Several months ago I posted an article entitled, “My Armor.” In it, I described how, with the encouragement of my previous pastor, I had begun the practice of putting on the Armor of God (Ephesians 6:10-18) each morning before I started my day. As I did so, God showed me how putting on that armor was like surrounding myself with Him. Each piece was an extension of Him. I was connected to Him more deeply
One of the first tasks I undertook after moving into my home was to install a post and mailbox at the end of the driveway. The home’s previous owners had only used the home as a vacation destination so there was no need for one, but since this was my new permanent residence it was at the top of my list. I researched different types of posts online and found one that would suit my
I was tired of it. I’d had it! The social distancing. The inability to go anywhere or do anything fun. The masks. All of it! I had reached my breaking point. It wasn’t just the limitations that have come with COVID-19, it was that I had also moved across country in the middle of this world-wide pandemic. On this particular day my heart was aching. I was longing for what I had had just a
I had the great privilege of being a part of the Prayer March that was held in Washington, D.C. this past weekend. Tens of thousands gathered on the National Mall to pray for our Country and to seek the Lord. There was something I witnessed in the first few moments of the March that bears repeating. It changed my heart and my hope is that it will change yours too, as well as our Nation’s.
It was the last step in establishing myself as a New York resident – getting my car registered. I had gone through the DMV website with a fine-toothed comb. I had waited weeks to receive all the paperwork I needed to complete the registration process. I wanted to be sure I had every document printed, every “t” crossed, every “i” dotted. I had been to the DMV a few weeks earlier to get my license.
Every morning when that phone would ring my stomach would twist into knots. I never knew what the day would hold. Would it be a classroom filled with well-behaved, eager-to-learn 3rd graders, or a pack of junior high school pre-pubescents lying in wait for me? That was my life as a substitute teacher. Although I was grateful to have the income during those two years, the anxiety of the unknown each day felt unbearable at