Author: Amy

-Child of God through the saving grace of Jesus Christ -Pilgrim on the journey through this life -Lover of cats, dogs, great books and music Join me in celebration of the simple joys and encouragement through the hard places.
Dancing With the Line

Dancing With the Line

by Amy ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

This past week the (in)Courage writing group prompt was based on chapter seven of The Writing Life by Annie Dillard. We were asked what holds us back from taking more risks in our writing. Fear is the simple yet complex answer to that question. Fear restrains me in every arena of life. The doubt that I am good enough stops me in my tracks repeatedly. I advance and then halt. Annie Dillard states that the stunt pilot Rahm told her that he found a rhythm and kept operating with it. I am devoid of a good rhythm because I worry about the mistakes I have made in the past.
I take my focus off Jesus. Peter demonstrated my rhythm when he walked on the water. ” He said, ‘Come.’ So Peter got out of the boat, started walking on the water, and came toward Jesus. But when he noticed the strong wind, he became frightened, and beginning to sink, he cried out, ‘Lord, save me!’” Matthew 14:29-30. As soon as I look behind I begin to sink. The only noble action I take when writing is to try again. I never entirely stop, but I am forever pausing.
Annie Dillard wrote about a ride with the stunt pilot that, “If he had noticed how he felt, he could not have done the work.” Writing is without a doubt very hard work. Anything deeply worthwhile includes a measure of self-sacrifice. It doesn’t feel good at the time you are engaged in the activity. Sometimes writing is terrifying. If the stunt pilot had dwelt upon the feeling of taking all those g-forces he would not have done those stunts, certainly not as well.
If Jesus had focused His attention on how it would feel to be betrayed by one of His closest friends He might have paused. This betrayal was followed by mockery, injustice, bullying, torture, the denial of one of His very best friends, even brutal death. John 13:21 tells us that Jesus was deeply moved in His spirit. He was distressed, troubled, terrified or disturbed before He shared the Last Supper. Despite knowing how it felt He went though with it all anyway. How it felt was not the focus of His attention. He seems to have kept His focus on saving you and me.
Fear may trip me up, but if I keep reaffirming my focus on the real reason for writing, bringing glory to God, then I too may be able to dance with “the line.” I trip and flip and keep right on dancing to the music that comes from the love of God.

Dancing to the rhythm of God
The song of praise in my heart
Pounding joyous and free
Not hindered with me.
Too much thought for myself
Leads to a halting,
Awkward dance.
Tripping,
Falling,
Downward,
Sinking, then
Bounding up
With Hope and love,
Jumping glorious,
Heart at peace,
Words made free
To twirl and breathe
With God.
Indeed!

Wounded Hearts

Wounded Hearts

by Amy ♥ 3 Comments

Deep inside each person is a heart and spirit in a kaleidoscope of color and textures. We resemble a stained glass window. Rent by cracks and fissures each one is unique and different. One thing remains the same, that each crack, when traced back to its’ source, has at its’ root fear.

These deep fears all come from somewhere when we believed a lie. Something the evil one told us about ourselves that was not true. But we did not understand. We thought that we discovered the awful truth about ourselves. Whether in our childhood, youth or from some oft’ repeated mistake, we gave credit to the lie that we were not enough. We opined ourselves losers, or failures, unloved or unwanted. Somewhere deep inside we believed the lie that we were not enough.

Adam and Eve believed the lie. They thought they were not enough without the fruit of the tree, the forbidden tree’s fruit. And ever since each one of us has repeated the same mistake. Each of us has at one time or another believed the same lie. It is a thing that was never really true in the first place.

For, as Adam and Eve were loved by God, so are we. We are his own creation and beloved children through Jesus Christ. No matter what the fear was that originally caused the crack, Christ is the solder that holds it all together. And we see only cracks, where from a distance it looks like stained glass. We look like a master craftsman has created our spirits. Indeed, we are all bits of cracked glass pieced together by God’s love. Each of us is held together by Christ’s sacrifice, by our redemption. And we are whole because He was wounded.

Each stripe of the whip bore away some of our reproach with Him. As the lashes tore at Jesus’ back, the lines of His raw, bleeding flesh became the lines of lead holding us together. Isaiah 53:5
But he was wounded for our transgressions,
crushed for our iniquities;
upon him was the punishment that made us whole,
and by his bruises we are healed.

 

 

Row On

Row On

by Amy ♥ 1 Comment

I don’t know where I am going-but I do. I have no idea what the journey has in store but I do know where the path leads. This life in Christ has been called a pilgrimage-journey to a sacred place.

This pilgrim life is fraught with peril and adversity yet blessed beyond compare. It is a study in contrasts. The (in)Courage writing group was asked when we feel as though we have “rowed against the tide?” Perseverance is to be the topic for this week.

At first I tried to think of a time I persevered successfully. Then it occurred to me that my whole life has felt like “rowing against the tide.” The tide reminds me of all the world’s pull toward apathy and self-preservation in a world gone terribly awry.

Do you ever watch the TV news? I hear about it from my Dad and watch it sometimes. Mainly I rely on headlines and tweets online from my local station. I find it necessary to fast from the news with some frequency. It makes the world look so bad-so hopeless. The sky is about to fall, or so it seems.

I think they tell less than half the story. That is what people often want-the bad news. I am convinced that there is far more good in the world than bad. I think that there is far more love, goodness and self-sacrifice in the heart of man than you would ever believe if you watch the news everyday.

I believe that life is worth persevering through because good ultimately triumphs over evil. I don’t know what trials lie ahead but, I do know where victory lies. Jesus rose from the grave. Death has lost it’s sting. It may be Lent but Easter is a reality. Jesus said, “It is finished!”

John 16:33
I have said this to you, so that in me you may have peace. In the world you face persecution. But take courage; I have conquered the world!”

I row against the tide because like Ferrar Burn in The Writing Life by Annie Dillard I know the tide will turn. Row on fellow pilgrim!

Life is what happens while you’re making other plans.
You sail out on the ocean
Ever father from dry land.
The slowly, rolling rhythm of the ship upon the sea
Lulls you melodically into deep monotony.
The wind and waves and waving flags,
So endlessly the same,
That it hardly seems you’re moving
As you roll across the waves.

And then comes the tempest.
You’re tossed into the air.
You look about to discover that
You’re in the middle of nowhere!
In the middle of the ocean,
Beaten, battered and lost,
It causes you to wonder,
“What was worth this cost?”

“Where am I going?
What will be my end?”
Fear, doubt and rising sense of dread
Accompany you on your journey
Through life’s uncertainty.
Life is not what you expected
In the land of early youth,
When the world was yours for the taking
And dreams seemed all the truth.

Life-one discovers,
Is not the brilliant dream that starts
Nor the glorious triumph
As you finally conclude your part.
No, life is simply very wet
For life is lived in the ocean.
It’s unfulfilled as yet.
Most of it is lived in the great in-betweens,
Between the place you came from
And the land of your dreams.

Adventures in Good Books

Adventures in Good Books

by Amy ♥ 3 Comments

The (In)Courage writing group that I am a part of has been discussing Annie Dillard’s book, The Writing Life. This week we focus on chapter five. I love this chapter. This is where she discusses the influence of what the writer reads upon their output. I have long felt that it must be true. In my life when I read a lot of poetry. Much poetry pours out into my consciousness. Annie Dillard claims it goes deeper. I think she may be right. Who we become is in part shaped by what we read in quantity. The books I loved and read over and over as a child helped to shape my ideas of the world. Our voice as writers is doubtlessly influenced to some extent by our worldview and the writers we read the most.

As Christians, The Holy Bible becomes the seminal influence in our lives, shaping every aspect of ourselves. Spending time in The Word daily is critical to me. I want the Holy Spirit to be the dominant voice in my life, but I guess Jane Austen, Charles Dickens, John Keats, William Wordsworth, JRR Tolkien, Leo Tolstoy, Ann Voskamp, and yes, Lucy Maud Montgomery have all helped to influence my creative voice.

I think one of the factors that influences our fondness for a book is if they speak “our voice.” It isn’t enough that they write in English. L.M. Montgomery calls them “kindred spirits.” Some authors are just that. You stumble upon their work and somehow it speaks right to your heart; a play of words that arrests you; a poem that makes you feel more deeply alive. They see the world in a way that makes sense to you across miles, centuries, wild imaginings. These authors lead, and you are compelled to follow because you need to know where the story goes.

This week I have been reminded on numerous occasions of a poem I wrote quite a few years ago. I attached to this post with some trepidation. It is old. My sister said it lacked maturity. I’m hesitant to share my poetry because my style is not in fashion. Forgive me, dear reader if it falls flat, but it sums up what has been on my mind all week. “Vicariously, I lived on through the greatest books the world ever knew.”

20140314-194334.jpg
Somewhere between the covers of a book
Lies my life when I recall.
It seems I dwelt in paper ink, and all.
Somehow I lived in history
And literature and poetry.

And although no one has written a biography,
My life, it seems, has become a story.
The novel novel of my days
Spent freely though I lacked the ways
Life and money are generally used.

No, I have just meandered along
Never worrying about the throng.
Neither cared I whether my means
Could support all my dreams.

Dreaming them brought it’s own wealth,
Of a sort, and now I have quite a shelf,
A lovely leather bound library
And a volume of poetry
Composed by me.

And this I see when gazing back.
This, and not the common things I lacked.
So if you ask me where I’ve been,
In honesty, I’d have to say
That I have lived a book today.

And all my yesterday’s were such
That I have learned so very much.
Vicariously I lived on through
The greatest books the world ever knew.

Remembrance of Things Past

Remembrance of Things Past

by Amy ♥ 4 Comments

I remember the wrong things. Instead of remembering the One who spoke the cosmos into existence loves me I remember the frittata that I served with the still runny center. Rather than remembering that God, who knows the end from the beginning, placed me in the world at the right time and place to fulfill His plan, I remember the thoughtless words I spoke that sent a good man out of my life.

It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve made that dish right or how many February’s have come and gone since I spoke without thinking. All I remember is my own failures. Why? Because they reaffirm the belief in my own unworthiness.

I love the great dramas of history but the story of victory is filled with small acts of self-less-ness. I remember my mistakes not Jesus’ self-sacrifice on the cross.

Our human frailty may run just as deep as that first bite of forbidden fruit in the garden. In spite of that Jesus came, became fully human and became the perfect sacrifice in our place.

Romans 5:17
“If, because of the one man’s trespass, death exercised dominion through that one, much more surely will those who receive the abundance of grace and the free gift of righteousness exercise dominion in life through the one man, Jesus Christ.”

Before He went to the cross, our Lord took bread, “and when he had given thanks, he broke it and said, “This is my body that is for you. Do this in remembrance of me.” In the same way he took the cup also, after supper, saying, “This cup is the new covenant in my blood. Do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me.”1 Corinthians 11:24-25

We are supposed to remember His sacrifice. Which led to our justification. Why do I spend so much time remembering my own shortcomings? It is Lent, a time to let go of my self and focus on Jesus Christ. I remember the wrong things.

Enough Faith?

Enough Faith?

by Amy ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

Sometimes I wonder if I have enough faith. There are days when the cup looks like it will run dry long before the challenges have been dealt with. Periods of illness can drain the cup to the dregs.

20140309-215751.jpg

When I feel as though my faith were nearly run dry I remember the apostles asking Jesus to increase their faith. I don’t think His response was what they expected. Luke 17:5-6 The apostles said to the Lord, “Increase our faith!” The Lord replied, “If you had faith the size of a mustard seed, you could say to this mulberry tree, ‘Be uprooted and planted in the sea,’ and it would obey you.

The size of a mustard seed
The size of a mustard seed

What Jesus offers is a way out. A way through the hard, dry places. He came not to increase our faith, but to offer us grace. He came and died, drained His blood, that the cup might overflow not with wine but love.

Psalms 23:5
You prepare a table before me
in the presence of my enemies;
you anoint my head with oil;
my cup overflows.

My cup overflows with forgiveness
My cup overflows with forgiveness

Our cups overflow with grace. We want to posses sufficient faith in and of ourselves. We want all-sufficient faith to face life’s obstacles. Jesus offers us not mountains of faith, but all-sufficient grace.

When the disciples couldn’t cast out a demon they demanded more faith. In Matthew 17:20 He said to them, “Because of your little faith. For truly I tell you, if you have faith the size of a mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move; and nothing will be impossible for you.”

What we really need is not the self-sufficiency to move mountains, or uproot tress. We need to trust in the One who ransomed us. Our cup overflows with grace. We need only a little faith.

If I keep bringing Him my very small faith He can replenish me. He can restore and renew me. He will make streams in the desert places of my life. We can become like trees planted by streams of water. The trees with deep root systems don’t blow over as easily. When I feel like I am running dry on faith I need to drink deeply of grace.

When I give my tiny mustard seed worth of faith to God...
When I give my tiny mustard seed worth of faith to God…

Psalms 23:6
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
all the days of my life,
and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord
my whole life long.

Maelstrom

Maelstrom

by Amy ♥ 2 Comments

I just gave the Creator of the Universe a handful of foolish excuses. Don’t ask me why, because I know He knows they are excuses. My week has been very busy. That isn’t an excuse that is truth. But, that doesn’t give me leave to neglect this post. I cannot really say why I am obligated to write this. Although I am charged to write. God doesn’t really ask that much of me. God doesn’t nag at my quiet time with requests. Well He has been after me to share what I’ve learned about Him. He wants me to write. If I neglect this then there will be a tiny hole in the fabric of the universe that only God and I will be aware of. Something seemingly insignificant will not be done, but these thoughts are supposed to be shared. So, my To Do: List is an excuse.

This week I’ve been reading from the sixth chapter of John’s gospel. The powerful contrast of God’s abundant provision even in the midst of human want; the miracles that Jesus wrought have been pointed out to me again and again. The feeding of the five thousand and Jesus walking on the water to the disciples in the middle of the storm at sea have been buoys that marked my busy week. Today has been something of a storm. There is too much to get done and too little time.

I’ve been looking at Annie Dillard’s book, The Writing Life. At the end of the third chapter she describes how the page will teach the writer to write. “The page, the page, that eternal blankness,the blankness of eternity which you cover slowly, affirming time’s scrawl as a right and your daring as necessity; the page, which you cover woodenly, ruining it, but asserting your freedom and power to act, acknowledging that you ruin everything you touch but touching it nonetheless, because acting is better than being here in mere opacity; the page, which you cover slowly with crabbed thread of your gut; the page in the purity of its’ possibilities; the page of your death, against which you pit such flawed excellences as you can muster with all your life’s strength: that page will teach you to write.”

For me the blank page and the dark, stormy sea are as one. Both are challenges for which there is no human solution. Yet Jesus walks on water. I worry that there is not time to write. Yet I realize that my thoughts run like a raging sea in my head as I try to figure out how to get more done today, than the length of the day has hours to provide. I cannot do this of my own sufficiency. I have only one boys’ lunch. And yet, if Jesus is here what can He do with my little scraps? If He can feed more than five thousand with one boys lunch what can He do with my few moments snatched here and there? Can He not create calm in the chaos? Can He not still the storm…still?

What do you do when the storms of life assail you? Where do you find Jesus walking on the water to meet you? I find Him in a daily commitment to Bible study. One more thing to do- it is a life-vest for me. Jesus meets me in my need.

Writing Nook

Writing Nook

by Amy ♥ 3 Comments

The dream of a perfect writing nook and my reality at first blush appear a long way apart. On closer inspection, however, there are some crucial similarities.

My dream would be of a tiny garden house, just beyond my home. My dream home that is. My real home is in town and has such a minuscule garden that an outbuilding couldn’t be more than 5 foot square and fit.

I would love french doors looking out onto a lovely garden with a large desk and comfortable chair positioned just to face the landscape. I would position a chaise to face away from the french doors and toward the bookcases beneath the clerestory windows. A small sink and electric kettle for making tea, a quilt for the chaise and a cushion for my dog and cats will make it perfect. I would cover the walls with bead-board painted off white and have roman blinds at the windows in another shade of off white to control the glare. Some good lamps will be required. I would hang some Bible verses in frames on the walls that can easily be changed out as inspiration requires.

That is my dream. The reality is that in the morning I sit in a pink chaise in the center of my main floor. I do have Bible verses near by. My view faces toward the kitchen. I do have a laptop table which offers writing space and a place for my iPad. I have bookcases handy and a small writing table, too small to really be of any use except to hold a few plants. There are plenty of windows, but the room is lodged so tightly between the buildings on either side that it is dark inside all the year through.

No matter where I sit to write my dog and cats come and sit with me. They pile themselves atop me and nap away. Sometimes they paw at my keyboard to try to get my attention. Some times they paw at my iPad. My late, much beloved “cat son” had figured out that if he tapped the screen of the iPad a couple of times in quick succession I would have to turn it off in favor of petting. It is now but a treasured memory. Mellowing Maltese eyes with a soft woof and cat purr are the lovely background music of writing.

In the evening, I retire to sit on my bed and write. Here at least it is a bit quieter. I can shut the doors and reduce the external noise. I have plenty of light here and I can sit down with my iPad, keyboard, fur kids and The Word.

My Bibles, usually my digital versions, handy on my devices, are essential. I need to read The Bible before I begin and pray while I write. I do not rely upon my own power to write anything useful. As St. Paul said, ” For I know that nothing good dwells in me,” Romans 7:18a. The peace of God, prayer and purr song is all that is really necessary.

20140221-103857.jpg

20140221-103929.jpg

20140221-103952.jpg

Image

We Can Get There From Here

by Amy ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

When I was growing up my family liked to go camping. Every weekend we could get away we packed up the camper and took off for one of the state parks. Our favorite park had a private beach for the campers and you could see the lake from your campsite. The closest park also had it’s attributes, the primary of these being proximity. I spent many happy weekends there as a kid. You could not get to the beach without a drive unfortunately. So the beach was saved for Sunday afternoon on our way home.

One Saturday I begged to go swimming. It was a hot and steamy afternoon and I longed to go to the beach. My father had no intention of disconnecting our utility hook-up, taking down our attached screen room and driving 15 minutes to the beach that day. He did however love his daughter and my pleading did get the best of him. He did one of the things I learned from him to do well. He improvised. He told me to get my swimsuit on and picked up a lawn chair to sit in. I took a lawn chair of my own and off we went…on foot.

There were hiking trails of various difficulties all over the parks we visited. Hiking the trails was our favorite pastime on those camping trips. He led me on to a familiar trail, and I asked why we were walking. He told me that we could get to the beach from where we were. A little way down the trail he took a left turn off the trail and into the brush. That part was not nice and I complained of the briars on my bare legs. Soon we were on another trail. And on and on. We criss-crossed from one trail to another trying to get through the woods to the lake.

I had not known you could walk to the lake this way, but my Dad said he could take me there from here. So, I followed. It seemed to be taking a long time, but just as I would begin to give up hope we could hear the sounds of kids splashing and people playing at the beach. Surely we were almost there. From one trail to another with cross-country jaunts between them forward we went.

Since we were carrying lawn chairs it made sense to stop and rest but we never sat down. My Dad led the way with his lawn chair in one hand and his ubiquitous walking stick in the other. I carried a lawn chair with coloring pad and colored pencils shoved down in the folded seat. It is odd in a way, we could have paused and taken in the scenery and made a day of it, but we were in such a hurry to get to the beach, we did not stop and take the view in.

At one point we were in a high pine forest and all was quiet, the scorching sun was no longer beating down upon us. I will always remember that forest. The cool, shade and the scent of the pine. I wanted to stop and rest, but no. “Just a little bit further”, my father replied. We did not stop. We walked on hiking trails. horse trails, service roads, non-roads. We went and went, yet still the beach was just out of reach.

Eventually we both knew that we weren’t going to get to the beach. We just wanted to get back to our camper and the rest of the family. “I guess you can’t get there from here.” my Dad finally acknowleged. We had caught sight of the lake so many times, heard the laughter from the beach but we could not reach the lake shore at all, much less the swimming beach.

We were both wearing thin soled canvas shoes, suitable for the beach but not hiking in the rocky woods. Our feet became so sore that we could not bear to walk on the gravel roads, or even the paved main road which we eventually came out on, far from the campsite. We walked in the grass along side the road, thankful it would finally lead us home.

When we reached the camper my mother and sister asked how the beach had been. We sighed. Daddy explained. I took a well earned nap.

The next day we stopped at the park office on the way home and got a map. Retracing where we had been we discovered that we had gone ten miles and completely circumnavigated the lake. The roads and trails all led alongside the lake, but none went to the lake. You could not get there from where we had been without a compass and good planning.

Our simple hike through the woods to the beach became legend in our family. We took no pictures, but I see it all vividly in memory. When I went looking for pictures of the lake in the old photo albums, I discovered to my dismay that the 30 year old photos have faded. Another of our favorite parks’ lodge was up for sale a few years ago. The years roll by, but memories still hold, even the scent of the pine forest.

I realize in remembering this episode that I never doubted my father’s ability as a guide. I followed him through thicket and trail, forded small streams without bridges and never looked back. I did complain some. The briars scratched my legs and I wanted to sit and rest in the forest. Still, I didn’t pester him and make a fuss. By the time I realized the beach was not accessible I was too tired to care.

Do I follow my Heavenly Father as well as I followed Daddy? I trust Him to lead me right. But I do a good bit of complaining sometimes. Life is a lot like a hike. It gets steep and rocky. There are briars and bugs. Sometimes the sun is too hot and sometimes it is just too cold. When we find a good place to rest, we are hurried on. This pilgrimage however, has one advantage. When God says we can get there from here He knows what He is talking about.

20140215-195616.jpg

20140215-195628.jpg

20140215-195638.jpg

Miracles Still Happen

Miracles Still Happen

by Amy ♥ 6 Comments

“Every morning you climb several flights of stairs, enter your study, open the French doors, and slide your desk and chair out into the middle of the air.” Annie Dillard wrote in The Writing Life. I was raised to value utility. I felt the need to prove my practicality. I have a degree in history with a specialization in medieval studies. Then to prove that the poet could be sensible I got a degree in business administration with a specialization in accounting. I think accountants are awesome! They amaze me and have my undying appreciation. Why? In part because I always found accounting tedious. I have a degree in a subject that I don’t enjoy. The brief time I worked in accounting I was miserable and wrote poetry filled with angst to try to endue it. I ended up in christian education and that has proven a field that uses my strengths to glorify God. The only one who was being glorified in the whole accounting period was my image as a practical girl. Getting a degree in a field you don’t like is not practical. It reeks of pride.

As life has become fuller, and time is now a precious commodity, writing fell to the background. Generally it has fallen away almost all together. I am so exhausted by the fast pace of my life that I think I need to reconnect in order to save myself. You see, I am on the edge of burnout. By the grace of God I haven’t burned all the way out, but I am often down to a dull flicker.

I have let fear hinder me. I am afraid to push my desk and chair out into midair. I once believed in miracles, ordinary, everyday miracles. Now I dread failure. Fear is self-fulfilling just like pride. Just as I proved how much of a dreamer I was by getting a degree in accounting, now I daily prove that I cannot write, by not writing. There is not time in my busy life to write, because it takes me so long to psych myself up into writing. It came effortlessly most of my life. Now I am in fear that I don’t deserve the miracle of words.

As so many have noted before, when we write it seems as though the hand of God is involved in the process. Now, the voice of self-doubt, asks why God would bother to send me meaningful words. Why would God use me?

As I pondered this question and this writing assignment, I was reminded of Jesus’ first miracle in John 2:1-11. At the wedding in Cana Jesus is asked by his mother to help the bridegroom who has run out of wine before the feasts ends. At first Jesus asks what that has to do with him, for his time has not come. Still his mother urges him to help them. His response is to ask the servants to refill the ritual purification jars with water.

We pause, wondering what good large jars full of water used for washing up will do. The problem is that they need wine, not water. The feast is already underway. They do not need to wash their feet and hands again. It looks a lot like he sent the servants off on busy work which will be useless in addressing the real problem. Ritual washing is practical, but it will not serve the purpose. Except… Jesus is there. This turns into a miracle. He tells the servants to take the full washing jars to the steward and the jars that were full of nothing important are full of wine, excellent wine.

The centurion came to Jesus in Matthew 8:5-13 seeking healing for his sick servant. but in verse eight he uttered the humble words that he was not worthy for Jesus to come under his roof, but, “just say the word and my servant will be healed.” This gives rise to the liturgical passage just before Holy Communion in the Roman Rite where the congregation declares themselves unworthy, but “only say the word and I shall be healed.”

I am not worthy for God to use my words. All the same, I believe that he does use words offered in praise of Him. If my words are actually offered in sacrifice to His glory then He may use them. It does not depend upon my wisdom, strength, power or influence. When I pour my words out for Him then I am healed.

God’s love for people is so extreme that Jesus took the time to provide a wedding banquet with more wine. If glorifying Him is the purpose then He will guide our words even today. Words as common as water can be turned into wine.