When I was eighteen, I read a book* that became a defining influence upon my life. It was a biography written by Elisabeth Elliot about the life of Amy Carmichael who was missionary to India in the early 1900s. As a young woman in Ireland, Amy felt God calling her to give up the pursuits and pleasures of the world and become fully consecrated to Him.
...Try me and know my thoughts...Psalm 139:23Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.Psalm 51:7bI shut my eyes tightly as another wave of remembrance washed over me. There. It had happened again. Another thought that I didn’t even conjure up presented itself before my very eyes. Ever had one of those moments?
My friends' eyes were wide with disbelief as they stared back at me.I sat slightly embarrassed at the admission of a secret I feared to make public. But there it was, out in the open. Exposed for all to hear.It may sound trite to you, but I confessed what few guys would be willing to declare out loud — I like Pride and Prejudice and Anne of Green Gables. A lot.
I love the concept of baking. Growing up, my mom was a fantastic cook for the family and weekly would bake bread and other goodies that we could hardly wait to gobble up. And nothing, in my mind, was better than a piece of warm bread, pulled from the oven, dripping with real butter and honey.
Casting down arguments and every high thing that exalts itself against the knowledge of God, bringing every thought into captivity to the obedience of Christ...2 Corinthians 10:5I sat tensely on the bed, trying to slow down my breathing. My heart was beating rapidly. My thoughts were racing. My hands were shaking. It was happening again. That overwhelming sense of doo
It felt like one of those kinds of days… Everything seemed off from the moment I saw the sunlight peeking through the blinds. I woke up with a splitting headache after a night of little sleep, and the kids were having squabbles left and right.
The April sunshine was tipped with the faintest hint of chill – perfect weather for a brisk walk around the block. I laced up my tennis shoes and fell into step, noticing the friendly dandelions dotting the border of the road as I went.
I sat in a wing-back chair by the blazing fireplace, surrounded by friends on a Wednesday night; our weekly life-group meeting was underway. As I read aloud from Acts 2, I caught myself pausing when I came to verse 42: “...and they devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and to fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer” (Acts 2:42, NIV).