We can trust the vinedresser’s careful hands. He knows what to cut now. He knows what to cut later. He prunes what He expects to grow. And He puts the shears down and sustains us when the wind, rain and fierce elements of this world lay us low.
Are you in a season of waiting? Has the night gone on too long? Maybe you’re waiting to find out if it’s cancer. Waiting for God to give you an answer. Or that relationship still limps along, tattered and estranged. Or the mountain reveals a hidden ascent every time you’re spent and sweating and thought
I don’t even know how to process this day. In the morning, I watched news coverage of fire sparked by human depravity. In the afternoon, I watched news coverage of fire sparked by human ingenuity. I’ve never seen fire look so different. Last night, protestors and agitators threw Molotov cocktails that set America’s streets on fire.
This is the flower of a night-blooming cereus, a type of cactus whose twisted tangle of spines is ordinarily nothing more than a spindly eyesore. She blooms only when temps soar to triple digits and the desert floor cracks open with thirst. But, oh does she bloom. Her fragrant, palm-sized flower is called Queen of
I have a friend who works on her feet all day, muscling through migraines and chronic neck pain. After her day job, the real work begins when she arrives home to care for a disabled loved one. She doesn’t stop. She doesn’t have that luxury. She works and sleeps and does it all over again.
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