The devil has us convinced that Leviticus is for the scholars, Numbers is boring, Isaiah is confusing, and Ecclesiastes– down right depressive. “Meaningless. All is meaningless.” As my oldest would say. So we made peace with knowing little, crutching on Psalms and Proverbs for our devotional time.
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After herding sheep about 12,000 times in 40 years, a burning thorn-bush in the desert shocked Moses as much as a Californian is shocked by wildfires in July.
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“This little book of Habakkuk is like the morning newspaper.” Said my friend Lena.
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„Necazul cu unele biserici este că ei cred că predicatorul este un soi de locomotivă bisericească, care va pufăi și va trage grămada de oameni spre glorie”. Spunea marele evanghelist Billy Sunday.
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After a long winter, I opened the shed. It was peppered with something resembling seeds. Except these “seeds” would only fertilize the ground they’d be planted in. If you get my drift.
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“The trouble with some churches is that they think the preacher is a sort of ecclesiastical locomotive, who will snort and puff and pull the whole bunch through to glory”. Would say Billy Sunday in his revivals.
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“It takes hard work to rest.” I read this line in the book Crazy Busy and thought: “work” and “rest” are like two bickering sisters. The Mary and Martha of the grammar world. They must not sit together. It creates controversy. I’ve never heard a sermon suggesting “work” is the answer to “a heart at rest”.
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A man entered a village and asked a gal in her wisdom years, “Ma’am, can I find Christians in your village?”
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