God came and found you when you were lost, descended into hell itself, and led you a captive of the enemy into the freedom of His resurrection life.

It is a famous verse of scripture that is mind-boggling in scope and implication.

Infatuation is like betting on the lottery. Love is like having money in the bank.

Worry is built upon a false supposition—that God is insufficient to handle your concerns.

A true enemy is someone who troubles you, who you feel threatened by—someone who can cause you harm or do you in if you let your guard down or get caught by surprise. 

I can give intellectual assent to loving myself, but the proof of my love will be in my contentment with Pres. 

Grace is the good news that God is not aloof. Grace is the encouraging declaration that He is present and engaged. Grace is the pursuit of God to encounter me face-to-face. 

"Four feet of water in the house, eight feet in Lesleigh's (daughter). Gutting the house Friday. You can stand me up at the gates of hell but I won't back down."

I entered higher education with the ability to think, but I didn’t have the skill of thinking critically. 

The heavens had portended what was to unfold with lightening more spectacular than the commemorative fireworks and thunder that drowned out the explosions. It was a gamble, but all of Tupelo and the surrounding area wagered that the weather would hold.

If no one knows the hour or the day of Christ’s return—not even Jesus Himself—it seems there might be some encouragement more concrete from our heavenly Father than wistfully praying for the second coming of Christ. I mean, what if today or tomorrow or Tuesday are not the assigned day? What then?

Josh and I visit most weeks and talk about matters important to our walks with Christ Jesus. Periodically, he is going to write a blog post about our visits, and when he does, I want to share his thoughts with you. 

I'm here to report that I personally have fallen off the edge of the world. 

The judges of biblical times were not anything akin to the magistrates before whom we plead our traffic tickets. They were more like regional enforcers or old west gunslingers. 

There it was. The crisis was revealed, the mystery unfolded—a trio of failings that reduced Ashlie to sobs.

There was no one around but a male desk clerk sporting a ponytail. I’d heard the men were wearing those things out there, but I’d never seen one. A few of the hard-core Indians back home had long braids, but they were supposed to. This guy was my Dad’s age. 

Days pass and the decision-making deadline approaches. Whereas initially his intensity was fueled with frustration, now there is another factor. Fear. What am I going to do? I don’t want to miss God’s will, he thinks.

Only time could lay the proper groundwork to this point. Only now is he weaned from his methods, his ideas, his analysis, and his means learned and sophisticated to discover God’s will.

And time ticks on. Hours pass into days as he tries varied and sundry methods for prying God’s will loose. Prying? Probably not the best word, he ruminates. But it’s getting close to that, he confides to himself.

He can almost hear God saying, “Nope. Not today. Not going to do it. I know and have my plans for you, but that information is unavailable.”