Sometimes, we get buried in the awful of a tough season and we forget there’s a God who sees us, trudging alongside in the very same dust.
Author: Anna
I’m reluctant to tear through the gifts this time. Instead I’d like to sit with the Giver and slowly unpack each and every one over the days to come, treasuring our time together as much as the gift itself.
The trouble is, we miss blessings when we bully through.
This flesh and blood tent becomes a traveling tabernacle of sorts.
We are really sea monsters, ready to roll in the mud of our own making, crushing the people we were created to serve.
When we skip Sabbath, when we rush past a day of rest designed to reflect and express gratitude for what is past and trust for what lies ahead; we profane Him.
God’s love is the parka we wear against the blizzard that is our daily existence: insulating us from the brutal elements of bare humanity.