There is a popular television commercial in which a person gets a preview of their day, showing the glitches, disasters and irritations ahead of them. After being forewarned of everything from daughter rolling her eyes at mom’s wardrobe advice, to having a flat tire and the elevator being out, the subject, glass in hand, says calmly, “It’s a good thing I had my orange juice!”
I thought about that as the visiting missionary was speaking at church Sunday evening. After telling us about his ministry and after his young daughter sang a tender little song followed by a solo from his wife, the speaker said he wanted to give a short lesson on prayer. He started by saying that while there are many different types of prayer, he wanted to focus on three.
There is the prayer of desperation, the kind many of us are used to praying. When something goes wrong, we quickly call on God to HELP us! David prayed this kind of prayer often. In Psalm 64:1, he prays, “Hear my voice, O God, in my prayer: preserve my life from fear of the enemy.” And in Psalm 61, he beseeches, “Hear my cry, O God; attend unto my prayer.” We have no trouble calling out to God in times of desperation.
Then there is the prayer of perspiration, one of hard work and perseverance. But we are promised: “He giveth power to the faint; and to them that have no might he increaseth strength. Even the youths shall faint and be weary, and the young men shall utterly fall; But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint,” Isaiah 40:29-31.
Jesus was praying like this when in Luke 22:44, it records: “And being in agony he prayed more earnestly; and his sweat was as it were great drops of blood falling to the ground.”
Guidelines for the prayer of preparation are given in Ephesians 6:10-18, when we are told to put on the whole armour of God. This includes the belt of truth, the breastplate of righteousness, shoes of the gospel, the shield of faith, the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the Word of God.
If we pray the prayer of preparation at the beginning of our day, and are strengthened by prayers of perspiration, we may be less likely to have to pray in desperation, having been equipped against “the fiery darts of the wicked,” or anything else life throws at us. Kind of like drinking your orange juice.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Monday, June 6, 2011
Mistaken Identity
“Oh, good!” I said to my husband, “I’m going out to see our statue!” We had just gotten home from church, dinner out, and stopping at our son’s to drop off a birthday bouquet for our daughter-in-law. Greg told us he had delivered our garden statuary we'd bought the day before in our absence. In my haste, I didn’t even put on my shoes, then realized that might not be a good idea when I was halfway across the backyard and had to step gingerly on the prickly grass and thought of stickers.
The statue looked small from here. As I got closer, my mind couldn’t make sense of what I was seeing. This wasn’t what I had bought! Where was the standing figure of a winsome little girl in a summer frock, the one that reminded me of my granddaughter? Instead, this was a bare tot holding a giant sea shell with a hole in the middle for a fountain! This was like getting home from the hospital with the wrong baby!
“That’s not our statue!” I called to my husband as I rushed back inside. “He tricked us!” Lots of things were going through my mind, but I could imagine an unscrupulous merchant giving my son the wrong statue when he went to pick it up for us. We had run into Greg at the Herb Fest and told him the man was holding it, and he generously offered to retrieve it for us and put it in his truck. Howard gave him the receipt to claim it and we went on home.
On the phone, Greg explained that this was the one the man said we had bought, and described it as sitting on a table top. I remembered that one; it cost less than ours and had a “sold” sign on it. How could this mistake have been made? Our selection was the only other statue out there, and the one we indicated we wanted. The seller said he would mark it “sold” and we could pick it up later.
To make matters worse, Howard hadn’t kept the receipt, and he didn’t remember the man’s name or business being on there, anyway. We only knew he was out of Oklahoma City. We wouldn’t know who sold it to us until the check cleared and it would be too late to stop payment. I was so outdone, disappointed and angry!
Then I thought about a radio message we’d heard that day on the way to church. The preacher was saying something to the effect that when we want to be the one in control of our lives and what happens to us, not accepting disappointment, but complaining, we are actually hardening our hearts against God--not trusting Him to be the One in control. Did that apply here? He does promise to make all things work for good to those who believe.
Well, Howard actually liked the wrong statuary better, because he could put water through it to make a fountain. And it was more in scale with the one we already had of the little boy. If God is trying to teach me something, that is one thing. I’m sure I’ll know more fully what it is in time. But right now, I sure do miss that little girl!
The statue looked small from here. As I got closer, my mind couldn’t make sense of what I was seeing. This wasn’t what I had bought! Where was the standing figure of a winsome little girl in a summer frock, the one that reminded me of my granddaughter? Instead, this was a bare tot holding a giant sea shell with a hole in the middle for a fountain! This was like getting home from the hospital with the wrong baby!
“That’s not our statue!” I called to my husband as I rushed back inside. “He tricked us!” Lots of things were going through my mind, but I could imagine an unscrupulous merchant giving my son the wrong statue when he went to pick it up for us. We had run into Greg at the Herb Fest and told him the man was holding it, and he generously offered to retrieve it for us and put it in his truck. Howard gave him the receipt to claim it and we went on home.
On the phone, Greg explained that this was the one the man said we had bought, and described it as sitting on a table top. I remembered that one; it cost less than ours and had a “sold” sign on it. How could this mistake have been made? Our selection was the only other statue out there, and the one we indicated we wanted. The seller said he would mark it “sold” and we could pick it up later.
To make matters worse, Howard hadn’t kept the receipt, and he didn’t remember the man’s name or business being on there, anyway. We only knew he was out of Oklahoma City. We wouldn’t know who sold it to us until the check cleared and it would be too late to stop payment. I was so outdone, disappointed and angry!
Then I thought about a radio message we’d heard that day on the way to church. The preacher was saying something to the effect that when we want to be the one in control of our lives and what happens to us, not accepting disappointment, but complaining, we are actually hardening our hearts against God--not trusting Him to be the One in control. Did that apply here? He does promise to make all things work for good to those who believe.
Well, Howard actually liked the wrong statuary better, because he could put water through it to make a fountain. And it was more in scale with the one we already had of the little boy. If God is trying to teach me something, that is one thing. I’m sure I’ll know more fully what it is in time. But right now, I sure do miss that little girl!
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Getting Out of the House
Whew! We just returned from the Herb Festival, a bustling plant fair and crafts/flea market exhibit by vendors, gardeners, artists and crafts people from all over the state and beyond. Hundreds of people milled about Cann Gardens, the perfect setting for the annual event. The veranda of the historic home was shaded by ancient trees, making it the coolest spot to relax and take in one of the scheduled shows, speeches, demonstrations on the use of herbs, or other entertainment.
The winding walkways led us past antique yard furniture, artists stalls, hanging baskets overflowing with lush greenery or colorful flowers, and of course, herbs of every description offered for sale in small containers and pots. We spotted an airy, green, hanging basket, an asparagus fern, and made a note to pick one up on our trek back. We are having company later in the month, and I wanted to spruce up our front screened porch.
“Let’s call Greg,” I suggested to my husband. Our son, Greg’s family was here somewhere, and we wanted to meet up with them. We were near the fish pool, so they met us there. Sitting under an arbor with them, we decided to look for a place selling snow cones. Howard was hungry, though, so we found a food stand where he got a Chicago hot dog, and a cold drink for me.
The Herb festival, held on the first Saturday in June, is always a highlight for our daughter-in-law, Joanna, whose birthday on June 6 often coincides with the event. A celebration ritual for them is to enjoy a generous serving of fruit cobbler and homemade ice cream from one of the booths, and often a one-of-a-kind gift, such as handmade porch furniture one year, sold at the fair. Since we were no longer hungry, we continued our stroll, stopping to talk to friends old and new that we happened to bump into.
Strains of beautiful, haunting music made us peer into a gazebo with signs identifying the mysterious sounds as “Andes Music” and “Music from Ecuador”. A bronze-skin man inside was playing an instrument made of what looked like bamboo canes cut into graduated lengths and fastened together in an angular shape, I think called a pan flute. I have hazy memories of seeing such in story books played by mythical creatures. After several fascinating minutes, we moved on.
“Look at that statue,” I pointed out to Howard. It was old, cast in rough concrete, and was of a smiling little girl that reminded me of our four-year-old granddaughter. We had bought one many years ago that was reminiscent of her father when he was four. “Let’s get it,” I said, “we can put it by Jamie’s ‘statue’ in the back yard.” Greg offered to bring it home for us and loaded it into his truck. I’m sure he’s glad we didn’t get the 8-foot antique architectural column we considered for our dining room. The heat may have been getting to us, so it’s a good thing we headed home, carrying our asparagus fern.
The winding walkways led us past antique yard furniture, artists stalls, hanging baskets overflowing with lush greenery or colorful flowers, and of course, herbs of every description offered for sale in small containers and pots. We spotted an airy, green, hanging basket, an asparagus fern, and made a note to pick one up on our trek back. We are having company later in the month, and I wanted to spruce up our front screened porch.
“Let’s call Greg,” I suggested to my husband. Our son, Greg’s family was here somewhere, and we wanted to meet up with them. We were near the fish pool, so they met us there. Sitting under an arbor with them, we decided to look for a place selling snow cones. Howard was hungry, though, so we found a food stand where he got a Chicago hot dog, and a cold drink for me.
The Herb festival, held on the first Saturday in June, is always a highlight for our daughter-in-law, Joanna, whose birthday on June 6 often coincides with the event. A celebration ritual for them is to enjoy a generous serving of fruit cobbler and homemade ice cream from one of the booths, and often a one-of-a-kind gift, such as handmade porch furniture one year, sold at the fair. Since we were no longer hungry, we continued our stroll, stopping to talk to friends old and new that we happened to bump into.
Strains of beautiful, haunting music made us peer into a gazebo with signs identifying the mysterious sounds as “Andes Music” and “Music from Ecuador”. A bronze-skin man inside was playing an instrument made of what looked like bamboo canes cut into graduated lengths and fastened together in an angular shape, I think called a pan flute. I have hazy memories of seeing such in story books played by mythical creatures. After several fascinating minutes, we moved on.
“Look at that statue,” I pointed out to Howard. It was old, cast in rough concrete, and was of a smiling little girl that reminded me of our four-year-old granddaughter. We had bought one many years ago that was reminiscent of her father when he was four. “Let’s get it,” I said, “we can put it by Jamie’s ‘statue’ in the back yard.” Greg offered to bring it home for us and loaded it into his truck. I’m sure he’s glad we didn’t get the 8-foot antique architectural column we considered for our dining room. The heat may have been getting to us, so it’s a good thing we headed home, carrying our asparagus fern.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Angels Watching over Me
“Which doggie do you want?” the mother asked her little boy as he stood trying to choose the one he would take home. They were all so cute, jumping and bouncing about, most wagging their tails. One friendly little puppy, however, wagged his tail furiously, unable to contain his delight as the child watched. Looking up with a smile, he said to his mother, “I want the one with the happy ending!”
I had been wanting a new sofa, preferably leather, and awhile back when the Lord had blessed us with a little extra, I just knew it was time to get it. But my husband used the windfall for something practical. Not a happy camper, but I tried to be a submissive wife and let it go.
Yesterday he called me from the furniture store where he works, and said, “Do you still want that sofa?” Of course! But how? Turns out they had a close out on one, and with his employee discount, it was a great bargain! I couldn’t believe my ears! By nightfall last night it was in our living room!
Now what to do with the old one? Our son, Greg, helped move it out and was going to store it in his garage until we could decide what we wanted to do with it. But then we noticed our next-door neighbors were setting up for a garage sale. They let us put it for sale on their lawn with their stuff! What timing!
We were talking with our pastor son in North Carolina, and he mentioned that their church was “mothering” another church. The district headquarters had asked them to supply speakers for the small congregation since they had no pastor. Mark told us, “I said to the superintendent, ‘What you need, is my Dad!’” Mark knew that we had been feeling adrift recently since Howard gave up a position as Associate Pastor at a local church.
“Well, I did receive a prophecy last night at a revival we have been attending, that ‘It’s not over, yet!’” Howard replied in amazement.
On the same day all this happened, our daughter-in-law, who works with the Humane Society, called to tell Howard that they had a couple of dachshunds for adoption. She knew nothing would make Howard happier than to have a dog. Who knows? There may be more “happy endings” in our future!
I had been wanting a new sofa, preferably leather, and awhile back when the Lord had blessed us with a little extra, I just knew it was time to get it. But my husband used the windfall for something practical. Not a happy camper, but I tried to be a submissive wife and let it go.
Yesterday he called me from the furniture store where he works, and said, “Do you still want that sofa?” Of course! But how? Turns out they had a close out on one, and with his employee discount, it was a great bargain! I couldn’t believe my ears! By nightfall last night it was in our living room!
Now what to do with the old one? Our son, Greg, helped move it out and was going to store it in his garage until we could decide what we wanted to do with it. But then we noticed our next-door neighbors were setting up for a garage sale. They let us put it for sale on their lawn with their stuff! What timing!
We were talking with our pastor son in North Carolina, and he mentioned that their church was “mothering” another church. The district headquarters had asked them to supply speakers for the small congregation since they had no pastor. Mark told us, “I said to the superintendent, ‘What you need, is my Dad!’” Mark knew that we had been feeling adrift recently since Howard gave up a position as Associate Pastor at a local church.
“Well, I did receive a prophecy last night at a revival we have been attending, that ‘It’s not over, yet!’” Howard replied in amazement.
On the same day all this happened, our daughter-in-law, who works with the Humane Society, called to tell Howard that they had a couple of dachshunds for adoption. She knew nothing would make Howard happier than to have a dog. Who knows? There may be more “happy endings” in our future!
Friday, June 3, 2011
Eternal Mystery
“It sounds as if you and your husband have been having problems for a long time,” the counselor said to his patient. “When did they start?”
“When he tried to get in the wedding picture!” the wife scowled.
Another husband/wife joke. The differences between men and women are an inexhaustible source of material for comedians, punsters, or just the average person. After all, we can all relate.
Just this week a face book friend was bemoaning that her all-male family, a husband and three almost-grown sons, just didn’t get it when she needed the right response from them concerning her feelings in a situation. All her female friends, including myself, commiserated. We’d all been there.
But let’s face it. Do we really want our men to be so sensitive? How could they fulfill their God-given role of being a buffer between their family and the world if they were easily offended, read something into every situation, and were as in-tune with their feelings as are most of us females?
My husband and I raised four sons, and I must admit, I enjoyed their straight forward, uncomplicated personalities. They usually meant what they said, and said what they meant. Their brains were not sensing hidden meanings in conversations or interpreting looks and facial expressions. And they were fair. They had a sense of justice that could easily overlook emotions and do the right thing.
My two daughters, though, were more like me. In fact, we were so much alike, we had our moments. Oh, I loved the things we had in common--chatting, shopping, understanding--and they’re my dearest friends today, but they thought too much like me. God seems to gift females with a special awareness, which can be a two-edged sword, equipping us for nurturing and protecting, yet giving us insight and a questioning nature. (Someone said the word “why” should be deleted from a wife’s vocabulary.)
I can see traits in my 4-year-old granddaughter that point to female reasoning already. I suspect she has learned to go over her father’s head in getting her way. She prays about it. Last week she prayed that God would tell Santa to bring her a pop-up Jasmine book. (Her daddy thinks she has too many toys already.) Jamie, our son, takes care of the children while his wife works, an arrangement they made when they started their family. Anne-Marie is beginning to see this might not be the norm, and she was heard praying the other night that her mommy would stay home with her while her daddy went to work. Early spirituality, or feminine wiles? Either way, those wheels are turning!
“When he tried to get in the wedding picture!” the wife scowled.
Another husband/wife joke. The differences between men and women are an inexhaustible source of material for comedians, punsters, or just the average person. After all, we can all relate.
Just this week a face book friend was bemoaning that her all-male family, a husband and three almost-grown sons, just didn’t get it when she needed the right response from them concerning her feelings in a situation. All her female friends, including myself, commiserated. We’d all been there.
But let’s face it. Do we really want our men to be so sensitive? How could they fulfill their God-given role of being a buffer between their family and the world if they were easily offended, read something into every situation, and were as in-tune with their feelings as are most of us females?
My husband and I raised four sons, and I must admit, I enjoyed their straight forward, uncomplicated personalities. They usually meant what they said, and said what they meant. Their brains were not sensing hidden meanings in conversations or interpreting looks and facial expressions. And they were fair. They had a sense of justice that could easily overlook emotions and do the right thing.
My two daughters, though, were more like me. In fact, we were so much alike, we had our moments. Oh, I loved the things we had in common--chatting, shopping, understanding--and they’re my dearest friends today, but they thought too much like me. God seems to gift females with a special awareness, which can be a two-edged sword, equipping us for nurturing and protecting, yet giving us insight and a questioning nature. (Someone said the word “why” should be deleted from a wife’s vocabulary.)
I can see traits in my 4-year-old granddaughter that point to female reasoning already. I suspect she has learned to go over her father’s head in getting her way. She prays about it. Last week she prayed that God would tell Santa to bring her a pop-up Jasmine book. (Her daddy thinks she has too many toys already.) Jamie, our son, takes care of the children while his wife works, an arrangement they made when they started their family. Anne-Marie is beginning to see this might not be the norm, and she was heard praying the other night that her mommy would stay home with her while her daddy went to work. Early spirituality, or feminine wiles? Either way, those wheels are turning!
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Fragile! Handle With Care!
“Oh! I left my glasses!” I exclaimed after we’d gone a few miles down the road. We’d just left our son’s house in Houston, and Howard didn’t want to go back.
“Don’t you have some more in your purse?” he asked hopefully, knowing I had lots of readers.
“Not my eyeglasses!” I retorted. “The set of glasses I bought at Sam’s!” Jamie had needed to pick up something at Sam’s Club, and he asked if we wanted to go in with him. I jumped at the chance, having missed the store since there wasn’t one where we live in Oklahoma. We frequented the place regularly in Mississippi, whether for church purchases or our own.
I loved looking at the housewares, and right away I spotted a set of pretty stemware goblets. “Elegant crystal for formal or casual dining,” the package read, and they were only $10. Not that I don’t have plenty of glasses, but Howard loves to drink from stemware, so I put them in my basket, and then in the back of Jamie’s van until we got back to their house.
“Did you unload the glasses and put them in our car?” I asked Howard after we had gone to bed. He said he would do it before we left for home. Well, we had forgotten by that time. Not to worry, our granddaughter Allison, who had gone to Houston with us, stayed on for a few days to help out with babysitting, and her parents would be picking her up at the end of the week. She promised to bring them home with her.
A few days later, I called to chat, and I was surprised to learn that Allison was being picked up a day early by her aunt, who lives in Houston. Allison assured me she had the box of glassware with her and would put them in her parents’ car when they came. Plans changed, and they all decided to meet in San Antonio. My glasses went along.
We were visiting at Greg’s house a couple of nights ago, when Allison left the room and came back carrying a box. She unceremoniously plopped my crystal down on the coffee table in front of me. Babysitting her little cousins was one thing, but babysitting my bargain was a little more than she had bargained for! I will formally apologize by setting a pretty place for her with a too-familiar-goblet when I have them over for dinner soon.
“Don’t you have some more in your purse?” he asked hopefully, knowing I had lots of readers.
“Not my eyeglasses!” I retorted. “The set of glasses I bought at Sam’s!” Jamie had needed to pick up something at Sam’s Club, and he asked if we wanted to go in with him. I jumped at the chance, having missed the store since there wasn’t one where we live in Oklahoma. We frequented the place regularly in Mississippi, whether for church purchases or our own.
I loved looking at the housewares, and right away I spotted a set of pretty stemware goblets. “Elegant crystal for formal or casual dining,” the package read, and they were only $10. Not that I don’t have plenty of glasses, but Howard loves to drink from stemware, so I put them in my basket, and then in the back of Jamie’s van until we got back to their house.
“Did you unload the glasses and put them in our car?” I asked Howard after we had gone to bed. He said he would do it before we left for home. Well, we had forgotten by that time. Not to worry, our granddaughter Allison, who had gone to Houston with us, stayed on for a few days to help out with babysitting, and her parents would be picking her up at the end of the week. She promised to bring them home with her.
A few days later, I called to chat, and I was surprised to learn that Allison was being picked up a day early by her aunt, who lives in Houston. Allison assured me she had the box of glassware with her and would put them in her parents’ car when they came. Plans changed, and they all decided to meet in San Antonio. My glasses went along.
We were visiting at Greg’s house a couple of nights ago, when Allison left the room and came back carrying a box. She unceremoniously plopped my crystal down on the coffee table in front of me. Babysitting her little cousins was one thing, but babysitting my bargain was a little more than she had bargained for! I will formally apologize by setting a pretty place for her with a too-familiar-goblet when I have them over for dinner soon.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Patience
“You are in the middle of a miracle,” the evangelist preached at the revival the other night. He was emphasizing that we are not to give up when we get discouraged. Quoting the scripture, “All things work together for good to those that love God and are the called according to His purpose,” he referenced several illustrations.
Joseph didn’t realize he was in the middle of a miracle when he was sold into slavery, falsely accused and thrown into prison, then forgotten about by the man whose dream he had interpreted. But God worked it out in a way that was not only for his good, but for that of the whole nation.
Daniel didn’t realize he was in the middle of a miracle when he was taken from his people into Babylon, emasculated and turned into a eunuch, and made to learn the Babylonian ways, but he was faithful to God and was promoted by God.
The minister told of a man who had been diagnosed with cancer, and was so despondent that he committed suicide. Shortly thereafter, it was revealed that he had received a wrong diagnosis. He gave up too soon.
Another story was of a well-known person of the time who was a gold miner. He had had some success and was treated well by merchants and backers. But things changed for him, and one day he was broke with no credit. The miner felt sure he was on top of a major lode in the California hills, but he became discouraged when, day after day, month after month, his digging yielded nothing. “This mine has destroyed me,” he said in despair one day, and went home and poisoned his family and committed suicide. The man who took over the mine shortly after hit the mother lode just below where the miner had stopped digging. He had given up too soon.
The preacher asked if we’d heard of the Hanover Building in Chicago. He said it was named for a very wealthy man. Once a hitchhiker was picked up by the man. The hitchhiker, a young man who did not know who the wealthy man was, felt an urge to witness to him and ask him to become a Christian. Mr. Hanover stopped the car, put his head on the steering wheel and gave his life to Christ. He gave the young man his address and told him to look him up if he were ever in Chicago. Years later, the man did just that.
He was met by Mrs. Hanover, and explained that he had met her husband on a certain date and led him into salvation. His wife began to cry. “My husband was killed in an auto accident the day after that date,” she exclaimed. “I had tried to persuade him to get saved for years, and I thought he had died without salvation.” She went on to say that thinking God had failed her, she had left the church and gave up on her faith. She repented, for she knew she had given up too soon.
We can all relate, finding ourselves in situations when we wonder when things will change for us or our loved ones. The Bible tells us to not be weary in well doing, for we will reap in due season if we faint not (become discouraged). After all, we may be in the middle of a miracle.
Joseph didn’t realize he was in the middle of a miracle when he was sold into slavery, falsely accused and thrown into prison, then forgotten about by the man whose dream he had interpreted. But God worked it out in a way that was not only for his good, but for that of the whole nation.
Daniel didn’t realize he was in the middle of a miracle when he was taken from his people into Babylon, emasculated and turned into a eunuch, and made to learn the Babylonian ways, but he was faithful to God and was promoted by God.
The minister told of a man who had been diagnosed with cancer, and was so despondent that he committed suicide. Shortly thereafter, it was revealed that he had received a wrong diagnosis. He gave up too soon.
Another story was of a well-known person of the time who was a gold miner. He had had some success and was treated well by merchants and backers. But things changed for him, and one day he was broke with no credit. The miner felt sure he was on top of a major lode in the California hills, but he became discouraged when, day after day, month after month, his digging yielded nothing. “This mine has destroyed me,” he said in despair one day, and went home and poisoned his family and committed suicide. The man who took over the mine shortly after hit the mother lode just below where the miner had stopped digging. He had given up too soon.
The preacher asked if we’d heard of the Hanover Building in Chicago. He said it was named for a very wealthy man. Once a hitchhiker was picked up by the man. The hitchhiker, a young man who did not know who the wealthy man was, felt an urge to witness to him and ask him to become a Christian. Mr. Hanover stopped the car, put his head on the steering wheel and gave his life to Christ. He gave the young man his address and told him to look him up if he were ever in Chicago. Years later, the man did just that.
He was met by Mrs. Hanover, and explained that he had met her husband on a certain date and led him into salvation. His wife began to cry. “My husband was killed in an auto accident the day after that date,” she exclaimed. “I had tried to persuade him to get saved for years, and I thought he had died without salvation.” She went on to say that thinking God had failed her, she had left the church and gave up on her faith. She repented, for she knew she had given up too soon.
We can all relate, finding ourselves in situations when we wonder when things will change for us or our loved ones. The Bible tells us to not be weary in well doing, for we will reap in due season if we faint not (become discouraged). After all, we may be in the middle of a miracle.
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