I’ve always wondered what it would be like if my Bible came with a scratch-n-sniff option. Imagine what the Garden of Eden smelled like. The fragrance of fruit trees and grasses and roses without thorns. The aroma of a world brand new. Fresh and clean. But it didn’t stay that way.
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Icthus. (ICK-thoos) It sounds like a slobbery sneeze, but to first century Christians it was a symbol of identification. More subtle than a secret handshake or a password, with one swipe of a stick or a toe, a believer could extend a tentative feeler.
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I’ve been having an ‘out-of-body’ experience for the last few weeks. Not in a creepy, floating-around-the-room-looking-down-at-myself way. It’s been more of a vague, going-through-the-motions kind of way. And I’m not too fond of this.
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As we celebrate the birth of our nation today and enjoy the privilege of living in the land of the free, I can’t help but think about those who are not so free. Those around the world living each day in nations where their governments restrict — or allow the restriction of — their freedoms. Among them are persecuted Christians.
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I remember the first time I realized I was losing my youthful edge. As a conservative young wife and mother, I was relatively content. After all, Daddy said I was beautiful, and my husband, Gary, seemed okay with my efforts. But then that fateful day came.
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I join my brothers and sisters across the country in crying out to the Father today on behalf of our nation. After all, we know God answers prayer. We know because we’ve experienced it ourselves. This week I put out a call to some of my friends, asking them to share their stories of answered prayer. Here are three testimonies to encourage you today.
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You don’t target just the teens, the homeless, the party animals, the celebrities, the politicians, the gangs, or even the leather-wearing Goths with multiple piercings. You target good moms too.
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When was the last time you sobbed? I mean heartbroken, gut-wrenching sobs – the kind that erupt from a crushed and broken heart.
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As a little girl, I recognized the power in achievement. I wanted to be the best, to be noticed and appreciated for my skills and abilities. And even as the shortest student in my class, I fought for-and often won-a place in the hierarchy of leadership. Kids usually wanted me on their team.
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It’s 6am and morning’s earliest light sneaks through the blinds. The warm, pink bundle stretches, then snuggles closer, deciding that cuddling in grandma’s arms is better than waking up. I look into her soft, innocent face and thank God for His goodness. New life—what a precious gift!
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