I have such illusions of control most of the time. The fact of the matter is I am so weak, so frail, and so much so that my steps are numbered by Him who is not. We helped move a bed from our basement into a new temporary location in another’s home last night. We set it up in a sewing room where, about a month ago, someone drove a sewing needle through their finger. That had to have hurt.

Subject to time, space, and other contrived or very real constraints we await the revelation of what we have been saved from. When will I travel the speed of light? When will I ascend to the Third Heaven? When will this corruptible flesh be clothed in immortality? When will I bless the Giver of all good things?


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