This is basically me making a fool of myself on camera. But I LOVE all things Firefly. What can I say? I'm a hard-core Browncoat.
(Click on the Green Link at the bottom of this post to go to my Firefly Group)
Hope you enjoy the video. Feel free to leave a comment.
My Firefly Serenity Browncoat group at MySpace
Laura-Lee Was Here
March 31, 2010
February 20, 2010
Jesus Gave Me My Computer
Here is the story of how I got my new laptop, when I prayed for it and Jesus answered me.
February 10, 2010
Why I Believe Again by A.N. Wilson
Why I believe again
A N Wilson
Published 02 April 2009
39 commentsPrint versionEmail a friendListenRSSA N Wilson writes on how his conversion to atheism may have been similar to a road to Damascus experience but his return to faith has been slow and doubting
Unlike his conversion to Atheism, Wilson's path back to faith has been a slow one
By nature a doubting Thomas, I should have distrusted the symptoms when I underwent a "conversion experience" 20 years ago. Something was happening which was out of character - the inner glow of complete certainty, the heady sense of being at one with the great tide of fellow non-believers. For my conversion experience was to atheism. There were several moments of epiphany, actually, but one of the most dramatic occurred in the pulpit of a church.
At St Mary-le-Bow in the City of London, there are two pulpits, and for some decades they have been used for lunchtime dialogues. I had just published a biography of C S Lewis, and the rector of St Mary-le-Bow, Victor Stock, asked me to participate in one such exchange of views.
Memory edits, and perhaps distorts, the highlights of the discussion. Memory says that while Father Stock was asking me about Lewis, I began to "testify", denouncing Lewis's muscular defence of religious belief. Much more to my taste, I said, had been the approach of the late Archbishop of Canterbury Michael Ramsey, whose biography I had just read.
A young priest had been to see him in great distress, saying that he had lost his faith in God. Ramsey's reply was a long silence followed by a repetition of the mantra "It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter". He told the priest to continue to worship Jesus in the Sacraments and that faith would return. "But!" exclaimed Father Stock. "That priest was me!"
Like many things said by this amusing man, it brought the house down. But something had taken a grip of me, and I was thinking (did I say it out loud?): "It bloody well does matter. Just struggling on like Lord Tennyson ('and faintly trust the larger hope') is no good at all . . ."
I can remember almost yelling that reading C S Lewis's Mere Christianity made me a non-believer - not just in Lewis's version of Christianity, but in Christianity itself. On that occasion, I realised that after a lifetime of churchgoing, the whole house of cards had collapsed for me - the sense of God's presence in life, and the notion that there was any kind of God, let alone a merciful God, in this brutal, nasty world. As for Jesus having been the founder of Christianity, this idea seemed perfectly preposterous. In so far as we can discern anything about Jesus from the existing documents, he believed that the world was about to end, as did all the first Christians. So, how could he possibly have intended to start a new religion for Gentiles, let alone established a Church or instituted the Sacraments? It was a nonsense, together with the idea of a personal God, or a loving God in a suffering universe. Nonsense, nonsense, nonsense.
It was such a relief to discard it all that, for months, I walked on air. At about this time, the Independent on Sunday sent me to interview Dr Billy Graham, who was conducting a mission in Syracuse, New York State, prior to making one of his journeys to England. The pattern of these meetings was always the same. The old matinee idol spoke. The gospel choir sang some suitably affecting ditty, and then the converted made their way down the aisles to commit themselves to the new faith. Part of the glow was, surely, the knowledge that they were now part of a great fellowship of believers.
As a hesitant, doubting, religious man I'd never known how they felt. But, as a born-again atheist, I now knew exactly what satisfactions were on offer. For the first time in my 38 years I was at one with my own generation. I had become like one of the Billy Grahamites, only in reverse. If I bumped into Richard Dawkins (an old colleague from Oxford days) or had dinner in Washington with Christopher Hitchens (as I did either on that trip to interview Billy Graham or another), I did not have to feel out on a limb. Hitchens was excited to greet a new convert to his non-creed and put me through a catechism before uncorking some stupendous claret. "So - absolutely no God?" "Nope," I was able to say with Moonie-zeal. "No future life, nothing 'out there'?" "No," I obediently replied. At last! I could join in the creed shared by so many (most?) of my intelligent contemporaries in the western world - that men and women are purely material beings (whatever that is supposed to mean), that "this is all there is" (ditto), that God, Jesus and religion are a load of baloney: and worse than that, the cause of much (no, come on, let yourself go), most (why stint yourself - go for it, man), all the trouble in the world, from Jerusalem to Belfast, from Washington to Islamabad.
My doubting temperament, however, made me a very unconvincing atheist. And unconvinced. My hilarious Camden Town neighbour Colin Haycraft, the boss of Duckworth and husband of Alice Thomas Ellis, used to say, "I do wish Freddie [Ayer] wouldn't go round calling himself an atheist. It implies he takes religion seriously."
This creed that religion can be despatched in a few brisk arguments (outlined in David Hume's masterly Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion) and then laughed off kept me going for some years. When I found myself wavering, I would return to Hume in order to pull myself together, rather as a Catholic having doubts might return to the shrine of a particular saint to sustain them while the springs of faith ran dry.
But religion, once the glow of conversion had worn off, was not a matter of argument alone. It involves the whole person. Therefore I was drawn, over and over again, to the disconcerting recognition that so very many of the people I had most admired and loved, either in life or in books, had been believers. Reading Louis Fischer's Life of Mahatma Gandhi, and following it up with Gandhi's own autobiography, The Story of My Experiments With Truth, I found it impossible not to realise that all life, all being, derives from God, as Gandhi gave his life to demonstrate. Of course, there are arguments that might make you doubt the love of God. But a life like Gandhi's, which was focused on God so deeply, reminded me of all the human qualities that have to be denied if you embrace the bleak, muddled creed of a materialist atheist. It is a bit like trying to assert that music is an aberration, and that although Bach and Beethoven are very impressive, one is better off without a musical sense. Attractive and amusing as David Hume was, did he confront the complexities of human existence as deeply as his contemporary Samuel Johnson, and did I really find him as interesting?
Watching a whole cluster of friends, and my own mother, die over quite a short space of time convinced me that purely materialist "explanations" for our mysterious human existence simply won't do - on an intellectual level. The phenomenon of language alone should give us pause. A materialist Darwinian was having dinner with me a few years ago and we laughingly alluded to how, as years go by, one forgets names. Eager, as committed Darwinians often are, to testify on any occasion, my friend asserted: "It is because when we were simply anthropoid apes, there was no need to distinguish between one another by giving names."
This credal confession struck me as just as superstitious as believing in the historicity of Noah's Ark. More so, really.
Do materialists really think that language just "evolved", like finches' beaks, or have they simply never thought about the matter rationally? Where's the evidence? How could it come about that human beings all agreed that particular grunts carried particular connotations? How could it have come about that groups of anthropoid apes developed the amazing morphological complexity of a single sentence, let alone the whole grammatical mystery which has engaged Chomsky and others in our lifetime and linguists for time out of mind? No, the existence of language is one of the many phenomena - of which love and music are the two strongest - which suggest that human beings are very much more than collections of meat. They convince me that we are spiritual beings, and that the religion of the incarnation, asserting that God made humanity in His image, and continually restores humanity in His image, is simply true. As a working blueprint for life, as a template against which to measure experience, it fits.
For a few years, I resisted the admission that my atheist-conversion experience had been a bit of middle-aged madness. I do not find it easy to articulate thoughts about religion. I remain the sort of person who turns off Thought for the Day when it comes on the radio. I am shy to admit that I have followed the advice given all those years ago by a wise archbishop to a bewildered young man: that moments of unbelief "don't matter", that if you return to a practice of the faith, faith will return.
When I think about atheist friends, including my father, they seem to me like people who have no ear for music, or who have never been in love. It is not that (as they believe) they have rumbled the tremendous fraud of religion - prophets do that in every generation. Rather, these unbelievers are simply missing out on something that is not difficult to grasp. Perhaps it is too obvious to understand; obvious, as lovers feel it was obvious that they should have come together, or obvious as the final resolution of a fugue.
I haven't mentioned morality, but one thing that finally put the tin hat on any aspirations to be an unbeliever was writing a book about the Wagner family and Nazi Germany, and realising how utterly incoherent were Hitler's neo-Darwinian ravings, and how potent was the opposition, much of it from Christians; paid for, not with clear intellectual victory, but in blood. Read Pastor Bonhoeffer's book Ethics, and ask yourself what sort of mad world is created by those who think that ethics are a purely human construct. Think of Bonhoeffer's serenity before he was hanged, even though he was in love and had everything to look forward to.
My departure from the Faith was like a conversion on the road to Damascus. My return was slow, hesitant, doubting. So it will always be; but I know I shall never make the same mistake again. Gilbert Ryle, with donnish absurdity, called God "a category mistake". Yet the real category mistake made by atheists is not about God, but about human beings. Turn to the Table Talk of Samuel Taylor Coleridge - "Read the first chapter of Genesis without prejudice and you will be convinced at once . . . 'The Lord God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life'." And then Coleridge adds: "'And man became a living soul.' Materialism will never explain those last words."
A N Wilson
Published 02 April 2009
39 commentsPrint versionEmail a friendListenRSSA N Wilson writes on how his conversion to atheism may have been similar to a road to Damascus experience but his return to faith has been slow and doubting
Unlike his conversion to Atheism, Wilson's path back to faith has been a slow one
By nature a doubting Thomas, I should have distrusted the symptoms when I underwent a "conversion experience" 20 years ago. Something was happening which was out of character - the inner glow of complete certainty, the heady sense of being at one with the great tide of fellow non-believers. For my conversion experience was to atheism. There were several moments of epiphany, actually, but one of the most dramatic occurred in the pulpit of a church.
At St Mary-le-Bow in the City of London, there are two pulpits, and for some decades they have been used for lunchtime dialogues. I had just published a biography of C S Lewis, and the rector of St Mary-le-Bow, Victor Stock, asked me to participate in one such exchange of views.
Memory edits, and perhaps distorts, the highlights of the discussion. Memory says that while Father Stock was asking me about Lewis, I began to "testify", denouncing Lewis's muscular defence of religious belief. Much more to my taste, I said, had been the approach of the late Archbishop of Canterbury Michael Ramsey, whose biography I had just read.
A young priest had been to see him in great distress, saying that he had lost his faith in God. Ramsey's reply was a long silence followed by a repetition of the mantra "It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter". He told the priest to continue to worship Jesus in the Sacraments and that faith would return. "But!" exclaimed Father Stock. "That priest was me!"
Like many things said by this amusing man, it brought the house down. But something had taken a grip of me, and I was thinking (did I say it out loud?): "It bloody well does matter. Just struggling on like Lord Tennyson ('and faintly trust the larger hope') is no good at all . . ."
I can remember almost yelling that reading C S Lewis's Mere Christianity made me a non-believer - not just in Lewis's version of Christianity, but in Christianity itself. On that occasion, I realised that after a lifetime of churchgoing, the whole house of cards had collapsed for me - the sense of God's presence in life, and the notion that there was any kind of God, let alone a merciful God, in this brutal, nasty world. As for Jesus having been the founder of Christianity, this idea seemed perfectly preposterous. In so far as we can discern anything about Jesus from the existing documents, he believed that the world was about to end, as did all the first Christians. So, how could he possibly have intended to start a new religion for Gentiles, let alone established a Church or instituted the Sacraments? It was a nonsense, together with the idea of a personal God, or a loving God in a suffering universe. Nonsense, nonsense, nonsense.
It was such a relief to discard it all that, for months, I walked on air. At about this time, the Independent on Sunday sent me to interview Dr Billy Graham, who was conducting a mission in Syracuse, New York State, prior to making one of his journeys to England. The pattern of these meetings was always the same. The old matinee idol spoke. The gospel choir sang some suitably affecting ditty, and then the converted made their way down the aisles to commit themselves to the new faith. Part of the glow was, surely, the knowledge that they were now part of a great fellowship of believers.
As a hesitant, doubting, religious man I'd never known how they felt. But, as a born-again atheist, I now knew exactly what satisfactions were on offer. For the first time in my 38 years I was at one with my own generation. I had become like one of the Billy Grahamites, only in reverse. If I bumped into Richard Dawkins (an old colleague from Oxford days) or had dinner in Washington with Christopher Hitchens (as I did either on that trip to interview Billy Graham or another), I did not have to feel out on a limb. Hitchens was excited to greet a new convert to his non-creed and put me through a catechism before uncorking some stupendous claret. "So - absolutely no God?" "Nope," I was able to say with Moonie-zeal. "No future life, nothing 'out there'?" "No," I obediently replied. At last! I could join in the creed shared by so many (most?) of my intelligent contemporaries in the western world - that men and women are purely material beings (whatever that is supposed to mean), that "this is all there is" (ditto), that God, Jesus and religion are a load of baloney: and worse than that, the cause of much (no, come on, let yourself go), most (why stint yourself - go for it, man), all the trouble in the world, from Jerusalem to Belfast, from Washington to Islamabad.
My doubting temperament, however, made me a very unconvincing atheist. And unconvinced. My hilarious Camden Town neighbour Colin Haycraft, the boss of Duckworth and husband of Alice Thomas Ellis, used to say, "I do wish Freddie [Ayer] wouldn't go round calling himself an atheist. It implies he takes religion seriously."
This creed that religion can be despatched in a few brisk arguments (outlined in David Hume's masterly Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion) and then laughed off kept me going for some years. When I found myself wavering, I would return to Hume in order to pull myself together, rather as a Catholic having doubts might return to the shrine of a particular saint to sustain them while the springs of faith ran dry.
But religion, once the glow of conversion had worn off, was not a matter of argument alone. It involves the whole person. Therefore I was drawn, over and over again, to the disconcerting recognition that so very many of the people I had most admired and loved, either in life or in books, had been believers. Reading Louis Fischer's Life of Mahatma Gandhi, and following it up with Gandhi's own autobiography, The Story of My Experiments With Truth, I found it impossible not to realise that all life, all being, derives from God, as Gandhi gave his life to demonstrate. Of course, there are arguments that might make you doubt the love of God. But a life like Gandhi's, which was focused on God so deeply, reminded me of all the human qualities that have to be denied if you embrace the bleak, muddled creed of a materialist atheist. It is a bit like trying to assert that music is an aberration, and that although Bach and Beethoven are very impressive, one is better off without a musical sense. Attractive and amusing as David Hume was, did he confront the complexities of human existence as deeply as his contemporary Samuel Johnson, and did I really find him as interesting?
Watching a whole cluster of friends, and my own mother, die over quite a short space of time convinced me that purely materialist "explanations" for our mysterious human existence simply won't do - on an intellectual level. The phenomenon of language alone should give us pause. A materialist Darwinian was having dinner with me a few years ago and we laughingly alluded to how, as years go by, one forgets names. Eager, as committed Darwinians often are, to testify on any occasion, my friend asserted: "It is because when we were simply anthropoid apes, there was no need to distinguish between one another by giving names."
This credal confession struck me as just as superstitious as believing in the historicity of Noah's Ark. More so, really.
Do materialists really think that language just "evolved", like finches' beaks, or have they simply never thought about the matter rationally? Where's the evidence? How could it come about that human beings all agreed that particular grunts carried particular connotations? How could it have come about that groups of anthropoid apes developed the amazing morphological complexity of a single sentence, let alone the whole grammatical mystery which has engaged Chomsky and others in our lifetime and linguists for time out of mind? No, the existence of language is one of the many phenomena - of which love and music are the two strongest - which suggest that human beings are very much more than collections of meat. They convince me that we are spiritual beings, and that the religion of the incarnation, asserting that God made humanity in His image, and continually restores humanity in His image, is simply true. As a working blueprint for life, as a template against which to measure experience, it fits.
For a few years, I resisted the admission that my atheist-conversion experience had been a bit of middle-aged madness. I do not find it easy to articulate thoughts about religion. I remain the sort of person who turns off Thought for the Day when it comes on the radio. I am shy to admit that I have followed the advice given all those years ago by a wise archbishop to a bewildered young man: that moments of unbelief "don't matter", that if you return to a practice of the faith, faith will return.
When I think about atheist friends, including my father, they seem to me like people who have no ear for music, or who have never been in love. It is not that (as they believe) they have rumbled the tremendous fraud of religion - prophets do that in every generation. Rather, these unbelievers are simply missing out on something that is not difficult to grasp. Perhaps it is too obvious to understand; obvious, as lovers feel it was obvious that they should have come together, or obvious as the final resolution of a fugue.
I haven't mentioned morality, but one thing that finally put the tin hat on any aspirations to be an unbeliever was writing a book about the Wagner family and Nazi Germany, and realising how utterly incoherent were Hitler's neo-Darwinian ravings, and how potent was the opposition, much of it from Christians; paid for, not with clear intellectual victory, but in blood. Read Pastor Bonhoeffer's book Ethics, and ask yourself what sort of mad world is created by those who think that ethics are a purely human construct. Think of Bonhoeffer's serenity before he was hanged, even though he was in love and had everything to look forward to.
My departure from the Faith was like a conversion on the road to Damascus. My return was slow, hesitant, doubting. So it will always be; but I know I shall never make the same mistake again. Gilbert Ryle, with donnish absurdity, called God "a category mistake". Yet the real category mistake made by atheists is not about God, but about human beings. Turn to the Table Talk of Samuel Taylor Coleridge - "Read the first chapter of Genesis without prejudice and you will be convinced at once . . . 'The Lord God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life'." And then Coleridge adds: "'And man became a living soul.' Materialism will never explain those last words."
June 18, 2009
Norford's Publish Book
My friends Ann & Bryan Norford have just published a book about marriage called, "Happy Together" where they draw on 5 decades of marriage to draw couples to each other and to God - the source of all true love.
I highly recommend this book. I haven't read it but Ann & Bryan are living examples of Jesus (although they would never say that because they're too modest) and I know that I want to hear whatever they have to say.
Congratulations to both of them .
You can buy their books at Amazon.ca and Amazon.com.
Click on the Title of this blog and it will take you to their blog.
I highly recommend this book. I haven't read it but Ann & Bryan are living examples of Jesus (although they would never say that because they're too modest) and I know that I want to hear whatever they have to say.
Congratulations to both of them .
You can buy their books at Amazon.ca and Amazon.com.
Click on the Title of this blog and it will take you to their blog.
January 17, 2009
My Three Fathers
In October of 2008 I wrote a short article that I thought would be appropriate for the days directly after Christmas. I sent this article to my local newspaper, the Edmonton Journal. After several weeks I sent them another message inquiring whether or not they would be using my article. I figured that if the Edmonton Journal didn't want it, I would pass it on to someone who did. The Religion Editor, Janet Vlieg, not only didn't print my article but never even responded to me. So I was unable to give the article to any one else who was interested in it (their publishing deadlines having come and gone). I have now decided to put this short story on my blog for you to read. It is a bit late but I am hoping that you will be encouraged by it.
MY THREE FATHERS
On a quiet night on December 25th about 6 years ago, I was sitting around thinking about how Christmas had come and gone again for another year. After weeks of increasing frenzy, it is all over after only a few hours. Suddenly my phone rang and I picked it up. I heard a man's voice say, "Little Girl? This is your Dad."
A mixture of shock and excitement swept through my body like an electrical current as I was transformed from a middle-aged woman into a 7 year old girl.
I responded, "Hey, Dad! It's great to hear your voice." Then the thought hit me that something must be very wrong for him to call after years of silence.
"Are you okay?" I asked hurriedly.
"Sure," he replied, " I just wanted to give you a call to wish you a Merry Christmas."
I made a couple more minutes of excited small talk, but when I asked him a specific question I got no response. After a few seconds of pausing he said, "I'm sorry to say this, but I don't think you're my daughter."
He was right. We discovered that he had accidently dialed the wrong number.
I asked him, "When did you first realize that I wasn't your daughter?"
He said, " I immediately knew something was wrong. My daughter is never this happy to hear from me. Usually the moment she realizes who it is she hangs up on me. "
I told him, " I should have realized it immediately too. My father hasn't phoned me at Christmas or any other time for more than a decade."
We wished each other a Merry Christmas and before we hung up the man said, "I hope you don't mind me getting personal, but your father is a fool not to want to talk to you."
I told him I thought the same about his daughter. He still had to phone her and he knew she would probably hang up on him once again. I got even more personal and said, "Let's make a pact. Every Christmas when my dad doesn't call and your daughter hangs up on you, let's think of each other and remember that you have a "mystery daughter" who would never hang up on you and I have a "mystery father" who calls every Christmas to see how I'm doing."
Every year it seems that families become more fractured and the Christmas 'hurrah' gets more noisy and hectic. I suspect people make such a big commotion so they won't notice how lonely they are. I've puzzled long (and cried much) over people who ignore those in their lives who are so desperately ready to love them that they would be willing to take any scraps of affection thrown their way. It hurts all the more when it is our family members who treat us with indifference or even contempt. Deep inside us God has placed a blue-print of family life that whispers to us, "this is not the way it is meant to be". In Psalm 68:6 it says, " God sets the lonely in families". A family is suppose to be a haven, a shelter, a fortress in trouble and a place where you are loved, independant of who you are or what you've done. But Christmas is a dreaded and lonely time for many, many people, because it seems to put a magnifying lens to our lives and amplifies the fact that things are not quite right. Now, I'm not going to tell you to love only the people who love you back, but my "wrong number father" showed me that there are people out there who are waiting and wanting to love me. I just haven't met them yet.
This Christmas found me with three fathers: a biological father who can't be bothered to know me, a wrong number father who wants to know me and a Heavenly Father who knows me intimately. Not only does He know me, but He loves me enough to send his Son from Heaven to be born in a stable, to die on a cross to atone for my every sin, to rise again to give me hope for Eternity and, oh yeah, to give me an entire life to celebrate it all with wonder, humility and deep thankfulness.
" - rejected by men but chosen by God and precious to him-" ( 1 Peter 2:4 NIV)
MY THREE FATHERS
On a quiet night on December 25th about 6 years ago, I was sitting around thinking about how Christmas had come and gone again for another year. After weeks of increasing frenzy, it is all over after only a few hours. Suddenly my phone rang and I picked it up. I heard a man's voice say, "Little Girl? This is your Dad."
A mixture of shock and excitement swept through my body like an electrical current as I was transformed from a middle-aged woman into a 7 year old girl.
I responded, "Hey, Dad! It's great to hear your voice." Then the thought hit me that something must be very wrong for him to call after years of silence.
"Are you okay?" I asked hurriedly.
"Sure," he replied, " I just wanted to give you a call to wish you a Merry Christmas."
I made a couple more minutes of excited small talk, but when I asked him a specific question I got no response. After a few seconds of pausing he said, "I'm sorry to say this, but I don't think you're my daughter."
He was right. We discovered that he had accidently dialed the wrong number.
I asked him, "When did you first realize that I wasn't your daughter?"
He said, " I immediately knew something was wrong. My daughter is never this happy to hear from me. Usually the moment she realizes who it is she hangs up on me. "
I told him, " I should have realized it immediately too. My father hasn't phoned me at Christmas or any other time for more than a decade."
We wished each other a Merry Christmas and before we hung up the man said, "I hope you don't mind me getting personal, but your father is a fool not to want to talk to you."
I told him I thought the same about his daughter. He still had to phone her and he knew she would probably hang up on him once again. I got even more personal and said, "Let's make a pact. Every Christmas when my dad doesn't call and your daughter hangs up on you, let's think of each other and remember that you have a "mystery daughter" who would never hang up on you and I have a "mystery father" who calls every Christmas to see how I'm doing."
Every year it seems that families become more fractured and the Christmas 'hurrah' gets more noisy and hectic. I suspect people make such a big commotion so they won't notice how lonely they are. I've puzzled long (and cried much) over people who ignore those in their lives who are so desperately ready to love them that they would be willing to take any scraps of affection thrown their way. It hurts all the more when it is our family members who treat us with indifference or even contempt. Deep inside us God has placed a blue-print of family life that whispers to us, "this is not the way it is meant to be". In Psalm 68:6 it says, " God sets the lonely in families". A family is suppose to be a haven, a shelter, a fortress in trouble and a place where you are loved, independant of who you are or what you've done. But Christmas is a dreaded and lonely time for many, many people, because it seems to put a magnifying lens to our lives and amplifies the fact that things are not quite right. Now, I'm not going to tell you to love only the people who love you back, but my "wrong number father" showed me that there are people out there who are waiting and wanting to love me. I just haven't met them yet.
This Christmas found me with three fathers: a biological father who can't be bothered to know me, a wrong number father who wants to know me and a Heavenly Father who knows me intimately. Not only does He know me, but He loves me enough to send his Son from Heaven to be born in a stable, to die on a cross to atone for my every sin, to rise again to give me hope for Eternity and, oh yeah, to give me an entire life to celebrate it all with wonder, humility and deep thankfulness.
" - rejected by men but chosen by God and precious to him-" ( 1 Peter 2:4 NIV)
New Years Resolution 2009
For more than 4 decades I have been making new years resolutions. I am sick and tired of making one that I usually break by the second week in January. So, this year my resolution will be to "Run Amuck". That's right. I'm giving in to the chaos. I am constantly trying to "get my act together", or "get my paper work done" or "trying to organize myself". This year I will be setting the bar low, realizing my limitations and setting goals that are actually attainable. If this leads to world wide anarchy ... then let it be.
I also wish to start the year with praises to my Heavenly Father who will always love and accept me , no matter how much I fail or how many "messes" I make.
Happy New Year to Everyone.
Love Maidryn
" And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose" Romans 8:28
I also wish to start the year with praises to my Heavenly Father who will always love and accept me , no matter how much I fail or how many "messes" I make.
Happy New Year to Everyone.
Love Maidryn
" And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose" Romans 8:28
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