When suffering happens, it forces us to confront life in a different way than we normally do.

When I pray for another person, I am praying for God to open my eyes so that I can see that person as God does, and then enter into the stream of love that God already directs toward that person.

I have learned that faith means trusting in advance what will make sense only in reverse.

Yet as I read the birth stories about Jesus I cannot help but conclude that though the world may be tilted toward the rich and powerful, God is tilted toward the underdog.

In a nutshell, the Bible from Genesis 3 to Revelation 22 tells the story of a God reckless with desire to get his family back.

Grace, like water, flows to the lowest part.

The proof of spiritual maturity is not how pure you are but awareness of your impurity. That very awareness opens the door to grace.

Any discussion of how pain and suffering fit into God's scheme ultimately leads back to the cross.

No one ever converted to Christianity because they lost the argument.

In the stories of extravagant grace given to us by Jesus, there are no loopholes disqualifying us from God's love.

I doubt God keeps track of how many arguments we win; God may indeed keep track of how well we love.

Education stuffs you full of ideas without the coinciding experience that gave rise to those ideas in the first place, giving you incorrect perspective and notions.

See the flower, how generously it distributes perfume and honey. When it's work is done, it falls away quietly. Try to be like the flower, unassuming despite all it's qualities.

Aurora is right,” Willa said, sounding sad to be agreeing with her.

I do real paintings, you know. I'm a little messy in the studio, so I'm a bit of a danger. But I just adore it.

Aligning my music with something that feels morally and politically passionate to me feels good.

The soul is like a pair of winged horses and a charioteer joined in natural union.

I've been all over this big old world, hey looking for a ring-dang-do.

If a man is proud of his wealth, he should not be praised until it is known how he employs it.

A novel is like a bow, and the violin that produces the sound is the reader's soul.

Still, life had a way of adding day to day