Tag Archives: adversity

Breathe

I have always been a believer in the truth that our breath is God given. “And the Lord God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living being” Genesis 2:7.

We don’t own our breath. We borrow it. He supplies it for life on this planet and when that last breath leaves our lungs we return to Him. Humans have no ability to create the absolutely necessary intangibles of breath and air. They belong to our Creator and thus, we belong to Him.

The evening I returned home to find my late husband dead, I instantly couldn’t breathe. In fact it was difficult to breathe in the weeks, months and even the first year following that life changing event. For months, I gasped for air in the middle of reoccurring panic attacks and often held my breath without realizing it. Breathing, which occurs involuntarily and without thought, became something I was constantly and noticeably aware of in Mike’s absence. The loosing of him literally took my breath away and I wonder now, if the abnormal heart arrhythmia I began experiencing in the months that followed, were tied not only to my broken heart, but possibly a full lack of oxygen it needed to function properly.

In this pandemic year, the literal masking and partial breathing of the oxygen our body needs to fully function has been hard on all of us. We’ve become afraid of the people and air around us. Breathing has suddenly become scary. Fear, suspicion and grief hold us in their grasp as we deal with a variety of great loss – health, loved ones, finances, safety, security, freedom and a lack of cultural civility.

During the past several years the importance of intentionally taking time to stop and breathe has often rescued me. Father God has repeatedly reminded me, His breath is inside me. He holds my life in His heart and hands. I need not fear what is happening around me. Do I still? Yes. Of course. More than I should. But He is patient to reassure when my thoughts wander into crazy territory. He understands how afraid and emotionally frail I am. He has deep concern for my humanity.

He doesn’t condemn, but calls me to be still. Sit quietly for a while. Turn off the noise. The news. The social media. Eat a healthy meal. Drink some water. Share my thoughts with a trusted friend. Stand outside for a few minutes. Walk in nature. Take in the beauty of His creation. Talk to Him with raw and open honesty. Exhale the anxiety and the pervasive and swirling negatives. Inhale Father’s goodness, allowing His peace to permeate the spirit and soul once again. And put this on repeat, like a reminder notification, popping up daily (or even hourly) on a mobile phone.

In the midst of these trying times, every now and then, we have to take the mask off our face and our soul and simply breathe. Don’t forget.

Breathe.

Just Breathe.

“The Spirit of God has made me and the breath of the Almighty gives me life.” Job 33:4

“..he [God] himself gives to all mankind life and breath and everything.” Acts 17:25

Useless Words

I admit, I‘ve run out of words.

Well, ‘run out’ might not be the exact terminology. Words still exist, but they are a continuous whirlwind of thoughts, crashing into each other and shattering in uselessness to the bottom of my brain. I‘ve been asked, why I‘m not writing and posting regularly like I was. When you can’t make sense of anything, expression can be difficult.

Everything I once thought I knew, believed, subscribed to, seems trivial and irrelevant. All the knowing-of-things I once held dear, is nothing but the fluff of a spent dandelion blowing in a tornado.

I need to drown out the noise of this world, the constant chatter both past and present, ricocheting off the walls of my heart and mind. So many words and ideas others have spoken into me since childhood. Piled deep and high. I’ve been stripped inside to the nakedness of my soul and exhausted by years of ideas, opinions and dogmas I have heard and still hear.

Confession time? Complete honesty? All my cards laid out on the table? I‘m too tired to figure it out anymore. Too broken to put me back together. I‘ve reached the end of myself and I don’t care how unspiritual it looks. The mask is off. I can’t fake it ‘til I make it. Can’t stomach the cliches and pat answers I always thought were truth.

I am asking God to help me understand Him in ways I never have before. I am begging my Father to reveal Himself to me. Not from the interpretation of others. And not from my own contrived misconceptions of who He is. But for Himself.

What about Him do I not know? What about Him do I not understand? If I’m going to move forward from here I desperately need to hear His voice and understand His heart.

For me.

There’s little to say right now. I must be still and learn to know He Is God. I‘m like Mary, who after the angel appeared to tell her she would bear God’s Son in human flesh, pondered all these things in her heart.

Or Job, who after striving with so much sorrow before his Creator, put his hand over his mouth and shut-up, realizing he had spoken things without knowledge, from the limits of human reasoning.

Or Paul, who considered everything he had ever accomplished prior to knowing Christ, the power of His resurrection and fellowship of His suffering, nothing but garbage. Manure. Useless.

The encouraging news in the dark night of my soul is this; even the dandelion, that blooms, withers and blows away, is rooted in solid ground and when the winter is over, lives again. Even the garbage heap can be recycled into new usefulness. Even the manure pile is tilled back into the earth to enrich a new harvest. In the fullness of time and the proper season of renewal, all can be restored.

So in this season, I exist on what I still know that I know to be true. God is good. He is faithful. He does not abandon. And He loves me.

At present little else matters to me. It is all the words I have. And it is enough.

For now.

Psalm 46:10 “Be still and know that I Am God.”

Luke 2:19 “But Mary kept all these things, and pondered them in her heart.”

Job 40:4-5 “I lay my hand over my mouth. Once I have spoken, but I will not answer; Yes, twice, but I will proceed no further.”

Job 42:3 “I have uttered what I did not understand, Things too wonderful for me, which I did not know.

Philippians 3:8-10 “ Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which comes through faith in Christ, the righteousness from God that depends on faith— that I may know him and the power of his resurrection, and may share his sufferings, becoming like him in his death.”

Lamentations 3:22-24 “The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. “The Lord is my portion,” says my soul, “therefore I will hope in him.”

Matthew 28:20 “I am with you always, even unto the end of the world.”

Broken Bootstraps

The American Dream was built on a mind set of individualism and independence. The idiom ‘pull yourself up by your bootstraps’ is deeply ingrained in the western worldview and taken to a positive outcome has helped our country and culture evolve into an innovative and creative influence in the world.

The origin of this descriptive phrase isn’t known. It refers of course to boots and the straps that some boots have attached to help the wearer pull them on and to the imagined feat of a lifting oneself off the ground by pulling on one’s bootstraps. This impossible task is supposed to exemplify the achievement in getting out of a difficult situation by our own efforts

There are life circumstances that come along and leave us so weak, broken and devastated we have no strength left to pull ourselves up or out. Our own efforts are dismantled and truthfully God never meant for us to rely solely on our own striving and limited human understanding in life. We are designed to depend on Him and each other.

So what do we do when our bootstraps are broken? Who and what do we rely on when our inner resources are drained?

I’ve been told many times in the past months to ‘stay strong’, ‘be strong’. Not helpful. You can’t be strong when you’re not. It’s like asking someone with broken legs to walk on them. Anyone with logical thinking understands this is a crazy expectation.

These are the times we are to be strong for each other, “Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ,“ Galatians 6:2.

What is the law of Christ? Jesus made it clear before He went to the cross. “A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another,” John 13:34.

Loving each other means there will be times we are called on to carry someone else when they are too weak, too devastated, to carry themselves (even Jesus needed help carrying the cross to Golgotha).

It means we will need to cover another with our own faith in their time of lack. We step into their situation, however uncomfortable, not to advise, fix or offer theological cliches, scripture quoting or explanations for suffering, but just to be near, to hold up, to ‘weep with those that weep,’ We show up. We climb into the devastation. We stay for the duration.

We are all meant to be boot straps for one another. There may also be times when we need to be someone’s boots, never mind the straps!

If someone near you is too broken to pull themselves up, pick them up and carry them. Transfuse some of your own presence, strength and faith to another for a while until they are back on their feet.

You never know when you’re own bootstraps might be broken and you’ll need someone to carry you.

“Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep. Live in harmony with one another.” Romans 12:15-16

Hope Floats

There was water all around. No land in sight on any horizon.

So small and insignificant in the sea, the cork was lost and floating aimlessly. Disconnected from her original purpose. Identity gone. Afraid. Alone. Without hope of rescue.

Suddenly a wall of water loomed in the distance, racing forward, a formidable tsunami wave that would certainly be the end of it all.

The force of the wave shoved the cork, flipping and swirling, to the bottom of the ocean and the overwhelming despair and fear accompanying it became far greater than the violence of the water itself. Instant panic seized her. She could never survive. Not this time.

The swirling current subsided and the cork drifted to the top, exhausted and disoriented. Just when a moment of relief came to the great sea, another wall of water appeared, sending her to the bottom of fear and loss again, this cycle continuing in never ending successions.

In slow agonizing increments, the waves eventually pushed the cork toward shore. She tumbled back and forth in the swirling breakers until she was finally left lying for days, with little energy to care, in the sand.

On a bright sunny day a woman and her child walked the beach looking for treasures to fill their plastic pail. They found the cork, took her home, washed her and made her part of a useful and beautiful display in their home. The cork had come through the deep, dark waters and found purpose. New, different, even foreign, but a purpose just the same.

In my deepest despair I asked God for something, anything, to reassure me I would survive the devastating death of my husband. He gave me this dream.

I am the cork.

Can new life be restored after such loss? Can the thing meant to destroy, become the catalyst for rescue and new meaning? Can the waters of dark despair bring forth renewed hope?

God promises I will not drown. Hope, like a cork, rises again.

It’s true, life will never go back to what it was. I will never be the same. There are moments, hours, days, nights when I hate the reality of this truth, but I long for the time when I‘m excited about living, when I finally wash up on the shore of hope and find new joy, new purpose.

As each reoccurring wave continues to bury me in the depths, I hang on to Jesus, my life preserver.

Until hope floats again.

“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you, I have called you by name; you are Mine! When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they will not overflow you.” Isaiah 43:1-2

“And now, O Lord, for what do I wait? My hope is in you.” Psalm 39:7

Christmas ReWrap

On Christmas Eve of 1974, Mike asked me over to the apartment he and his brother shared. We’d been dating since June of that year. Not long, when I think about it now. I drove to the old house in our home town and climbed the stairs to the third story attic some eager landlord had turned into a makeshift resemblance of a living space. As I remember, It was sparsely furnished, befitting of two young bachelors barely out of high school.

In the living room, a Christmas tree, set in front of a floor to ceiling window, was decorated with not enough lights and dime store ornaments. The only other furnishing was a shabby sofa which we leaned against as we sat on the floor, holding hands.

That evening Mike reached under that old sofa, pulled out a tiny box with a red bow on top and asked me to marry him. He was eighteen. I was nineteen. I’ve never celebrated a Christmas without him since.

Until now.

Year after year, Mike was my Christmas tradition. He was the constant in every season; from setting up the tree, then sitting on the couch to watch the kids and I decorate it, or hiding gifts all over the house and warning me not to peek if I found bags and boxes in strange places, to his impatient waiting for the pie to come out of the oven, so he could harass me endlessly to have a piece before Christmas dinner.

Forty three Christmas seasons have come and gone and now, so has he, and I have to figure out how to rewrap Christmas in a different package, one that doesn’t continuously assault me with loss, emptiness and tears.

I don’t know how to do Christmas without my husband. I don’t even know where to start. I do know that Christmas will never be the same again.

One certainty of this season is a confidence in Who it has always been about. I know the Jesus we are celebrating. While everything feels disheveled, broken and uncertain; in the middle of my sorrow, my hope is in The One the prophet Isaiah foretold and Jesus himself proclaimed to be:

“The Spirit of the Lord God is upon Me, because the Lord has anointed Me to preach good tidings to the poor; He has sent Me to heal the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to those who are bound; To proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord, and the day of vengeance of our God; To comfort all who mourn, to console those who mourn in Zion, to give them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; That they may be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that He may be glorified.” Isaiah 61:1-3, Luke 4:18-21.

No other Christmas season has it ever been as clear as in this one, and never have I been more thankful for Emmanuel who came for me. Emmanuel who is with me. I SO qualify to receive His promise of hope and redemption and He does not disappoint. Jesus is the gift that keeps on giving.

In whatever difficult, impossible, unbearable, crushing situation you’re facing this Christmas, you qualify too.

Merry CHRISTmas!

Who Am I ?

I’ve been Pastor Mike’s wife for many years. I no longer have a pastor husband and I’m no longer a wife.

You don’t realize how much of your identity is tied to your spouse until they’re gone.

Everything I thought I was changed in one day. I know who I am in Christ. That’s not the issue. I just don’t know who I am on this earth. Not without Mike. This isn’t a path I planned. The choice was made for me. It’s the beginning of a journey to discover my new ‘alone’ earth identity and everything within me is resisting this road I must travel.

There is so much loss this side of Heaven and earth life consists of constant change. But where there is great loss the potential for gain is greater.

“Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.” Isaiah 43:18-19.

In this present wilderness, as I’m stripped of my former self, there’s no guarantee of what the future holds or what I will become. But God promises to make a way. He promises water in the wasteland and I want to trust the day will come when a ‘new thing’ springs up. I‘ll no longer be consumed by the past but will have hope for the future.

No Lord, I don’t see it! Or perceive it. Not now.

Don’t let me give up. Help me to keep moving forward.

“He who was seated on the throne said, “Behold, I am making all things new.” Also He said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.” Revelation 21:5.

I surrender it all to You. Trustworthy and True One.

Make me new.

Roller Coaster Ride

Most of us have experienced sorrow in our lifetime. I certainly have. A child born with a disability. An illness that stoled my ability to do certain things. My grandmother and my parents when they died. A brother who has struggled with mental illness most of his life. Dreams that haven’t come true. Loss of friendship. Circumstances that took me down paths I never planned on.

This current grief has taken me to an entirely new level, like nothing I’ve ever faced before. It is complicated. And messy. And confusing. It takes my breath away. Makes my heart feel like a rock inside my chest and haunts me with thoughts of packing a bag and fleeing to outrun it. It wakes me up in the night, fills me with dread, fear and tidal waves of sobbing I never knew were humanely possible.

I never would have suspected anger to be part of grief. This emotion has surprised me the most. It sneaks up on me at the most inopportune moments and is triggered by ridiculous things. Like struggling to open a jar that I would normally hand to Mike and when the lid won’t budge I’m overwhelmed by a sudden urge to throw it across the room.

I don’t know how many times in the past few weeks, I’ve said out loud to my missing man, “So where are you when I need you? Sure, you’re prancing around on streets of gold having the time of your life and I’m stuck down here with all this mess! Thanks a lot for leaving me!”

I’ve found myself angry for having to do all the things he usually did. Taking the trash to the roadside on Tuesday nights. Dealing with the hurricane roof that needs to be replaced. The endless amounts of paperwork and phone calls and cleaning the pool.

Most people hate pool maintenance but Mike liked it. Maybe because It’s mindless work. He used his brain so much overseeing the finances of entire organizations and managing people that cleaning tranquil water had a relaxing effect on him. Almost every night after work, he’d come home, change his clothes and go scoop out the pool. In the hot summer months he’d clean it while he was in it.

The disadvantage of having a garden inside your pool screen is the leaf debris that ends up in the pool. Last week after a windy rain, I went to scoop leaves and floating flowers out of the water. The scoop pole is long and awkward, I kept smacking the screen frame and kitchen windows with it and it took me longer than I expected. Debris I just picked up would escape the net and I was getting frustrated. Mike always made it look so easy.

I finally finished, slammed the pole back onto the hooks where it hangs and yelled up at the sky, “There! I cleaned the stupid pool! I did YOUR job and it looks nice! Aren’t you proud of me?!” Then I went back in the house and slammed the door. One minute later I was sobbing.

It’s so confusing, this grief. While I’ve considered myself to a pretty stable person, the roller coaster I’m on right now surprises me with twists and turns I don’t see coming until I’m in them. I don’t like roller coasters. They fill me with fear and make me sick. I avoid them. But it seems I’ll have to ride this one out for a while.

I do know God is in the seat next to me and He’s not surprised by any of it. He know’s I’m flesh. I’m week, flawed and tired and He doesn’t add guilt or condemnation on top of anything I feel right now. And I’ve lived long enough to know feelings are only reactions to stuff we don’t want, like or understand. They are the like mist rising off my pool on a cool Florida morning. Ascending, dissipating and rising again while the water remains, solid and steadfast underneath.

I miss my Mike with everything in me and my tipsy, flimsy faith, reaches for the Solid One who undergirds me in all of life. God has been and always will be the constant who provides an anchor point where my faith and reality collide. This roller coaster will come to a stop and eventually I’ll get off and say, “Whew, what a horrible ride. But I made it.”

Looking forward to that. A lot. I’m honestly admitting I don’t like where I am right now but when “I walk through valleys as dark as death…the Lord is with me” (Psalm 23:4). He’s with me in the anger, the sorrow, the sobbing, the confusion and even brief moments of joy. He’s bigger than my emotions and greater than my circumstance.

He is my God. He weeps with me, loves me and isn’t freaked out by anything I feel or how I react to this new normal I’m adjusting too. I trust Him to carry me through this process and bring me out on the other side because “[my] Maker is [my] husband: the Lord Almighty is His name. He is [my] redeemer. He is called the God of all the earth” Isaiah 54:5.

Fighting The Good Fight

David and I brought Mike home in a 3X6 box yesterday. For now he is resting on the top shelf of the closet we shared covered in that silly Panama Jack hat he liked in Seaworld’s gift shop. Forty two years of a life together and when it’s done you’re handed a box. Talk about putting things in perspective!

My son and I sat in the car and cried together, feeling as if we’re living the book of Ecclesiastes right now. The things of Earth have become extremely dim and eternity seems very near. Nothing here matters In this moment; not our homes, our cars, food, money, the long, long, long to do list, or even David’s soon to be published book. I admit, I’m saddened the death of his father has stolen David’s excitement for his accomplishment.

“Vanity of vanities, says the Preacher, vanity of vanities! All is vanity. What does man gain by all the toil at which he toils under the sun?” Ecclesiastes 1:1.

Heaven is near and reminding us of what really matters. Obviously we must continue living and find provision for our journey here, but all of that is far less important than knowing the Father Heart of God and loving people.

Whatever time remains for us, we will continue honoring Mike’s legacy by doing just that, until it is our turn to proclaim:

“ I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. Now there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, will award to me on that day, and not only to me but also to all who have loved His appearing,” 2 Timothy 4:7-8.

Welcome home, Michael Connis!

Mashed Potato Grief

I’ve gone to the grocery store almost every week in my forty two years of marriage and family raising. Multiplying fifty two weeks in a year by forty two years equates to two thousand one hundred and eighty four times. Other than a parking lot ding on my car’s bumper, an occasional broken jar, squished peach or the bottom falling out of a full bag, it has been a nondescript task.

Tuesday, October 3rd, 2017, I came home from the grocery store to find my husband dead in the front yard. There is absolutely nothing nondescript about that and I’m not sure I’ll ever look at buying groceries the same again.

Mike’s last words to me were, “I’ll see you when you get back.”

He didn’t.

Now I attempt to navigate from here. The shared weight of responsibility Mike carried for Jon has been added entirely to me. It is heavy. I feel as if I’m suffocating right now. I’m hanging on to Jesus like the leaf of a tree in a hurricane.

I see and feel the concern, love and prayers of those around us and am incredibly grateful to all who are rallying around me and Jon. But I’ve noticed the frequently asked question seems to be, “How are you doing?” So I’m feeling the need to explain to those who have yet to experience this particular type of storm, the difficult answer to this question.

Quite honestly, I don’t even know how I’m doing. There is no answer.

However, an attempt to put it into words might go like this. I am a bucket of mashed potatoes. I have been picked, peeled, quartered, boiled, whipped, shoved through a sieve for extra fine-ness and tossed onto Florida’s Interstate 4 at rush hour to be run over by three hundred vehicles a minute.

For the unforeseeable future, my answer to the ‘how you doing’ question will be “Mashed Potatoes and God is still good!”

Just have a spatula to peel me off the pavement and a little salt and butter when you see me. I’m hoping these mashed potatoes will eventually be able to feed a hurting, desperate soul somewhere on the interstate of life.

“The LORD is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” Psalm 34:18

Always On My Mind

Jon’s been to the sedation dentist five times in the past eight months. We still have two to three more appointments to finish all the repair needed and then there’s the question of whether there’ll be more in the future.

There’s always this thing about Jon’s future (and not just his teeth). It wants to hang over me like a dark cloud, more than I care to admit.

I don’t worry about our son, David. I think about him everyday, but never worry about him. But Jon? Oh yes! I worry about him plenty and have for many years. The older he and I get, the more it weighs on me. Maybe this is normal for parents of kids who need care and supervision their entire lives. Is it? Or am I alone here?

I can be having a conversation with you and in the far recesses of my mind I’m thinking about Jon. I can be at the grocery store, in a church service, on a cruise, visiting my grandson; I can be anywhere doing anything and Jon is present in my thoughts. He’s always on my mind.

Other’s tell me, “Well you shouldn’t worry so much. It’s in God’s hands.”
I smile and reply, “Thank you, that’s true. You’re right. Pray for me.”
But honestly, what I sometimes want to shout is, “That’s easy for you to say!”

So how do we trust God in situations that continue day after day, year after year? It’s real. It’s in our face every morning when we rise and every night when we lay down. How do we find peace and contentment in this place? Can I ever reach a place of total surrender here? Can I ever mature enough in God to never feel this anxiety again, even when nothing has changed? Can I get through a day without having to lay it down at Jesus’ feet again and again? Today. Tomorrow. And the next day. Or the one after that.

I don’t know. I want to. Worry wears me out. It’s exhausting.

Jesus said not to worry about tomorrow (Matthew 6:34) but in context, He was talking about material goods needed for life: food, drink and clothes. He wasn’t talking about my son. Apostle Paul also wrote in Philippians 4:12 that he had “learned the secret of being content in every situation” but also related this to material needs; hunger, abundance and lack. He wasn’t talking about Jon either.

So I look at these:

“Cast your cares on the Lord and He will sustain you..” Psalm 55:22.

“Don’t worry about anything, instead pray about everything.” (Apostle Paul) Philippians 4:6.

“..Cast all your anxiety on Him (Jesus) because He cares for you” 1 Peter 5:6-8.

“Come to Me (Jesus) all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest” Matthew 11:28.

“Peace I leave with you; My peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid” (Jesus) John 14:27.

I read these promises and realize this worry free existence we hope for, may NOT be a ‘I’ve finally arrived’ deal. I wonder if we ever reach the pinnacle of ability to sail through a trouble filled earth life without angst. As believers in an all powerful and involved-in-life God, maybe we do ourselves and others a disservice when we expect to reach a super spiritual level of never worrying about anything, ever again, this side of Heaven.

We read our Bibles and cliché these scriptures into meaninglessness, beating ourselves up for failing and feeling sub-standard for not measuring up.

Could it be these promises aren’t about removing worry from life permanently, but instructions for surrendering it daily? If “faith is the substance of things hoped for and the evidence of things not yet seen,” (Hebrews 11:1) then everyday I need to lay what I hope for at His feet. Everyday while I wait ‘for what I have not yet seen’ I need His strength to battle the enemies of worry, doubt and fear.

Everyday I pray.
Everyday I cast my anxiety on Him.
Everyday I come to Him for peace and rest.
Everyday I run to Him with my problems.
Everyday I choose to trust Him.
Everyday I believe He loves me.
Everyday I lay my questions, concerns, fears and worries before Him.
Everyday I surrender Jon, his future and mine, back to Him.

Today. Tomorrow. And the next day. And the one after that.

The better question to ask is this: “Can trouble or problems or persecution separate us from His love?” Romans 8:35

When I remember I’m loved, it’s easier to let go.
When I remember I’m loved, I worry less.
When I remember I’m loved, I breathe deeper.
When I remember I’m loved, I surrender completely.

“But in all these troubles we have complete victory through God, who has shown His love for us. Yes, I am sure that nothing can separate us from God’s love..” Romans 8:38.

In my daily surrender, God’s love overtakes my worry. When His love is always on my mind, His love always wins.

“..nothing in the whole created world—will ever be able to separate us from the love God has shown us in Christ Jesus our Lord” Romans 8:39.

Nothing. Will ever!

Not Today. Tomorrow. And the next day. Or the one after that. Hallelujah!

A Place Called Special

a look inside a special life