And it came to pass in those days that a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed.
Luke 2:1 (KJV)
Back when my children were relatively tiny people, my favorite Bible verse was actually just the phrase “and it came to pass.”
You might laugh, but during that season of my life those five small words felt like a balm to my weary soul. One thing moms of young children know is while the various stages and phases of infant and toddler life may feel long and arduous, they all eventually come to an end.
So, when Joel refused to eat anything other than peanut butter fold overs for the entire month of June or the winter that Nathan threw a tantrum whenever I put socks and shoes on his little feet or the time when sweet baby Julia went on a sleep strike for three weeks straight, I clung tightly to the wisdom found in that simple phrase because somehow just knowing it would eventually end made my tired spirit feel encouraged to just keep going.
And it came to pass …
Are you as ready for the new year as I am?
Normally, I love everything about New Year’s Eve. After all, it’s the day Jon and I got married, so we always have lots of great things to celebrate at our house.
But this year, I am extra excited. After all, 2020 has been a long and arduous year with its pandemic, murder hornets and locust swarms, Australian bushfires and American wildfires, rioting in the streets, racial tensions, the presidential election from you know where … not to mention, the death of Alex Trebek.
Thank goodness a year can only last twelve months! Can I get an amen?
Yet, as hopeful as I am for all the good that 2021 might bring our way, I’m also mindful that hope and peace and joy are not guarantees for the new year. If we are expecting 2021 to bring us only good news, then we are simply setting ourselves up for a big disappointment.
Hope isn’t found in the promises of good health.
Peace isn’t found in our elected leaders.
The state of the economy, the security of our jobs, and the amount of money in our bank accounts can never give us real or lasting joy.
Temporary circumstances cannot ever provide anything other than temporary feelings. Unfortunately, all things on this earth are temporary.
Everything, that is, except for Jesus Christ and all that belongs to Him.
The great news is that you can belong to Jesus, too.
If you already belong to Jesus, then you already understand that the very best gift of Christmas is His presence in your heart.
If you don’t belong to Jesus or aren’t sure, then I’d love to tell you more about how you can. It’s as simple as A-B-C … Admitting you are a sinner; Believing Jesus lived a perfect life, took the punishment for your sins through His death on the cross, and rose victoriously back to life; Confessing that He is Lord of all and surrendering to living your life by following Him. Trust me … doing this will be the very best Christmas present you could ever give yourself!
“But this Christmas know that He came for you. As broken and messed up as your year may have been, His love is infinitely greater. He is able. Able to restore joy, bring peace and truly bless your Christmas with the best gift of all – His presence.”
Susan Narjala, Making Space: An Advent Devotional
Wishing you all the very merriest of Christmases and the most joyous of new years!
Of all the Christmas decorations out there, Nativity scenes are my absolute favorite.
I currently own six different nativity sets, and yet every year when Christmas decorations start to appear in the stores, I have the urge to run out and buy another one or two. Jon doesn’t understand my desire to fill my house with all the beautiful Nativity scenes. I have too many as it is because I don’t have enough space to display all of the ones I own. Yet a part of me wonders if a girl can own too many Christmas Nativity sets.
As I decorated my house for Christmas and displayed my beautiful Nativities, I thought about how my love for Nativity sets started when I was a young girl, as well as some of the beautiful Christmas lessons I’ve learned from setting up Nativity scenes.
These are three of my favorite Nativity stories.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
When I was a little girl, I knew the Christmas season had arrived when my mother pulled out the Nativity set.
She always got it out in early December. Sometimes we wouldn’t decorate a tree until it was almost Christmas, but the Nativity set was put out early in the season to remind us of the real story of Christmas.
My brother and sister and I played for hours with the Nativity. Ours was made from a very study plastic. It was not cheaply made nor did it look cheap, but because it was so sturdy it was also very kid friendly. Nothing could be easily broken on it — at least not until we were all grown and Brooke’s dog got hold of some of the shepherds and maybe a wise man or two.
Each of us had our own way of playing with the Nativity.
I liked to arrange all the characters so that it covered the entire coffee table. Mary and Joseph and the baby Jesus were settled into the wooden barn. The cow and the donkey were either in the creche or nearby. Not too far off to one side were the shepherds and their sheep, while a great distance off to the other side were the wise men with their camels.
Unfortunately, I always had a big dilemma over where to place the angels. There were two of them: one kneeling and one that was standing. I typically put one angel on a little flat section of barn roof, but should it be the kneeling angel or the standing one? Once I made that critical decision, then there was the problem of where to put the other angel. Should it be inside the barn worshipping Jesus or be near the shepherds bringing them news of great joy? This problem drove my Type-A brain crazy every single Christmas of my childhood.
I don’t really recall exactly how my brother Reid played with the Nativity. He probably arranged it so that the shepherds were fighting with the wise men or some other such silly boy nonsense. Or maybe he included extra characters in the scene: Star Wars and G. I. Joe figures guarding the baby or wise men arriving on the scene riding in tiny Matchbox cars. Probably he just spent time heckling me and Brooke over how we set up the Nativity scene and informing us that we did it all wrong.
But Brooke … well, I never will forget how she played with our Nativity set.
She worked hard, crowding all the characters right up into the barn. The pieces were literally crammed inside: shepherds stuffed next to wise men, animals doing handstands in the back corners. It was as if her goal was to get everyone as close to the infant Jesus as possible.
As a child, I never truly appreciated my sister’s way of acting out the Christmas story. I would come along behind her and put a little space between the shepherds and the wise men. However, now that I’m an adult and a parent, I have to admit I’m impressed by my sister’s innate understanding of the real meaning of Christmas.
Lesson 1:Get as close to the babe in the manger as possible.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Three years ago, my son Nathan bought me a Nativity set to add to my collection.
It was a pretty glass set, so small and sweet. He found it in a box of Christmas items at the antique store where he worked part-time, and purchased it for my birthday. His boss gave him a pretty good deal on it, and after I opened it I understood why.
Do you see the problem?
This nativity is actually the parts and pieces from several incomplete versions of the same nativity set that have been combined into one very inaccurate nativty. The absurd allotment of characters includes two Marys, three Josephs, and six Wise Men. The shepherds and angels are completely missing altogether.
I have to admit that I laughed the first time I saw it. It is just so crazy!
Every year when I pull it out from the box, I still laugh. And the giggles continue as I put the extra Mary and two of the Josephs on shepherd duty. Usually by the time I collect the Wise Men into a small horde, I am wiping away tears from the absurdity of this mismatched nativity.
And yet, every year I am reminded of a simple but oh-so-important truth as I set up my antique glass nativity, and that is that there is only one baby Jesus. I don’t have that particular piece in duplicates, nor is he missing altogether. And I think that’s really important to note.
Lesson 2:There is only one Savior. His name is Jesus.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I’ve always wanted a fancy Nativity set to display in my yard during the Christmas season.
Hobby Lobby has a beautiful outdoor nativity that costs several hundred dollars. Jon and I priced it a couple of years ago, and it’s nowhere near our price range for outdoor Christmas decor.
I have seen those simple Nativity scenes cut from plywood and painted white. These can usually be purchased for a reasonable price. I’ve also found patterns online to make them yourself. We’ve never bought or made one. Probably the biggest deterrent has been that we don’t have a truck to transport this large decorative piece or the plywood to make it to our house.
One year, Jon bought a blow-up Nativity for our yard. We had foster toddlers at the time, and they loved our Nativity. Sadly, it only lasted about three Christmases before it wouldn’t blow up anymore.
This Christmas, I told Jon that I thought of something we might be able to do for our yard and he was glad to help me make this vision come to life.
Together, we pulled out bits and pieces of wood from our shed and constructed a manger plus a cross. It took us just a couple of hours. I love the rustic appearance. Later, we went to Hobby Lobby, where I bought some straw and an old-looking piece of fabric for the swaddling cloth. All together we spent $6 on Christmas decorations for our yard.
I know it’s not a traditional Nativity, but it’s still really special to me. I’ll always cherish Jon’s enthusiasm for bringing my vision to fruition, as well as the time we spent together working on the project. And I think it will be hard for me to forget us searching through the fabrics to find the perfect one for our swaddling cloth.
But what I love the very most is that the manger is empty. Jesus didn’t stay an infant. He grew up and led a perfectly sinless life. He lived just to die and take the punishment for my sins.
Lesson 3: The manger in Bethlehem means nothing without the Cross of Calvary.
Here’s the best news of all: Jesus isn’t on the cross either.
That’s because He rose from the dead. He lives eternally, and through His death and resurrection offers me eternal life too.
It’s simple. The first step is to admit that I am a sinner, incapable of living life without breaking God’s laws. The punishment for not obeying God is death or eternal separation from Him.
Next I believe that Jesus came to live that perfect life without sin, and willingly took my punishment (death on the cross). However, He rose back to life and overcame death. The tomb is empty.
Finally, I repent or turn from living life my own way and surrender to living life God’s way. I confess Jesus to be the Lord and Savior of my life. And when I do that, God says that though I die an earthly death, I will live with Him forever in Heaven.
The best Christmas present out there is the presence of Jesus in your heart and life.
For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God.
If you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved.
If you’ve never heard of Mr. Shivers, don’t worry. It’s probably just proof you aren’t from Texas.
Now, you might be thinking, “Paige, I’m pretty sure you aren’t from Texas either. How did you come to know Allan Shivers?”
You are correct. I am not from Texas. I’m a Louisiana girl through and through.
My mother, however, is from Texas. She is the one who told me about Allan Shivers, just yesterday during our phone conversation. Until then, I’d never heard of him either.
As a born and bred Texan, my sweet mama knows all things Texas:
important facts about the great and marvelous people of that grand state, like Sam Houston, Stephen F. Austin, Allan Shivers and so forth
the tiniest of details about exciting Texas historical events, such as the Alamo and the Battle of San Jacinto
all the words to the Texas, Our Texas, which is the official state song of Texas (aka the Texas National Anthem).
Fun fact: One summer, my mother and my aunts, along with my grandmother, made me and all of my cousins learn the lyrics to the Texas state song. True story. Unfortunately, I didn’t have to sing those words as I stood at attention and saluted the Texas flag every morning at school. Therefore I didn’t retain the lyrics and can no longer prove I am half-Texan.
Enough digressing. Let’s get back to my mom and Allan Shivers.
Yesterday I called my mom.
Typically, I talk to my mom on the phone several times a week. She’s not nearly as chatty as my dad used to be, but I enjoy hearing her voice. Usually we talk about her dog Zayda’s antics or my kids’ college adventures, or what our pastors preached about on Sunday. (This actually takes quite a while because my mother tunes into about 3 or 4 preachers every Sunday morning.) And because we both love to read, every so often we discuss books.
Apparently, one of the stories in this book mentioned former Texas Governor Allan Shivers, which reminded my mother that once upon a time she actually met Gov. Shivers in person at a church service back when she was a relatively young girl. She recalled that he had some connections to her hometown of Woodville, TX, the main one being that the library there was the Allan Shivers Public Library but also something about his grandparents being buried in the big cemetery in Woodville as well.
Ever the curious person, my mom decided to poke around on the internet to see if she could discover more about this former prominent Texas politician. This is what she learned:
Allan Shivers served as the 37th Governor of Texas, a position he ascended to upon the death of Gov. Beauford Jester on July 11, 1949. (At that time, Shivers was serving as Texas Lt. Governor, and therefore was next in line as Governor.) Shivers went on to be elected Texas Governor three times in his own right in 1950, 1952 and 1954. He chose not to run as a candidate in 1956 gubernatorial race , and ended his last term on January 15, 1957.
Even though a four-term governorship is fairly impressive, it’s still pretty boring stuff if you aren’t into Texas history. I figured there must be more to this story, or otherwise it would not be worthy of my mother discussing it with me over the phone. As I said, she isn’t the most chatty person around.
I was right. That wasn’t all there was to this story.
You see, Allan Shivers was quite the popular governor. In fact, he was so well loved, that on the 1952 Texas gubernatorial ballot, both the Democrats and the Republicans named him as their nominee.
Yes, you read that correctly.
In the 1952 Texas governor’s race, voters went to the poll and found that they could vote for Democrat Allan Shivers or Republican Allan Shivers. They also had an option to vote No Preference.
My mother doesn’t usually tell tall tales. That award goes to my father. But I fact checked her anyway.
Here’s what I learned: Allan Shivers won the election.
You probably expected that. However, what you might not have expected is that the votes were actually counted. The Democrats even claimed victory, not that it really effected the outcome of the election.
While the Democratic Allan Shivers handily defeated the Republican Allan Shivers, when you totaled up all the votes cast for Governor Shivers in that election, he received a whopping 98.05 % of the votes. Just under 2% of the voters selected the No Preference option.
It doesn’t matter how you look at that 1952 Texas Governor’s race, I think it is safe to say that this is probably one of the few times in all of American history that Democrats and the Republicans agreed upon who would be the best man for the job.
It’s certainly not the case for the 2020 Presidential Election.
Can we possibly be any farther away from the 1952 Texas Gubernatorial Election?
I think not.
The Republicans have their candidate. The Democrats have theirs. Not to mention Third Party candidates and extra characters vying for their place in the election.
Everyone has an opinion. No one seems to agree. And I think if most of us were to be totally honest, we are just disappointed that these are the best candidates America has to offer us.
If you are like me, some aspects of this election leaves you with the shivers. (Pun intended!)
How then should we live out these next 3 weeks?
Prayer is where Christians should always start.
Begin by praying about who to cast your vote for (Not just for President but for all the offices you are voting for, and not just for this election but for every election.) Even if you think you have already chosen your candidate, go ahead and pray about it. Look intently to see if their platform and campaign promises line up with the Bible.
Pray for each candidate.
Pray for honest, peaceful voting and for clear results.
Pray for our attitudes toward others who may not vote like us.
Let’s all cover this election (and every election going forward) in prayer, and truly seek God’s will for our communities, our state and our nation.
It’s great to be excited about your candidate and there’s nothing wrong with spreading their campaign messages. Actually, let me clarify that statement. It’s fine to promote your candidate unless your methods don’t respect others.
Does your social media post shame or belittle someone who feels differently than you? Are you pointing fingers, making angry comments, or using guilt tactics on people who make it clear they plan to vote for another person? Are you making assumptions that other people haven’t thought about their vote just because they support a different candidate?
The Golden Rule is very simple: Treat others how you want to be treated. I think it’s safe to say that all of us want to be treated with respect.
Respect that others have a right to choose for themselves who to vote for. That respect begins with the assumption that the people in my life probably do not need my help in deciding how to vote.
Remember. You are only responsible for one vote. Your own.
I’m not just talking about agreeing to disagree. I’m talking about actually agreeing.
We may not all agree on who will make the best president. After all, it’s not Texas 1952 anymore.
Even so, I would venture to say that 95% of us regular Americans can agree on many things, such as the following:
We are for peace in the land and living in safe communities.
We are for seeing our nation thrive and our economy do well.
We are for our children and grandchildren growing up in a nation where opportunities abound.
We are for America, the land of the free and the home of the brave.
So, instead of bickering over candidates and letting the media’s talking heads further divide this nation, let’s refocus on how we do agree with each other.
The biggest travesty of most elections is the lack of voter participation.
You have a voice. It matters. Get yourself to the polls and cast your vote.
Better yet, be the kind of voter who stays informed. Our elected officials work for us. Speak up. Write letters. Send emails. Sign petitions. Go to your town hall meetings or show up at the state capitol.
If you want to see our country doing better, then it’s time to resolve to be involved.
Finally, let’s remember the Bible says this about our elected leaders:
“For there is no authority except from God, and those that exist have been instituted by God.”
No matter who walks away from this election with the right to be President of the United States for the next four years, that person will only have that authority because it was granted to him by God. That’s why we can trust this election to our Heavenly Father. He already knows how it all turns out. He’s got everything under control.
We may not have an easy ballot like those Texans had way back in 1952, but we don’t have to shiver about this election and its results anymore either.
Because God’s got this. And we can trust this election and its results to Him.
Several summers ago, when all five of my kids were pre-teens or young teens, they found this YouTube video of a song called “Dumb Ways to Die” (lyrics by Tangerine Kitty).
You can click the link to watch for yourself. Alternatively, you can just trust me … it’s a dumb video. (Jon disagrees. He liked it as much as the kids. Sometimes I question his taste in entertainment, but that’s a whole ‘nother post.)
Just imagine five kids (and their crazy dad) trying to out-sing each other:
“Set fire to your hair; Poke a stick at a grizzly bear …
Keep a rattle snake as a pet; Sell both your kidneys on the internet …
Dumb ways to die-ie-ie, So many dumb ways to die”
No one sang in tune or in the same key. Heck, they didn’t even all keep the same tempo! This truly was caterwauling at its finest … and it went on every single day, all summer long. They thought it was hilarious and spent hours laughing uproariously as they watched the video on repeat, until I thought all of their brain cells were going to rot from the continual inaneness and stupidity of the song.
For my children (who at the time were ages 9, 10, 11, 12 and 13), the summer of 2012 was The Summer of Great Silliness.
(Personally, I called it “the summer from you know where” … however, in light of the Summer of 2020, with its pandemic and riots and swarms of locusts, I admit in hindsight that I may have judged 2012 a bit harshly.)
The truth is, back in 2012, I wasn’t totally sure my kids would all live to see the end of the summer. I worried one of them might get the idea to try out one of the dumb things from the song just to make their siblings laugh and end up … well, you know … dead. Furthermore, based on their insane senses of humor, I had very little hope for their futures to be bright or successful should they survive after all.
Thankfully, that summer didn’t last forever.
I’m glad to report that not only did we all live to see the summer through, but no one actually tried out one of the dumb ways to die. (Don’t laugh … success is sometimes found in the small things.)
I’m even prouder to say that currently those same five children (now ranging in age from 17 up to 22) are doing quite well at managing their mostly adult-ish lives: holding down jobs, making great grades, washing their own clothes, returning library books. The list goes on and on.
That thing I was missing during the long summer of 2012 … well, I have it now. In fact, I have lots of hope for their futures.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The world is currently a rather scary place.
Apparently, 2020 is determined to be the year from you know where. We cannot escape bad news. As if pandemics aren’t enough, people are rioting in the streets and killing each other and arguing over who should or shouldn’t have to wear a mask, all while children are being trafficked as objects of sexual gratification.
I don’t know about you but I have a lot of fear. Here’s a short list of things I’ve feared in the last six months:
getting sick and/or dying with COVID
not getting the correct medical treatment if I do get sick
wearing a mask / not wearing a mask
riots and shootings
police being defunded
going to church / being banned from going to church
schools re-opening / schools not re-opening
outcome of the presidential election
truthfulness of the media
truthfulness of the government
sending my kids out into this world
my kids never leaving home (cause frankly this college break has been going on since mid-March and some of these people need to go back to their prior living situations — just sayin’)
The list is endless. I could add probably 50 more things to it right off the top of my head. But the point isn’t the list or any one of those items on it.
The point is that I don’t think I am the only one who is feeling fearful. In fact, mostly what I hear these days is fear … and it doesn’t matter which side I’m listening to.
We have become a fearful nation. And we are fearful because we have lost our hope.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I’ve lived a lot of my life in fear. This is not a lie. You saw my partial list of fears from this summer! The struggle is real for me, y’all. Anxiety likes to snuggle up with me at night and be my bed buddy.
And that’s so not cool because as a Christian, there are three things I know about fear:
Fear is a liar.
I live in the State of Louisiana, where the number of COVID cases since March is about 84,131.
That number is pretty scary. Eighty-four thousand people. That’s equivalent to a fair-sized city! And the more I think about exactly how many people that is, the more I start to freak out.
It’s not just that big number either because if you keep up with the headlines, the media announces each day the number of new COVID cases.
Are you like me, wondering will this ever end?!
Last week, I decided to take a good look at the COVID numbers on the Louisiana Department of Health website. These numbers, which are presented as straight facts, are updated every week on Wednesday. The numbers below were posted on Wednesday, July 15, 2020.
Total Tests completed by both state & commercial labs — 1,001,200
Total positive tests — 84,131
Total Deaths — 3,351
Normally, when I view the map with the numbers, I feel my anxiety start to ramp up. My throat tightens, my heart rate increases, and I feel the familiar panic start to set in. But this time I pushed through that initial anxiety. I didn’t stop to question whether or not these numbers are real or fake or inflated or whatever. Instead I did a little math.
(By the way, this isn’t rocket science math. It’s just basic percentages, exactly what my math teacher showed me how to do in Jr. High school. Your math teacher probably taught you how to do it too. If not, google has pretty simple explanations on how to figure up percentages. I know because I doubled check, just to be sure I remembered how to do it correctly.)
Louisiana has a total population of around 4.6 million people.
84,131 cases / 4.6 million people = .07% of the total population positive for COVID-19
84,131 cases / 1,001,200 completed tests = 8.4% positive test rate for those tested
3,351 deaths/ 84,131 cases = 3% death rate for those with COVID-19
The numbers haven’t changed. They are still big and scary. But, when looked at from a big picture perspective, I can also see the situation isn’t totally without hope. And while I still hate to think so many people have suffered and died from COVID, I can now view it in a more realistic manner.
COVID-19 is certainly a terrible thing to experience. But this world is full of many terrible things.
How about cancer or pneumonia or car wrecks or snake bites, just to name a few? I would hate for anyone to go through terrible things like this, but the truth is I don’t exactly live my life in fear of it happening either.
(Except for maybe the snake bites … I am currently pretty anxious about getting bitten by a snake. You see, several weeks ago I joined a FB group on snake bites and suddenly I am more worried about coming across a snake while weeding my flower beds or putting the trash can out at night. See, I told you I have a problem with anxiety.)
Anyway, here is my point:
Just because something is terrible doesn’t mean it has to be terrifying.
You see, fear is a liar. Fear is never from God. Furthermore, Jesus Himself said, “The truth will set you free.” (~John 8:32)
If fear is a liar and the truth can set us free, then …
2. Fear is a dumb way to live.
It shouldn’t surprise us that terrible things happen because the Bible tells us that in this world we will experience troubles. (John 16:33) Bad things are going to happen to us.
Even so, a Christian has no reason to fear.
In fact, you will see the words “Fear not” or “Do not fear” more than 100 times in the Bible. (This number does not include all of the other 500+ verses that address fear but do not use that phrase.) Obviously, God does not want us to fear.
But about when we do fear? Like right now … when the world seems to spin out of control and all hope feels lost. I’m human and I get scared. As a Christ-follower, how do I deal with my fear?
Here are a few things I’ve found to help me deal with my own fears in this life:
Remember who God is.
God is our refuge and strength, a helper who is always found in times of trouble. Therefore, we will not be afraid though the earth trembles and the mountains topple into the depths of the seas, though its waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with its turmoil. ~ Psalm 46: 1-3
Over and over God tells us that He will not leave us. He promises no matter how dark or how long the night, He is with us. Sometimes, when the fears hit me hard, I have to say it over and over and over again, like a spiritual mantra. Breath it in. Breathe it out. God will never leave me or forsake me. He is my strong tower.
Spend time in the Bible and in prayer.
I sought the Lord and He answered me and delivered me from all my fears. ~ Psalm 34: 4
How do we seek God?
Well, one thing is for certain: keeping track of the ever-changing numbers or tuning your TV to the 24-hour news cycle or spending hours keeping up with the social media frenzy about whether or not to wear a mask will not bring you peace or comfort! (I know because following that FB snake bite group has made me more afraid of snakes than ever before!)
There is such a thing as too much information.
Instead, spend time reading the Bible and talking to God in prayer. Call up another Christian friend for encouragement. Tune into online worship services or attend in person if you can. God wants to be close to you, and when we make God a priority in our life, then we will ultimately find more of the things He has promised us … mainly His peace and joy and love.
Troubles may find us, but Jesus said, “I came that they might have life, and have it abundantly!” (John 10:10) I am grateful I can experience God’s abundance here on earth, even in the midst of bad things.
Living a life of abundance is good, but eventually we are all going to die. And if we are going to experience death, then …
3. Fear is a dumb way to die.
What’s the worst thing that can happen?
My husband Jon likes to ask me this a lot … especially when I am particularly anxious about something really random, like being bitten by a snake as I push the trash can to the end of the driveway.
Generally, my response is, “Well, I could die!”
Is that really such a bad thing? (Snake bites, yes. Dying, no.)
“Jesus said to her, ‘I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?’”~John 11: 25-26
We know that this earthly life will end. What happens then?
Some people say those who have died go on to sleep in the arms of Jesus or rest in eternal peace or become an angel. According to the Bible, none of that’s true.
Lots of people talk about Heaven being our final destination. It’s a perfect place: a beautiful place with streets of gold and a crystal sea, where the inhabitants experience endless joy without tears or pain or sorrow.
The great news is all of that IS true! In fact, the Bible indicates that Heaven is a place where we will eat and work and laugh and worship. We certainly aren’t going there to sleep in heavenly peace; we are going there to live with abundance!
However, there is only one condition. In order to go to heaven, you must submit your life to Jesus Christ. He is the only way. Only He can forgive us of our sins and reconcile us to God. There is no other option.
Have you thought about eternity? Have you asked God to forgive you of your sins and given your life to Him?
If not, I urge you to do that today because dying without Jesus wouldn’t just be dumb. It would be tragic.
If you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. For with the heart one believes and is justified, and with the mouth one confesses and is save. ~ Romans 10: 9-10
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The summer of 2012 was a hard summer for me as a mom. I felt like my tweens and young teens were never going to be responsible adults. I was parenting without hope.
A lot of people today are living in fear: COVID, unstable economy, cashless society, race relations, lack of respect for police, upcoming elections, etc. It feels like a hopeless situation.
But in order to get that hope, you have to know where to find it.
Jesus is our great hope. Trust in Him and see what a difference He can make in your life.
Without Christ there is no hope. ~Charles Spurgeon.
You know the Judas I am talking about. Judas Iscariot. The disciple who betrayed Jesus for 30 pieces of silver.
The Bible tells us he killed himself. Every time I read through the accounts of Jesus’ betrayal, crucifixion, and resurrection, I always find myself wishing that Judas hadn’t made the choice to end his own life.
But he did … and it bothers me.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~
Recently I read through Matthew 26 during my morning devotional. This portion of Scripture gives quite a bit of insight into Judas.
For many years, I thought of Judas as some bumbling sort of soul, the kind of person who could easily be duped. In regards to his betrayal of Jesus, I assumed perhaps he was manipulated by the Jewish leaders for purposes much greater than anything he could aspire to do on his own.
Maybe he was a loser looking for friends in high places.
Perhaps he was a people-pleaser who couldn’t figure out a way to say no.
I wondered if he might be a young guy just looking for validation.
Whatever his personality type, I always figured Judas sort of just “fell” into an unintended role as part of the Pharisee’s plan to get rid of Jesus.
According to Matthew 26, nothing could be further from the truth.
Turns out, it was Judas who went to the chief priests.
Then one of the Twelve – the one called Judas Iscariot – went to the chief priests and asked, “What are you willing to give me if I deliver him over to you.”
It wasn’t the priests who were actively looking for an insider willing to betray Jesus. Rather, Judas was the one who took the first step. He set the betrayal in motion himself.
For the love of Christ, why did Judas do that?
Some people might use that phrase flippantly, but I’m serious.
Judas had just spent three years of his life walking all over Judea with Jesus. He had seen all of those miracles. He was there when the lame man walked, when Lazarus was raised from the dead, and when Jesus walked on the water. He had seen the miraculous healings. From the Sermon on the Mount to the feeding of the 5000, Judas heard and saw it all.
Didn’t he grow to love Jesus during that time? If so, then why would Judas betray Him?
Maybe it was …
For the love of money.
There’s no other reason that makes sense. Especially when you consider everything the Bible has to say about Judas and money.
You don’t have to dig around in the Gospels very far to figure out that money must have been extremely important to Judas. He was, after all, the treasurer for Jesus and the disciples, which meant he was in charge of the money bag.
We also know from Scripture that Judas was prone to helping himself to the money that was in that treasury. (John 12: 6) I can’t imagine that Jesus and his disciples had a lot of money to begin with, but Judas was sneaking out small amounts of it here and there for his own use. I’m sure he thought what he took would never be missed, but it appears that the others were aware of his tendency to take that which wasn’t rightfully his.
It seems that Judas had a problem money.
So money-loving Judas decided to go see the chief priests to barter for Jesus. The chief priests offered Judas 30 pieces of silver in exchange for Jesus’ betrayal. I have always assumed those coins must have been worth quite a large sum. But (as we have already seen), my assumptions aren’t always correct.
I did some research because I was curious just how much money Judas earned as Jesus’ betrayer. And what I learned is that Judas was most likely paid with Tyrian shekels, which was the type of currency used to pay the Temple taxes. In those days, every Jewish male over the age of 20 paid a Temple tax, which was the equivalent of two days wages or 1/2 shekel.
So if 1/2 shekel was worth two days wages, then 1 shekel would be worth four days wages. Do the math and 30 shekels of silver would be worth 120 days wages. Therefore the coins Judas received in exchange for the betrayal of Christ would be worth approximately one third of a year’s salary.
Not too shabby.
Unless you read the previous passage in Matthew 26 … .
Start reading in Matthew 26:6 and you’ll come across the story of the woman who anointed Jesus with the fragrant oil. It’s another very familiar passage. According to the Gospels, Mary (sister of Lazarus and Martha) came into a dinner party and poured out an entire alabaster jar of oil on Jesus’ head.
This oil was very costly. In fact, in another Gospel’s version of this same event, Judas himself tells us exactly how much this oil was worth:
But one of his disciples, Judas Iscariot, who was later to betray him, objected, “Why was this fragrant oil not sold for three hundred denarius, and given to the poor? It was worth a year’s wages.”
Later in the passage, we learn that Judas wasn’t known for being a man who cared about the poor and needy. His life of sneaking and stealing that which didn’t belong to him was known by those in Jesus’ inner circle. They recognized in this situation that Judas wasn’t concerned about money being used to help others.
So what was Judas concerned about? Why did he protest?
To Judas, anointing Jesus with an entire alabaster jar of fragrant oil was a nothing more than pointless extravagance. He didn’t see the oil being used in a sacrificial act of worship from a loving heart. When the precious oil was poured over Jesus, Judas could only see a frivolous waste of money. Money that could have lined the bag in which he freely dipped his hand.
It’s interesting to me that these two passages can be found side-by-side in the same chapter of Matthew. One tells of worship and sacrifice. The other is filled with betrayal and greed.
Mary anointed Jesus with oil. As she broke the bottle, out flowed the precious oil which could have been sold for an entire year’s salary. Yet, she knew the worth of the oil couldn’t begin to compare to the worth of Jesus Christ.
But to Judas, Jesus Himself was worth only about one third of a year’s salary.
Perhaps more accurately … a third of a year’s salary and his own soul.
Most Christians are familiar with how Jesus sent Judas away from the Passover table. Later, Judas led the Roman soldiers to the Garden of Gethsemane, where he betrayed Jesus with a kiss. Jesus was bound by Roman guards and led away like a criminal.
I wonder what Judas was expecting as he stood in the garden and watched Jesus being led away. Did he have any idea that Jesus would be condemned to die?
The gospel of Matthew (chapter 27, verses 3-5) tells us the once Jesus was sentenced to crucify, Judas was “seized with remorse.” He actually went to the chief priests to return the money.
“I’ve have sinned,” he said, “for I have betrayed innocent blood.”
The priests didn’t care about Judas’ admission of guilt or confession of Jesus’ innocence.
Matthew’s gospel says that Judas threw the money into the temple and went away to hang himself.
This is what boggles my mind … if Judas knew he had done something terribly wrong, why didn’t he confess it to Jesus? Why didn’t he seek forgiveness from the one he wronged? After three years, didn’t he know the heart of Jesus? Didn’t he know he could pray to God and receive mercy?
So what kept him from seeking out forgiveness?
Probably. It’s what keeps most of us from going to God and seeking forgiveness. At least, pride is what most often keeps me from admitting my sin.
This is why I wish Judas didn’t hang himself: Feeling remorse for our sins doesn’t do us any good.
It never has. Go all the way back to the book of Genesis and there in the Garden of Eden we read about Adam and Eve and the very first sin. What was the immediate reaction of Adam and Eve? Remorse. They experienced was remorse for their actions, and then they tried to hide their sin from God by sewing clothes from fig leaves.
Those first remorseful actions didn’t work for Adam and Eve.
Remorse didn’t work for Judas either.
Remorse still will not work for us.
So the lesson from Judas is to recognize that remorse for our wrongs doesn’t solve the problem. There needs to be more than just regret and remorse over our sins.
We need forgiveness. How do we get that forgiveness? It comes through the confession of our sins to God.
We also need repentance, which is simply the act of turning away from the wrongs we have done as we commit to live our life according to God’s way. (It doesn’t mean we never sin again. Far from it! It just means we look to Jesus as our example as we strive to live our life according to God’s way.)
I believe if Judas had confessed to Jesus and asked for it, he would have been forgiven. There would have been no need to hang himself in shame. He would have received grace and mercy. He would have the promise of everlasting life.
Because that’s what the cross is all about.
For when we died with Christ we were set free from the power of sin. And since we died with Christ, we know we will also live with him. We are sure of this because Christ was raised from the dead, and he will never die again. Death no longer has any power over him. When he died, he died once to break the power of sin. But now that he lives, he lives for the glory of God. So you also should consider yourselves to be dead to the power of sin and alive to God through Christ Jesus. ~Romans 6:7-11
So if the Son sets you free, you are truly free. ~John 8:36
Millions of Americans, including thousands of school children, watched the Space Shuttle Challenger lift-off, carrying with it America’s first civilian teach into space.
Seventy-three seconds later, the shuttle exploded.
Those who watched, whether in Florida or elsewhere via TV screens, stared, transfixed by the plumes of white smoke mixed with traces of red against the backdrop of beautiful blue sky.
Seconds passed by. News announcers stuttered. Disbelief and shock slowly turned to horror.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~
Where were you when the Space Shuttle Challenger exploded?
In January 1986, I was an 8th grade student at Harrisonburg Elementary School in rural Harrisonburg, Louisiana. My life revolved totally around the things happening at school, such as which girl liked which boy or if the school’s basketball team won the most recent game or when the next math test might be given. Outside of school, I enjoyed episodes of The Cosby Show or listening to the latest Whitney Houston ballad. I definitely wasn’t interested in the evening news.
This doesn’t mean that I was totally oblivious. I was aware enough to recognize the names of important world leaders: President Ronald Reagan, the United Kingdom’s Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher or Russia’s Mikhail Gorbachev. But I didn’t really see how what they did affected me or why I should be concerned with events that happened anywhere outside the tiny brick school building where I spent the majority of my time.
But on January 28, 1986, all of that changed …
Many of the details of my personal experiences from that day have long faded over the 34 years that have passed since the Space Shuttle Challenger exploded.
I do recall after school feeling mildly annoyed that there was nothing on TV except breaking news reports having something to do with a space shuttle, but I snapped it off without ever sitting down to listen.
Just minutes later, the phone rang. I answered and heard my friend’s voice on the other end:
Paige, have you heard? The space shuttle exploded! All of the astronauts were killed!
The news hit me as if a bombshell had detonated right there in my bedroom. Surely not! I couldn’t believe her words … and yet, as I slowly switched the TV back on, I could see for myself that my friend was right. As the images replayed again and again, I stared at the TV screen, trying to make sense of what I was seeing.
Seven astronauts smiling and waving to the small group of family and friends as they walked toward their waiting spacecraft. The giant white shuttle, pointed heavenward. The gradual lifting of the shuttle. The white trail of smoke against the brilliant blue winter sky. The explosion. One trail of smoke turned into two, before fading completely into the atmosphere.
I felt sick to my stomach, yet I was unable to turn my face away from the TV. All I wanted was for the story to be false, for it all to be a big mistake, for the newscasters to announce that somehow all the astronauts survived.
I was 13 years old … and it was the first time I can ever recall being emotionally affected by a national tragedy. It was the first time I can remember being part of a national mourning.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~
January 29, 1986
Class, today’s writing assignment is to write about yesterday’s tragedy with the Space Shuttle Challenger. You can choose whether to write a factual record of the event or you can write down your emotional reaction to what happened.
My 8th grade English teacher, Mrs. Swayze, frequently gave out writing assignments. Normally our class offered up complaints and spent more time searching for paper and pencils than we didn’t writing.
This day was different. No one complained. No one wasted time searching for a pencil. Instead we wrote. And for what seemed like an eternity, the only sound to be heard in that classroom was that of pencils scratching across pages of loose leaf paper.
I don’t recall whether or not these essays were turned in that day, or if we spent several days editing those first drafts. Perhaps this was a bigger graded assignment, or maybe it was just counted as a daily activity and checked for completion. I’ve forgotten these insignificant details.
But what I do remember is the time I spent writing and how it felt to put all of my emotions down on that white sheet of paper. I remember how while I wrote I thought about being able to see a glimpse of every American on board that shuttle. The astronauts included whites, blacks, Asians, men and women, and a teacher. There was even a man with the last name Smith. It was as if we all were on that space shuttle together.
As I wrote about the sorrow of the tragedy, I came to realize something I never really knew before: writing can be cathartic to the soul. As I wrote, I owned my grief and began to come to terms with it. I didn’t know it that morning, but I would never again experience a sorrow in my life without writing my way through it.
A week or so later, my English teacher, Mrs. Swayze, announced that a small number of the essays written about the Challenger tragedy would be published in our tiny school’s newspaper. Mine was one of those essays chosen.
When my little essay was published, I learned something I never knew before: writers have a power to effect others. My friends read the essay and told me that my words helped them feel better. Teachers at the school came by and told me how they read my essay aloud to their classes. Some of them hugged me and thanked me for sharing my comforting thoughts. Writing, I realized, was a way to connect with other people.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~
Somewhere, among all the boxes where I’ve packed up the bits and pieces of my childhood, there remains a tattered copy of that old school newspaper.
Every five or six years, I will happen across it as I search for something else I know must be tossed in those boxes of school yearbooks and 4-H ribbons and other items that tell the story of who I was before I grew into an adult.
Whenever I see that school newspaper, I take a moment to pick it up. As I reread that essay written by a 13-year-old girl, tears well up in my eyes. I am transported back to that January so long ago, remembering the hours I sat watching the tragedy replayed on the TV screen. In my mind, I can hear the scribbling of my pencil as I tried to write about that deep, sorrowful pain, trying to make sense of something that simply didn’t make sense.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~
January 28, 1986 was a day of national tragedy.
It also happened to be the day before the day when I became a writer.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~
And He who sits on the Throne said … “Write, for these words are faithful and true.” ~Revelation 21:5
I don’t know exactly when my mother started researching our family tree, but I must have been rather young. My childhood memories include walking around old, abandoned cemeteries, hours upon hours spent in the library while my mother scanned unreadable censuses taken long ago, and stacks of papers lying around with strange names and dates scribbled on them.
Early on, I was fascinated by the names I heard my mother repeating as she told my father about the ancestors she discovered … and this was especially true about the name of my great-great-great-grandfather, George Washington Allbritton.
Back when I was about 8 or 9 years old and first heard that name, I felt absolutely certain it meant we were somehow related to the real George Washington. After all, why else would his mother have named him that?
Sadly, George Washington isn’t even remotely anywhere along my family tree … but George Washington Allbritton and his wife Sarah are still worth talking about. In fact, there’s a great little story about this family.
My son Joel wrote this version of the story for a narrative speech he gave way back in the 9th grade. He’s a college sophomore today, but I still feel pretty proud that he chose to retell this family tale all those years ago.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~
BANG! BANG! BANG!
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The steady beating rang out across the rural countryside.
The year was 1863. My great-great-great-great grandparents lived deep in the heart of the Confederacy, somewhere in the piney hills of Catahoula Parish in northern Louisiana. They were dirt poor, just simple farmers trying to work hard just to get by, certainly not wealthy land and slave owners.
The man of the house, George Washington Allbritton, had gone off to fight in the Civil War. He left his wife, Sarah, behind to care for their 12 children.
Early on this cold December morning, Sarah awoke to a steady drumming noise.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Over and over, the sound continued, steady as a heartbeat. And the one thought racing in Sarah’s mind was that this must surely be the sound of Yankee drums.
Sarah quickly woke the children.
Hurry with your chores! Milk the cow and gather the eggs, and come right back inside!
Sarah tried not to panic, but the drumming continued as she cooked their biscuits and bacon for breakfast. As they bowed their heads over the meal, Sarah silently added an additional prayer that the Yankees wouldn’t come by their house today.
By mid-morning the drumming sounded louder. Sarah instructed her children to hide their meager possessions.
Wrap the family Bible in the quilt made by my mother, Maggie. Then you take it and bury it in the garden, Tom. Take all our corn meal, flour and dried salt pork, and hide it in the barn underneath the wagon and cover it with some hay, Ben. Hurry children! We don’t want the Yankees to take our things!
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Shortly after noon, Sarah was feeling frazzled from the constant pounding of the drums. Hardly a minute passed without hearing the beat reverberating throughout the hills surrounding their home. She sent the older boys to turn the old milk cow and the chickens loose.
We will not give the Yankees any of our hens for their supper tonight!
Later in the afternoon the sounds of a wagon could be heard, coming over the road. Swiftly, Sarah rushed all the children, from the youngest to the oldest indoors. She stood just inside the doorway of their small log home. Finally, after an eternity, a horse and wagon came into view.
What a relief! It was just her brother Martin. Perhaps he was on his way over to warn her or maybe he wanted to ensure that she and the children were safe from a Yankee raid. Sarah ran outside and flagged him down.
“Martin! Do you have any news of the Yankees?”
But to Sarah’s astonishment, Martin was unaware of any Yankees marching in the area. In fact, he hadn’t heard any drumming noises all day, though he could certainly hear the steady beat now!
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Martin listened closely for several long minutes. Finally he said, “Sarah, has that drumming sounded just like this all day?”
“Why, yes, it has. There might be an occasional small pause, but mostly it’s been steady since early this morning.”
“Well, it’s not getting any closer. I don’t think you need to worry about Yankees, but we do need to find the source.”
So Sarah and Martin took a walk around the farm, and there behind the barn they found an overturned barrel. Trapped underneath was Sarah’s Yankee drummer … a old chicken trying to peck its way out.
As the sun sank low, Sarah sighed a sigh of relief as she stood in front of the stove to cook their supper. She sent the girls up to the garden to retrieve the family Bible, wrapped in her mother’s quilt, and the boys went out to find the old milk cow.
And later that evening, they bowed their heads and with thankful hearts said grace … before they ate their Yankee drummer for dinner!
~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~
Joel’s rendition of this story mostly accurate, however he did use some writer’s liberties and changed or added a few details in order to make the story easier to tell for his speech class.
For example, when George Washington Allbritton left his wife Sarah to go fight in the war, only 2 of their children had been born. The remaining 10 were born after the Civil War had ended.
Additionally, we don’t know if Sarah’s brother Martin came by to help her figure out it was a chicken under a barrel instead of a regiment of Yankee soldiers … but we do know that she did have a brother named Martin Van Buren Cassells. (Sidenote: I was pretty fascinated to discover a second presidential name in the family tree, even if I am not directly descended from him. There also happens to be a man by the name of Benjamin Franklin McGuffee in my family tree, who is a direct ancestor. Obviously, my ancestors were extremely impressed by certain historical figures.)
Other than those two details, the story is a true: Sarah did hear a steady beating and hid much of the family’s treasured items thinking that the Yankees were marching through the area. Later, she discovered the sound she heard was just a chicken trying to peck its way out from beneath an overturned wooden barrel.
I’m a Baptist girl through and through, but I suppose I’ve lived long enough in Cajun country that perhaps Catholicism has rubbed off on me a little.
I say that because I’m about to make a confession. Specifically a Friday confession. It’s a Friday confession because I made a goal to write and publish a PCOS blog post every Friday.
So my painful confession is this: I don’t have one for today.
Right at this very moment I sitting here at my computer, worn out from the week and feeling totally guilty because I have failed to write a PCOS blog post for today.
But I did send off my book’s preface, introduction and two chapters to an agent, so there’s that. Maybe I don’t feel so guilty after all.
The thing I’m discovering that writing a book is hard work. Each day I am consumed with research, documentation, on top of writing and writing and writing. Of course, all this writing is on top of my regular stay-at-home mom job … you know, cooking and cleaning and laundry and grocery shopping and running around with teens and so on and so forth. And most days I wonder if I can get it all done.
A couple of days ago I saw the little pennant pictured below at Hobby Lobby.
I started to buy it, but I took a photo instead.
This writing a book feels pretty impossible right now. Then again, I can remember when the thought of writing just one chapter felt insurmountable and I’ve written two complete chapters and three more chapters are close to being done. I’m about 18,000 words into a 25,000 word book … which is a rather short book.
Even if it is short and even if I am more than halfway there, it feels impossible tonight. But I am remembering that if God is for me then who can be against me … including myself.
And the good news is that there will be a PCOS blog post on another day.
This weekend, I spent some time creating a vision/encouragement board for desk area. I wasn’t sure how it would turn out when I started, but I love it! It has a fun vibe that makes me eager to plow ahead with the work I feel God has called me to do.
On the board, you may notice two handwritten squares. One of them boldly states, “I am a WRITER.” I’ve never called myself a writer before, but I decided that starting in 2020 I would use this descriptor.
Last Wednesday at our church supper, a rather precocious 5 year old girl was sitting at the table where Jon and I were eating. She peppered us with all sorts of questions. She asked Jon what sort of job he had, and when he told her that he was a geologist, she nodded her head as if she knew exactly what that meant. Then she turned to me and asked, “What is your job?”
I almost said, “I am just a mom.” But I caught myself.
“I’m a writer,” I said.
“A writer. I write books.“
There was a moment of silence as she considered my words. Then she asked, “Do you mean librarian?”
I have to admit that even though the line of questioning was making me feel a bit like I was about to be accused of just pretending at what sort of job I had, I was impressed with this kid’s vocabulary.
“No,” I said. “I’m not a librarian. I am a writer. I write the words that you read inside the books at the library.”
“Oh … a writer.” She sighed, picked up her fork and said, “That’s a weird job.”
Weird or not, it’s what God has called me to do.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
In 2012, I attended two writer’s conferences.
Up until this point, I wrote as I felt the urge. I had a blog, but it was mostly just a hobby for me. But then my parents insisted I go to a local writer’s conference one weekend in March. I couldn’t say no as they paid the conference fee and kept all five of my kids for the weekend. I spent the entire conference wondering why I was there.
But, when it was over, I met a sweet friend named Christie … and somehow we ended up in Michigan three months later at a big national writer’s conference. Talk about being out of my league! I left there questioning what it was God wanted to do in my life in regards to writing.
All that summer, I prayed and asked God, “Do you want me to write?” Over and over and over I prayed and asked for direction.
That September I turned 40.
Remember Christie, my writer friend? Well, she sent me a box of gifts to open, one gift for each day of the week of my birthday. Each gift was wrapped individually and had a tag with a Scripture reference.
I had been opening gifts for three or four days when my actual birthday arrived. That morning, the kids excitedly asked if they could pick me a gift to open from the box. When I agreed, they brought me a gift … and when I opened it, I found a beautiful new ink pen, tagged with the Scripture Psalm 45:1.
My heart overflows with a pleasing theme; I address my verses to the king; my tongue is like the pen of a ready writer.
Psalm 45:1 (CSB)
And that was when I knew God was calling me to be a writer.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
It’s been 7 years since that September morning. Honestly, I haven’t done much with that calling other than blog. I tried but as a homeschooling mom I often felt pulled in many directions. Ask any stay-at-home mother and she will tell you it’s a full-time job!
Last year, I began to feel like I didn’t have a job anymore. One by one, my teens were leaving the home for college and jobs. With just two left at home, I had all sorts of free time on my hands. I felt confused about what I should do. Go back to teaching? Take in more foster children? Volunteer at some worthy place?
And then God graciously reminded me … He already gave me a job. I’m His writer. I work for Him.
At first I felt guilty. Had I just been wasting time the last seven years? Had I neglected my calling?
And this is the verse God gave me:
Look, I am about to do something new; even now it is coming. Do you not see it? Indeed, I will make a way in the wilderness, rivers in the desert.
Isaiah 43:19 (CSB)
In the Bible, the number seven represents perfection or completion.
I don’t think the seven years between my calling to write on my 40th birthday to this new season in my life was wasted. God was preparing me and growing me. Instead of feeling confused and uncertain, I am confident in knowing my calling, and eager to do what God has given me to do.
It’s January 2020 … a new month, a new year, a new decade. And for me, it’s the start of a new career.
I am a writer.
Thus says the Lord, the God of Israel: Write in a book all the words that I have spoken to you.