Our infirmities become the black velvet on which the diamond of God’s love glitters all the more brightly.
You don't always get what you work for. But you always know WHO you work for, and that's the difference. A difference only grace can distinguish.
Meet Jean Valjean. A just-released prisoner. A vagabond with a past. No room in the inn. Nobody to take him in. Until, of course, he knocks on the door of a bishop named Monseigneur Myriel.
I want that to continuously be our plea and our most earnest desire. Like David, to seek Him in His temple and to seek Him with ours.
Whether you're a walker, runner, lifter, athlete. You inhale grace, exhale praise. That's worship.
It bounces off the walls of the dungeons of infirmities and it travels at light speed down the corridors of every bodily blessing.
I am more in awe of the innumerable, unsearchable, unreachable number above my personal record
than I am at the pitiful few below it.
Stewardship doesn't require muscle, endurance, speed, agility,
progress or a pump, just a pulse.
It’s all about you, Jesus. It is all about you, what you’ve done for us, not what we’ll promise to do for you.
I always called you my best pal, for that title you had no equal.
You and I had something special; a bond I didn't have with people.
In some ways I feel younger than the math would report, but in other ways I'd say the math seems just about right
since I know where my whining usually takes me, I gladly move to the posture of worship.