. Keep our hearts to the sacred journey, and keep our wills to the conformity of your will. Now and forever, until we cross our finish line and join the saints of old in the cloud above. Amen.

post signature

error: Content is protected !!