Love is a gift

 

Love Does
Sunday, June 1, 2025 by Brave Knight Writers

“Go Tennessee” was the highlight and flavor of May—a mission to aid in  hurricane relief efforts in the town of Hampton. Hurricane Helene hit eastern Tennessee on September 27, 2024 as a tropical storm, causing flooding and mudslides. By October 7, 2024, the national death toll stood at 200. Fifteen were from Tennessee. National weather service records show:

Elizabethton, Carter County: 7.56 inches
Knoxville, Knox County: 4.97 inches
Gatlinburg, Sevier County, 8.84 inches
Greeneville, Greene County, 5.77 inches
Bristol, Sullivan County, 6.54 inches

What this doesn’t indicate is the massive torrents of water gushing from the surrounding hills for hours on end.

Our mission centered on a town near Elizabethton where logs washing down from the mountains caught on bridges, forming dams. The dams caused shifts in the normal course of the river, which then washed through Hampton. Houses were lost and damaged by the flood. Spring Street’s asphalt broke apart and boulders filled the yards.

One resident I spoke to said he climbed onto the roof of his house and watched debris flow by for five and half hours. Another piled up mattresses to the ceiling and stood on those for several hours. During this time, they had no access to any basic necessities of life.  How long does it take to heal from a disaster like this? Who helps the survivors? How soon do those not affected forget? Can you imagine trying to restart your life after such an event?

When the hurricane hit, I immediately wanted to respond but knew better than to go without local contacts. My cousin owns a place over the mountain in North Carolina. She told me to grab my chainsaw and go, but at 74, I didn’t think it wise. Going into a devastated area without contacts isn’t advised at any age. In 1985 my brother’s home and the general area suffered the destruction of a tornado. I remember going to help him rebuild, and how authorities had taken control of access.

So, instead, I contacted pastors at our church asking if they were associated with any churches in the area. It took time, but eventually we contacted an Alliance church in Elizabethton and our mission took form. Eight months after the storm, there was still significant recovery needed.

Our team of volunteers took shape, consisting of 17 male basketball players, 6 female basketball players, two coaches, and a chef, all from Grove City College. We even had a videographer along for part of the trip. In addition to me, one of our pastors and two other church members agreed to go. Our granddaughter just graduated from Theil College, and with a week off before starting her next academic adventure, she volunteered to also go. Having my granddaughter along made it special for me. The final blessing came the night before departure when someone canceled last-minute, and my better half arranged to come with us. Sadly, she had been freed of dog-sitting since our ancient beagle had passed on recently.

We had no idea what we were walking into or what work we be asked to do, but mission work is like that. The unknown is part of the fun, and overcoming adversity brings joy. To my surprise, an additional mission to the same area is scheduled several months from now. These recoveries run long after the disasters are forgotten by the unaffected public.

Accommodations for our team were arranged at the Fairhaven Ministries campus on Roan Mountain, which consists of small family-type chalets, a dining hall, and a lodge. It’s typically used as a retreat for pastors, their families, missionaries, and Christian workers. The complex sits high up the mountain above the flood damage. Hiking Trails and the beauty of God’s creation surround it.

The dining hall became the center of our morning devotions, briefings, and evening reflections. It sported a piano, and to everyone’s delight, one of the female basketball players and a coach turned out to be very talented pianists. Even better, the college folk joined in to sing and dance to old time music. Note: the facilities provided no cell phone, TV, or internet service. One would think it was 1959 and even though these students played on the same teams, we watched as new awareness of each other’s strengths and weaknesses blossomed into genuine caring.

Hampton sits in the Doe River valley, several miles from the campus. Several churches have committed to aid in the town’s recovery. Hampton high school remains closed at this time; it will require extensive remodeling. Three homes are being built by volunteers with a fund of $300,000 raised by the churches. One of the churches donated significant funds to the project only to have their church and several homes destroyed by a later storm. Even so, the church voted not to fund construction of a new church but to raise additional money for those hurt by the second storm.

Step in, Nail Benders for Jesus, who volunteered to build a new church for the generous folks supporting others in need. The stories of love and courage would require a blog post of many pages, but we promise not to do such things.

A local coordinator met us each morning on Spring Street with direction, supplies, and inspiration. We collected rocks, and debris, and worked at landscaping. We also supported construction of the new houses. Some of us painted new drywall, cleaned up construction materials, cleaned out debris from garages and homes, and did carpentry work.

Most importantly, we interacted with the community, professional volunteer construction workers, and other volunteers from local churches. A good example of the local folks was an 86-year-old woman who insisted we use her garden hose and soap to wash. It made us feel good to share in the efforts. Our granddaughter visited an elderly stroke victim in his home, eventually coaxing him to his front porch so he could watch the progress. My wife worked with the chef, organized the lunches and pitched in wherever possible with other recovery activities.

Two basketball players and I were assigned to build a small porch on one of the new houses. Concrete base supports had already been set, and the vinyl siding at the base of the door was notched. To square up the posts I calculated dimensions using the 3-4-5 method and we attached the base brackets. We didn’t set the posts as we had other things to do.

At two o’clock in the morning I woke from a deep sleep, with the realization I had used the wrong measurement. I grabbed my calculator to confirm my mistake. Now, I accepted the need to confess my mistake to my young trainees, which I did at breakfast.

We corrected the mistake and while we stood talking, the battery drill in my hand burst into smoke and flames. When our work on the porch was finished, my crew and I were sent to Roan Mountain to build a shed from a kit, but the base was missing.

Not only that, but the kit had been sitting on the site for months and carpenter ants had infested it. The elderly couple looked devastated when we confided the shed couldn’t be constructed.

There is a materials supplier in Hampton called God’s Warehouse who supplies free materials to flood victims . Unfortunately it was closed, and we were unable to get materials for the base. At our evening reflection the pastor asked volunteers to sum up their day. One of my helpers simply said, “we faced adversity”.

We all thrived during the week knowing God is with us in the adversities we face. We felt that sometimes we get to be the hands and feet (and sore backs) of God. There was an incredible outpouring and accepting of love in that place and time. More teams from other locales and churches will contribute their time, efforts, and money over the coming weeks. Is there ever a time God doesn’t need us to fulfill His Great Commission by living the Gospel, allowing ourselves to love as Jesus loved?

It wasn’t all work, a local church hosted a picnic, and the local coffee house hosted a pig roast. The picnic was held at Watauga Lake, where several people took a dip in the icy waters. I highly recommend visiting the lake if you are in the area. It’s one of the cleanest in the nation, a beautiful spot.

Appalachian Coffee Cupboard held the pig roast in their backyard, with180 people in attendance. A local guy took to the basketball players and organized a tournament of bean toss. It was a big hit. In addition, we hiked to a gorgeous waterfall one day after work.

So, what can you do with this? We came home with more love than we started out with, we came home with our hearts warmed and spirits high. A sacrifice of time, energy, and money, overshadowed by blessings. God always uses a bigger shovel.braveknightwriters.com

Parents, when to sell

 

When the House Doesn’t Hold: Facing the Shift When Parents Sell the Family Home
Thursday, May 1, 2025 by Zoe Houston

Transitions in life take courage to navigate effectively. Our guest blogger Zoe Houston helps sort through the process of home purchases, downsizing, packing, and more. Please visit zoe.houston@starterhometour.com for more inspiration. You don’t want to run into the same situations as Dan and Julie encountered in our novel Paper Alley.

You never think it’s going to happen until it does. One moment, the house your parents raised you in is just there—sitting stubbornly on the corner of Maple and Third, with its faded porch swing and the creaky stair that always told on you. The next moment, it’s listed online with a slideshow of rooms that look too bright, too exposed, like someone took a flashlight to your memories. There’s a strange kind of grief that comes with selling the family home, and even stranger, it doesn’t always feel like grief at first.

Let Yourself Mourn What Isn’t a Death

There’s an odd cultural pressure to treat change like an opportunity right out of the gate. But you can’t shortcut grief, even when the loss is more metaphorical than physical. It’s okay—normal, actually—to feel a real kind of sadness over something like a home being sold. That front door your dad painted twice, the corner where your mom sat with her coffee every morning, the echo of arguments and laughter and sleepover secrets—they’re imprinted into your bones in a way no one else fully understands. In Ecclesiastes 3:1, it says, “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens.” That includes a time to cry over what seems silly to others. Let it be.

Talk About the Shift Before It Happens

One of the hardest parts about family transitions is the silence that swells up around them. Too often, you don’t talk until things are already in motion—boxes packed, garage emptied, keys handed over to a stranger. Start the conversation before anyone's ready to have it. Ask your parents what this move really means to them, what they’re hoping for in this next chapter, and what you can do to help them feel supported rather than questioned. And speak up about your own feelings, too—not to guilt them, but to stay connected. Families drift more in silence than in distance.

Rest for Better Decision Making

Stress has a way of fogging up even the clearest decisions, especially when emotions are running high and you're being asked to choose what stays, what goes, and what really matters. If you're feeling the pressure of a hundred tiny choices—should we keep the dining room table, who gets the photo albums, when do we list the house—pause before you push forward. Something as simple as taking a deep breath can shift you out of reactive mode and into a calmer space where your priorities have room to breathe.

Make Peace With Uneven Grieving

Here’s something no one tells you: not everyone is going to feel the same weight. Your sister might be relieved, your brother might be indifferent, and your parents might be downright excited about downsizing and ditching yard work. That doesn’t make your sadness any less valid, but it does mean you’ll have to carry it without the expectation of being joined. Still, the grief is yours to hold and understand. In Romans 12:15, there’s wisdom in the reminder to “Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn.” You might be doing both at once—and that’s perfectly human.

Find the Stories in the Dust

Before the house is sold, and maybe even after it’s gone, take the time to walk through it like a museum of your own making. Snap photos, write down little moments attached to rooms, laugh about the ridiculous wallpaper choices, the mystery stain in the guest room, the dent in the garage door no one ever fixed. These stories are the legacy—not the physical walls. You don’t need a deed to hold onto meaning. Share these memories with your family, or keep them for yourself in a journal that smells like old paper and nostalgia.

Redefine the Meaning of “Home”

What does it mean when the house is gone but the family still exists? You have to build a new map—one where home becomes people and presence, not place. Maybe now it’s your apartment that hosts the holidays, or your brother’s backyard where your mom brings her famous sweet potatoes. The traditions have to shift, but they don’t have to vanish. Remember John 14:2, where Jesus says, “My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you?” There’s something comforting about the idea that home isn’t just here.

There’s a moment, usually later than you expect, when it all sinks in. You might drive by the old place and see a new car in the driveway. You might dream of it and wake up realizing there’s no “back home” to return to anymore. That’s when you know you’ve crossed into a new kind of adulthood—one where you hold the memories, but not the walls. Take heart: homes may sell, but what they held inside you isn’t going anywhere.
 

Discover stories of courage and grace with Brave Knight Writers, where spiritual warfare meets inspiring narratives. Visit now to explore their latest releases and receive a free e-book!

 

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Comments

Jan From Graham, NC At 5/2/2025 7:48:10 AM

- I miss our old home. I know the family who purchased it is making many memories and love living there. The wife recently sent a note saying how much she appreciates the flowers I planted. I feel the same way about my new home. There are large flower bushes and trees left by the original owner.

Reply by: Brave Knight Writers

Thanks for your reply, Jan! It's quite the transition.

Loss of a true friend.

 Feeling of the day... and for how long? RIP Toby, thank you for all you brought.

The Power of the Dog

• 
• 
• 
• 

Rudyard Kipling

1865 –

1936

There is sorrow enough in the natural way
From men and women to fill our day;
And when we are certain of sorrow in store,
Why do we always arrange for more?
Brothers and Sisters, I bid you beware
Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.

Buy a pup and your money will buy
Love unflinching that cannot lie—
Perfect passion and worship fed
By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head.
Nevertheless it is hardly fair
To risk your heart for a dog to tear.

When the fourteen years which Nature permits
Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits,
And the vet’s unspoken prescription runs
To lethal chambers or loaded guns,
Then you will find—it’s your own affair—
But… you’ve given your heart to a dog to tear.

When the body that lived at your single will,
With its whimper of welcome, is stilled (how still!).
When the spirit that answered your every mood
Is gone—wherever it goes—for good,
You will discover how much you care,
And will give your heart to a dog to tear.

We’ve sorrow enough in the natural way,
When it comes to burying Christian clay.
Our loves are not given, but only lent,
At compound interest of cent per cent.
Though it is not always the case, I believe,
That the longer we’ve kept ’em, the more do we grieve:
For, when debts are payable, right or wrong,
A short-time loan is as bad as a long—
So why in—Heaven (before we are there)
Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?

This poem is in the public domain.

Joseph Rudyard Kipling is best known for his novels The Jungle Book, The Second Jungle Book, and Kim, and his most famous poem, "If—".

About Rudyard Kipling

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No way home

 

One
Thursday, February 29, 2024 by Brave Knight Writers

But test them all; hold on to what is good, reject every kind of evil.

1 Thessalonians 5:21-22

Four in the morning, a world asleep. An empty street runs beyond the glow of neon in tavern windows. The streetlamps wash into the resolve of non-being. Halfway from nowhere, on my way to nowhere, I sit on my ego in a one-stoplight town. Short on patience, I wait, but not for the go light. Less than okay and bound for the fringe, I need a why. Flashed by deadly neon and awash in eerie mercury vapors, I’m stunned. Only a thin encasement of glass confines the gases creating these sick illuminations. Shadows deepen beneath a moonless night.

 Stricken with irony, I grin. Electricity is my livelihood. I know well that neon gas causes headache, dizziness, fatigue, vision disturbances, confusion, and death, the perfect medium to lure customers into bars. In addition, mercury vapors induce gastrointestinal issues, mood swings, memory issues, and sensation disturbances.

My abandoned head and heart flash with weird thoughts. To clear my head, I self-confess. These less-than-okay sentiments result from bad choices, not toxic gasses. Tonight, a friend invited me to celebrate his upcoming wedding, his happy time. His flamboyance induced cascading emotions and a deep disdain for my own bad choices. I maintained an outward appearance of good humor, while under a skin as fragile as glass, I seethed. My friend raved about his future as we downed a few bottles of ego booster. Our constant laughter sealed the cracks that had formed in my thin skin. An invincible shroud confined my raw emotion as I headed off into the night.

Miles from the laughter, stopped by this light, I lack a reason to move.

At age nineteen, I had owned the choices which put me on this road of hard knocks. Now I pay the tolls, with bits of spirit, and chunks of joy. Premature adulthood meant long hours of work, a ‘do what it takes’ commitment. Blinders in place, I donned the yoke of family. Yet, nothing can alter another’s dissatisfactions or a partner’s destructive choices. Nothing could smooth the bumps, not even a road crew of professional counselors. The end came with an abrupt crash—our son’s death, and complete spousal rejection.

Scars will form, but these wounds are fresh. My crushed dreams are nothing but aggregate on the footpaths of friends, neighbors, and other conspirators. To soothe my ego, I bought this motorcycle. But loose sand can’t fill voids in a broken heart. Without a dream, chaos reigns as I drift toward the fringe. Home is where I want to go, but I can’t get there from here.

Once powerful intentions now ebb away. No momentum forms, or even a vision of the way home. Empty streets, just paths into the abyss, so I sit in the sick illumination. Negative tapes roll in my head. Secret troubles—I have no support. Shame blocks my way, and death gains a certain appeal.

 In my mirror a singular light tears the ebony curtain at the edge of town. A roar shatters the night, and Satan himself rolls up next to me. A hulking powerpack comes to rest so close, dragon’s breath spewing in my face. His arrival triggers the light to go green. We rev, pop our clutches, and speed into obscurity. Thin headlamp beams center our focus. Concentric circles of vision dim, and a tiny patch of asphalt twenty feet ahead becomes the world. My odometer hits 85, then 90. I pull ahead, or maybe Satan backs off. In either case I declare I win.

Residual pockets of sun-warmed air linger in blackened flats in the valley. Crossing a bridge, pockets of chill break my flesh into shivers. The feel, smell, and taste of the road stimulates a sense of freedom undefined by words or rules. Turn after turn I dance, throttle down, lean in, and then accelerate. Nothing else offers such exuberance. This is spiritual.

Our graduation theme song, “One” by Three Dog Night, reverberates in my head. Speed has taken me back in time, to where this road of hard knocks began.

In my mirror, Satan’s headlight fades. Still, I crank the throttle in ignorance of a strained speedometer. Alone, my mind freed, bad vibes get swept away in the passing wind.

All the ugly cliches of the suburbs—phoniness, fake chatter, pretend friendships, parties, predators, and selfish choices—swirl off into the arena of nonbeing.

Philippians 2:3-4 Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourself. Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others.

This conclusion slaps my face. No one had done what they did, to harm me. Their actions centered on self, not me. Everything had happened around me, not to me. None cared but for themselves. In their defense, none even led me on with words of love or declarations of loyalty. Even my wife stated before our wedding that she didn’t want to marry me. None of my dreams found her acceptance. My insecurities and a desire to do right for a child drove the union. Joy and trust stripped away by age 27, in a loveless union.

In need of change, new stand-alone choices, I search. The biggest change will be to control all of my reactions to the conduct of others. Ten cents worth of consideration could buy labels for the innocent and the guilty. Whatever it takes, whatever my loss, I will take care of my children and their mother. She is not a wife, but always their mother.

In an instant, somewhere above the road, time slows with an injection of adrenaline. Twice my motorcycle rotates end over end, each time pounding the front wheel tighter against the engine’s frame. Unleashed forces overcome my will as I crash to earth. Several bounces on asphalt turn into a slide. The motorcycle bounces alongside me, and above me. In slow motion a vision forms, six hundred pounds of steel crushing my body.

As I spin out of control, my feet find the gas tank and push it aside. My helmet shreds and cracks. A ramp of road crud launches me over the curb. Airborne in a gauntlet of trees and shrubs, the branches welt my flesh until the railroad bed catches me. My body slams onto the steel rails, splintery ties and sharp gravel, leaving my insides jarred. In the dark, breathless, and in a state of nothingness, and soundlessness, I have no pain.

Shock, a walking death, offers its form of mercy. I heave myself to my feet, but drop to all fours to climb the embankment to the road. Touching the twisted iron of my bike, I stand too dumb and numb to take the next step.

A voice sounds down the tunnel of my stupor.

“What are you doing man?” Satan grabs my arm.

“I have to get home.”

“You need to lie down, you’re a bloody mess. And your bike is totaled.”

The biker explains as I fade “This crossing on a bend has tossed a lot of cars into those guardrails, otherwise you would have been cut in half. Tracks three inches higher than the road surface caught your rims. You must not be familiar with this road.”

I knew better. I’ve been on this road before. When I wake in the ambulance, they are cutting away chunks of denim and making notes of my visible injuries. Sprains, no broken bones, but skin loss on my hands, shoulder and buttocks. My shoes had torn away along with foot flesh; the paramedics noted white bones in bloody red meat.

Broken and alone but not dead, my body turns purple from the neck down.   Six weeks unable to walk, I make my way from the spare bedroom to the bathroom in a crawl. An infection in my foot requires antibiotic footbaths with some talk of amputation, but the flesh heals.

Six weeks in bed gives me time to think of long-term resolutions and a need for God’s strength. One thing I know, to salvage a life takes resolve, and you can’t out run the Devil.

A new structure, forward movement, a focus on what is best for my children and their futures. A two-parent household, even damaged, offers the most hope.

When my son was dying, I prayed a lot. I also cursed a lot. God has touched me, it’s a story in and of itself. I came to terms with my loss and saw it as a five-year blessing of a wonderful child. Gratitude offered comfort, God blessed me.

But although I persevere, I had refrained from glorifying God. As guilty as Israel in the Old Testament, I had witnessed a miracle before my son’s death, and moved on without embracing or glorifying God.

Physical restraints leave my mind free to embrace spiritual answers. Turn everything over to God, let it be by His will, not mine. Given this second chance, I need a new focus. An answer forms as God’s will vs my will, grace instead of my disgrace. Even so, new mistakes and bad choices lay ahead. My destroyed trust, the secret of a troubled marriage still plague me but I fend off bitterness. Disgrace gets tucked away in the shadows. Self-doubt, vulnerability, and a fragile ego surface. Comfort arrives with the light of truth—a belief that everyone’s fate lies between them and God, not them and any other person.

“What is done for love always occurs beyond good and evil.” –Friedrich Nietzsche

A salvaged life requires ownership, confessions, and God’s forgiveness. Revenge belongs to the Lord; he can deal with offenders. I need to get on with life, celebrate a second chance, and enjoy my children. The key to maintaining sanity is to embrace gratitude for all the little blessings.

Luke 6:37 Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven.

1 John 3:18 Dear children let us not love with words or speech but with actions and in truth.

April, don't be fooled

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April Fools
Tuesday, April 1, 2025 by Brave Knight Writers

These are confusing times, so much upheaval and chaos. Some say they are the end times, a time of great deception before the ultimate collapse. We are warned to fear not, do not be afraid. But on social media sites there are endless signs of fear, fretting, and gnashing of teeth.

As a believer, I must take pause and realize none of it is under my control or influence. Even in this blog, I doubt I can convince anyone to change their train of thought, but I post.

2 Timothy 3:1-4

But know this: Hard times will come in the last days. For people will be lovers of self, lovers of money, boastful, proud, demeaning, disobedient to parents, ungrateful, unholy, unloving, irreconcilable, slanderers, without self-control, brutal, without love for what is good, traitors, reckless, conceited, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God.

We can see this all around us and everywhere in the media but also know every generation has made these complaints. So, we must believe God has control of things, we only have control over our selves and the best thing we can do is submit to the Holy Spirit for guidance.

 Our government has gone through a radical shift. We are witness to one side exposing corruption and misuse of American taxpayers funds, and yet people are upset. Not upset about the content of the exposure, but upset it is being exposed.

Then I wonder, who are the good guys and who are the bad guys?

We must remember, we are witness to a drama played out by fallible human beings with their faults. The great accuser and manipulator uses all our shortcomings to gain his end. Sometimes I wonder how it was that our society decayed as far as it did. It is now obvious we funded it with our own tax money, we allowed our government to run on automatic, far from our everyday communities. We the voters were deceived, or complicit by receiving a benefit from the corruption.

Now there is gnashing of teeth and squirming as the truth comes out. But is the exposure nothing more than the lead-in to the great deception? All this nonsense we have endured may have been conditioning, to prepare for the main event.

1 Thessalonians 5:3 ESV

While people are saying, “There is peace and security,” then sudden destruction will come upon them as labor pains come upon a pregnant woman, and they will not escape.

Isn’t our most comforting path to not concern ourselves with any of these events or concerns of the world we have no control of but instead to put our efforts into creating a Spirit-based life?

Put Satan’s works behind us, this is for now his world and everything he does is a deception.

Galatians 6:7-8 ESV Do not be deceived: God is not mocked, for whatever one sows, that will he also reap. For the one who sows to his own flesh will from the flesh reap corruption, but the one who sows to the Spirit will from the Spirit reap eternal life.

Beware the warnings in 2 Corinthians 11:13-15 ESV For such men are false apostles, deceitful workmen, disguising themselves as apostles of Christ. And no wonder, for even Satan disguises himself as an angel of light. So, it is no surprise if his servants, also, disguise themselves as servants of righteousness. Their end will correspond to their deeds.

Everyone is on a spiritual journey; our spirits grow according to what they are fed along the way. Refrain from getting caught up in the drama on social media and in the mainstream media, we need to focus on our families. When I look around, I see so many blessings in my grandchildren, children, spouse, and friends.

Those who sew on a label and shut others out who may have a different viewpoint are not contributing to the joy of God’s creation. Times change—when the world of politics moves too far in one direction, forces and pressures move it back in the other direction. Labels can be misused, what they once stood for can become be highjacked or lost.

We need to constantly evaluate ourselves and what we believe to be true. One thing remains firm, God’s word, but we also need to be aware there are those who use their own interpretation of scripture to do evil.

This is our April 1st post, a warning not to be a fool. And it’s no joke. The dark side manipulates with chaos and confusion. What looked good yesterday may hold true, but what of the person using it to gain your trust? These are times for caution but not panic. A time to refrain from being manipulated.

1 Timothy 2:1-2

First of all, then, I urge that petitions, prayers, intercession, and thanksgivings be made for everyone, for kings and all those in authority, so that we may lead a tranquil and quiet life in all godliness and dignity.

James 3:17-18

But the wisdom from above is first pure, then peace-loving, gentle, compliant, full of mercy and good fruits, unwavering, without pretense. And the fruit of righteousness is sewn in peace by those who cultivate peace.

Do not be frightened by change, give thought and consideration to the events. If your previous thoughts and convictions about the things of man are proven wrong, embrace the new knowledge. The thoughts of men are in flux, it is only God who remains constant and solid.

Men’s thoughts are on the wind, so take care before you set your sails. Paul warns: “Satan himself transforms himself into an angel of light. Therefore it is no great thing if his ministers also transform themselves into ministers of righteousness, whose end will be according to their works.”

 

 

World War II, from a sargent's perspective

 

Above and Beyond: radio silence

We recieved this private message from a reader this morning, great way to wake up.

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