I believe in God the Father almighty, creator of heaven and earth. These were borrowed words and they were not mine.
I believe that God sees enough glimmers of faith and goodwill in our everyday conduct to keep Him convicted of our worth.
Only 10 percent of American teenagers could name the world’s 5 major religions.
A definition. A rationalization. An attribute. An un-plumbable well of existence.
The heart is deceitful above all things and desperately wicked. Who can know it? (Jeremiah 17:9)
God’s wildness is a multiplied version of the boot-quaking awe we experience when we gaze upon the Grand Canyon.
For this reason, merely believing in “something” is not half-hearted or vague, but both mind-blowing and earth-shattering.
In a word: I am so hopelessly imperfect it frequently causes me to crawl into a blanket fort and wish the world away.
If anyone in contemporary America can sympathize with the frustration of first-century Christians awaiting the imminent return of Christ, it’s we Cubs fans.
Where moments before had been only a slew of green speckles, I could suddenly see a crouching frog. It had been there all along; I just hadn’t had the skill, the “sight,” to notice it before.