I hate to move. I know, hate is a strong word. But I’ve moved my total household at least 8 times that I can remember. I have no fond memories to draw from. It was total chaos in the house for weeks before and after. Stuff strewn everywhere while trying to purge my goods. By…
In the realm of Christianity, the concept of spiritual brokenness is often viewed as a challenge, a test of faith, or a period of hardship to be endured. However, it’s essential to recognize that embracing spiritual brokenness can be a powerful catalyst for personal growth, transformation, and a deeper connection with God. In this blog…
“What Satan put into the heads of our remote ancestors was the idea that they could ‘be like gods’ – could set up on their own as if they had created themselves – be their own masters – invent some sort of happiness for themselves outside God, apart from God. And out of that hopeless…
Happy New Year everyone. Can you believe it? Princes’ song is rattling around in my head, 1999 that was released in 1982. Whew – that seems like last week. We were on the cusp of Y2K when 1999 finally came around. Anyone younger than 30 likely remembers none of that non-event where everyone was waiting…
I was in the kitchen grabbing a bottle of water when I heard the thud, bam as if the house was shaking. Couldn’t be, could it? I looked out the kitchen window to the shared driveway with the neighbor and saw the headlights of his car as he maneuvered it into his usual parking space….
I walked out of the grocery store twice in the last week with items I didn’t pay for. Almond milk one time, and pepperoni the other. They were in the lower part of the cart, and I neglected to scan them – one time at the self-checkout and another when I had the clerk doing…
I recently completed a book entitled The Band That Played On, by Steve Turner. It’s a well-researched account of the musicians who lost their lives aboard the Titanic. As Turner recounts the past life of the band leader, Wallace Hartley and his roots in Colne, mention is made of John Wesley’s visits to that region…
It was December 1st, 1995, when I walked into the US Marshals office at 601 Market Street in Philadelphia a free man – and exited a prisoner. In handcuffs, ankle cuffs chained together and to two other men shuffling to a waiting van in an underground garage. ‘How the heck did I get here?’ was…