God Paves The Way Quotes

As I was wheeled into the operating room I pleaded with God for one more day, one more week, one more month with her.

Forget the world and all its naysayers. Go boldly into the day knowing that there’s a God who values you, paves the way for you, and is cheering you on!

The God of Imagination lived in fairytales. And the best fairytales made you fall in love. It was while flicking through "Sleeping Beauty" that I met my first love, Ivar. He was a six-year-old bello ragazzo with blond hair and eyebrows. He had bomb-blue eyes and his two front teeth were missing. The road to Happily Ever After, however, was paved with political barbed wire. Three things stood in my way. 1. The object of my affection didn't know he was the object of my affection. 2. The object of my affection preferred Action Man to Princess Aurora. 3. The object of my affection was a boy and I wasn't allowed to love a boy.

There are parts of a woman’s heart that are reserved for certain types of love. Experiencing the love of a father figure in an appropriate way is essential in paving the way for the love of a man to be experienced in the right way. The love of a father is vital in ensuring that a woman’s heart is kept open in this area. If this area is not kept open, it produces problems later on in a woman’s life, for that area is also reserved for the romantic love that comes in the form of a marriage relationship. This is an extremely sensitive area of the heart for a woman, and has plenty of opportunity to be easily bruised. When that does occur, she will put up a protective barrier to try and avoid any such pain occurring again. If this barrier isn’t dismantled fairly soon, a woman’s heart becomes accustomed to its protective barrier, and the heart shielded inside gradually becomes hardened. As women, we may be able to function like this for awhile. But there will come a time in your life where God will begin to peel away those hard layers surrounding your heart, and you probably won’t like that sensation. But you have to fight your natural instinct to run away. This is where many Christian women may get stuck. They view every man through the lens of what their father was to them, or what he was not. Their perception of men is shaded, and often damaged, by the very people who should have been modeling the world of adult relationships to their daughters. As a result, their judgement is often clouded, and women find themselves settling for less than what they truly deserve. Many marriages, even Christian marriages, have been damaged and even terminated because one or both partners refused to sit down and deal with their past issues.

When others repulse you, it’s a definite message from God that "He/She" will pave a way for you even when there seems none.

Some part of me broke in prayer that morning, and some part of me was reborn as I gave myself fully and completely to prayer and to God in that moment.

When God designed your features and joined your brows/ Paved my way, then trapped me with your gestures & bows/ United the knots of my doing and of my budding heart/ Fate convinced me to be enslaved to thee.

Knowledge is awareness, and to it there are many paths, not all of them paved with logic. But sometimes one is guided through the maze by intuition. One is led by something felt in the wind, something seen in the stars, something that calls from the wasteland to the spirit. To receive the message, the mental pores must be open. And we white men in striving for our success, in seeking to build a new world from what lies around us, sometimes forget that there are other ways, sometimes forget the Lonesome Gods of the far places, the gods who live on the empty sea, who dance with the dust devils and who wait quietly in the shadows under the cliffs where ancient men once marked their passing with hands.

Through love, God paves the way to reconciliation. — Deb Wuethrich —

Jesus was just a badass. He was a rule breaker. A system-bucking ball buster. He boldly pushed back against social norms and the religious order of the day to engage in his God-given duty to heal the sick, feed the poor, call out injustice, and pave the way for everyone to know the saving grace of faith, hope, and love. The world called him weird and the club called him dangerous. They spit on him, they threw things at him, they drove him away, and hell, eventually they killed him. But Jesus was such a motherfucking badass, he just kept loving.

In Mass I wanted to talk to God, but I didn’t know if He’d recognize me. I couldn’t think of nothing to say. So instead I pictured my life as a shattered plate, a fine piece of crockery broke and splintered into a thousand tiny pieces. And then I spent the hour collecting up all them bits of colored wreckage, and one by one, I placed them shards into the invisible hands of God. I hoped He would maybe glue them back together for me. He could stitch them up the way Pavees did, until the cracks was so well healed that nobody could see them at all. After Mass, Dad took me fishing, which made everything worse, because he’d never took me fishing on my own before, and the gravity of that was like a sad confession.

Satan, the father of lies. He uses “harmless” white lies to get us started in this insidious habit. Lies pave the way for greater temptations to come. Satan whispers that a white lie is “consideration” for other people. We bend ourselves to the world instead of to Jesus who is the Truth.

He is on his way to her. In a moment he will leave the wooden sidewalks and vacant lots for the paved streets. The small suburban houses flash by like the pages of a book, not as when you turn them over one by one with your forefinger but as when you hold your thumb on the edge of the book and let them all swish past at once. The speed is breathtaking. And over there is her house at the far end of the street, under the white gap in the rain clouds where the sky is clearing, toward the evening. How he loves the little houses in the street that lead to her! He could pick them up and kiss them! Those one-eyed attics with their roofs pulled down like caps. And the lamps and icon lights reflected in the puddles and shining like berries! And her house under the white rift of the sky! There he will again receive the dazzling, God-made gift of beauty from the hands of its Creator. A dark muffled figure will open the door, and the promise of her nearness, unowned by anyone in the world and guarded and cold as a white northern night, will reach him like the first wave of the sea as you run down over the sandy beach in the dark.

It's bold, rash, and embarrassing, Martha talking to God this way. But her honesty paved the way for Jesus to speak to her.

So in the same way that Kepler and Galileo laid the foundation for Newtonian physics, Faraday paved the way for Maxwell's equations.

Givers know how to pave the way for others, yet sometimes they may not have someone doing that on their behalf. That is why it is much easier to be a giver and prosper in life when you completely rely on God the Provider.

Michael Faraday and James Clerk Maxwell's explanation of electricity and magnetism paved the way for the illumination of our cities and gave us powerful electric motors and generators as well as instantaneous communication via TV and radio.

I used my cravings for food as a prompting to pray. It was my way of tearing down the tower of impossibility before me and building something new. My tower of impossibility was food. Brick by brick, I imagined myself dismantling the food tower and using those same bricks to build a walkway of prayer, paving the way to victory.

Each time scientists have unraveled a new force, it has changed the course of civilization and altered the destiny of humanity. For example, Newton’s discovery of the laws of motion and gravity laid the groundwork for the machine age and the Industrial Revolution. Michael Faraday and James Clerk Maxwell’s explanation of electricity and magnetism paved the way for the illumination of our cities and gave us powerful electric motors and generators as well as instantaneous communication via TV and radio. Einstein’s E = mc2 explained the power of the stars and helped to unravel the nuclear force. When Erwin Schrödinger, Werner Heisenberg, and others unlocked the secrets of the quantum theory, they gave us the high-tech revolution of today, with supercomputers, lasers, the internet, and all the fabulous gadgets in our living rooms. Ultimately, all the wonders of modern technology owe their origin to the scientists who gradually discovered the fundamental forces of the world.

Muslim fundamentalists have toppled governments and either assassinated or threatened the enemies of Islam with the death penalty. Similarly, Jewish fundamentalists have settled in the Occupied Territories of the West Bank and the Gaza Strip with the avowed intention of driving out the Arab inhabitants, using force if necessary. Thus they believe that they are paving a way for the advent of the Messiah, which is at hand. In all its forms, fundamentalism is a fiercely reductive faith. Thus Rabbi Meir Kahane, the most extreme member of Israel’s Far Right until his assassination in New York in 1990: There

And when the day closes, I shall know I have done my part. To every soul, who feels that there's a bunch of dreams left unrealised, remember that as long as the Life remains, the possibility to dream remains. Remember that sometimes some dreams that we paint in our hearts are not meant to grow us in our journey of Life and then while we walk along the path, even the detours and broken dreams pave way to a whole lot of waking dreams that only the heart of gratitude can see and feel. I have seen and felt, that sometimes some souls have to go through a lot of trials and tribulations, lessons and sufferings, and even then they never fail to wear kindness and grace simply because they know that what happens around them should not intrude upon what is inside their heart. To know that we are here for a purpose and to not live idly, to know that the purpose is as simple as to stay kind and open to every possibility is as beautiful as the sky who knows no matter how dark the night is the stars would always lit her face. In a world where everything comes at a price, if you're choosing to stay kind, if you're choosing to value your dignity and your integrity, if your choosing to understand and embrace the smile of Solitude, if you're choosing to employ your faculties to understand the real questions of Life, then you're alive, much more alive than your human dreams could have made you feel. Because no matter what, when sunset hits the night, and the day comes to a close you know you've done your part, you know you have embraced one more day with gratitude and grace, with a formidable zeal for Life and an invincible spirit of human understanding that stands firm pillared with Hope and Faith. And then no matter how many voices shrill your mind, the echo of your soul would pierce through your heart and enlighten every inch of your mind, body and soul, and you would know how proud the Universe must be to see the faithfulness, the strength and resilience in your soul, the very mould that was shaped in the fire of the Stardust that shines upon the sky, sometimes becoming a beacon to others while sometimes lying beautifully hidden but always there, always alive. And so each time, I look at the sky with a bunch of stars, I know I am alive, burning with all that Life is made up of. And someday when the day closes for another dawn altogether, I shall know that I have done my part, pretty well.

During the chaos of the Hundred Years’ War, when northern France was decimated by English troops and the French monarchy was in retreat, a young girl from Orléans claimed to have divine instructions to lead the French army to victory. With nothing to lose, Charles VII allowed her to command some of his troops. To everyone’s shock and wonder, she scored a series of triumphs over the English. News rapidly spread about this remarkable young girl. With each victory, her reputation began to grow, until she became a folk heroine, rallying the French around her. French troops, once on the verge of total collapse, scored decisive victories that paved the way for the coronation of the new king. However, she was betrayed and captured by the English. They realized what a threat she posed to them, since she was a potent symbol for the French and claimed guidance directly from God Himself, so they subjected her to a show trial. After an elaborate interrogation, she was found guilty of heresy and burned at the stake at the age of nineteen in 1431. In the centuries that followed, hundreds of attempts have been made to understand this remarkable teenager. Was she a prophet, a saint, or a madwoman? More recently, scientists have tried to use modern psychiatry and neuroscience to explain the lives of historical figures such as Joan of Arc. Few question her sincerity about claims of divine inspiration. But many scientists have written that she might have suffered from schizophrenia, since she heard voices. Others have disputed this fact, since the surviving records of her trial reveal a person of rational thought and speech. The English laid several theological traps for her. They asked, for example, if she was in God’s grace. If she answered yes, then she would be a heretic, since no one can know for certain if they are in God’s grace. If she said no, then she was confessing her guilt, and that she was a fraud. Either way, she would lose. In a response that stunned the audience, she answered, “If I am not, may God put me there; and if I am, may God so keep me.” The court notary, in the records, wrote, “Those who were interrogating her were stupefied.” In fact, the transcripts of her interrogation are so remarkable that George Bernard Shaw put literal translations of the court record in his play Saint Joan. More recently, another theory has emerged about this exceptional woman: perhaps she actually suffered from temporal lobe epilepsy. People who have this condition sometimes experience seizures, but some of them also experience a curious side effect that may shed some light on the structure of human beliefs. These patients suffer from “hyperreligiosity,” and can’t help thinking that there is a spirit or presence behind everything. Random events are never random, but have some deep religious significance. Some psychologists have speculated that a number of history’s prophets suffered from these temporal lobe epileptic lesions, since they were convinced they talked to God.

Stop!” she called out. To a one, the crewmen froze. A dozen heads swiveled to face her. Sophia swallowed and turned to Mr. Grayson. “What about me? I’m also a virgin voyager.” His lips quirked as his gaze swept her from head to toe and then back up partway. “Are you truly?” “Yes. And I haven’t a coin to my name. Do you plan to dunk and shave me, too?” “Now there’s an idea.” His grin widened. “Perhaps. But first, you must submit to an interrogation.” A lump formed in Sophia’s throat, impossible to speak around. Mr. Grayson raised that sonorous baritone to a carrying pitch. “What’s your name then, miss?” When Sophia merely firmed her chin and glared at him, he warned dramatically, “Truth or eels.” Bang. Excited whispers crackled through the assembly of sailors. Davy was completely forgotten, dropped to the deck with a dull thud. Even the wind held its breath in anticipation, and Sophia gave a slight jump when a sail smacked limp against the mast. Though her heart pounded an erratic rhythm of distress, she willed her voice to remain even. “I’ve no intention of submitting myself to any interrogation, by god or man.” She lifted her chin and arched an eyebrow. “And I’m not impressed by your staff.” She paused several seconds, waiting for the crew’s boisterous laughter to ebb. Mr. Grayson pinned her with his bold, unyielding gaze. “You dare to speak to me that way? I’m Triton.” With each word, he stepped closer. “King of the Sea. A god among men.” Now they stood just paces apart. Hunger gleamed in his eyes. “And I demand a sacrifice.” Her hand remained pressed against her throat, and Sophia nervously picked at the neckline of her frock. This close, he was all bronzed skin stretched tight over muscle and sinew. Iridescent drops of seawater paved glistening trails down his chest, snagging on the margins of that horrific scar, just barely visible beneath his toga. “A sacrifice?” Her voice was weak. Her knees were weaker. “A sacrifice.” He flipped the trident around, his biceps flexing as he extended the blunt end toward her, hooking it under her arm. He lifted the mop handle, pulling her hand from her throat and raising her wrist for his inspection. Sophia might have yanked her arm away at any moment, but she was as breathless with anticipation as every other soul on deck. She’d become an observer of her own scene, helpless to alter the drama unfolding, on the edge of her seat to see how it would play out. He studied her arm. “An unusually fine specimen of female,” he said casually. “Young. Fair. Unblemished.” Then he withdrew the stick, and Sophia’s hand dropped to her side. “But unsatisfactory.” She felt a sharp twinge of pride. Unsatisfactory? Those words echoed in her mind again. I don’t want you. “Unsatisfactory. Too scrawny by far.” He looked around at the crew, sweeping his makeshift trident in a wide arc. “I demand a sacrifice with meat on her bones. I demand…” Sophia gasped as the mop handle clattered to a rest at her feet. Mr. Grayson gave her a sly wink, bracing his hands on his hips in a posture of divine arrogance. “I demand a goat.

President Obama is fond of posing a false dichotomy: either you support his current Iran deal, or you want war. But, as Israel‘s Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu rightly observed, “a bad deal is worse than no deal.” As it stands, Corker-Cardin is a bad deal that paves the way for the President’s worse deal with Iran. In

With all our timidity, sin, fear, anxiety, and brokenness, we approach the throne of grace boldly because we approach it as those in Christ. We do not pave the way there through our accomplishments—we approach the throne by the blood of Christ. This is not something we simply affirm; this must shape the posture of our hearts in prayer. We come before God humbly, boasting in Christ alone.

I renounced what I considered to be my Christian faith at around age seventeen, not without fear and trembling. I found the idea of using God as a crutch totally distasteful. I preferred to be on my own. In hindsight I now see that my apparent abandonment of "faith" has actually paved the way for real faith. Sometimes, it is necessary to tear down the old so that the new can be built.

John by Maisie Aletha Smikle John the baptizer Son of Liza Ate no appetizer And had nothing with fertilizer Chosen to lead He took heed Filled with glory He told the story To get a flannel They disrobe a camel John wore it's skin To keep warm within While they lavish in castles And ate lambs laced with honey John lived among bristles Eating locusts glazed with honey John had no land Nor a band He kept no herd Nor flocks of bird Called he was indeed None could do his deed And keep up to speed Paving the way to lead John had no money But he had honey John used a staff And kept no arms God's enemies hated John He threatened their insidious wrong John called out the wretched For light to expose their throng Indeed none could do the deed of John Who took martyrdom For the Kingdom Then ascended for his mission on earth was done

Now wisdom being that which the creature chiefly glories in, and that which was chosen by Satan for his first bait, [when he] made Eve believe she should be like God in knowledge and wisdom, therefore God, to give Satan the more shameful fall, gives him leave to use his wits and wiles in tempting and troubling his children, in which lies his great advantage over the saints, that so the way to his own throne—where his wisdom shall at last, as well as his mercy, sit in all its royalty—may be paved with the skulls, as I may so speak, of devils.

It is strange to be someone who is tokenized, and yet, I have come to the conclusion that if none of us are invited to the table, the stories of Indigenous peoples will never be told. If I come and share my own experiences as a Potawatomi woman, I might pave the way for other conversations to happen, for other Indigenous speakers to show up and share their stories.

Yet, despite this constant focus on critical thinking, millions of parents—Good parents! Nice parents!—offer their children no choice at all when it comes to religious beliefs. Instead, many children are taught to put their faith in one particular god, to trust that the Lord has a plan for them, that Muhammad paved a way for them, that Jesus will save them, that the saints will watch over them, and that a devil may tempt them to do "bad things" for which they could be eternally punished. That many religious parents do so with little concern as to how those messages may affect their children's ability to think critically is a testament to a gaping dichotomy of expectations they have for their youngsters. Think for yourself, these parents seem to be saying, until it comes to religion. Religion gets a pass.

Knowing the right numbers can open safe. Knowing the trap door can pave for escape. Knowing the route can reach destination. Knowing God’s way can lead to salvation. “Knowledge is Power,” none could be greater; so easy to acquire, they’re everywhere. From hearing, reading, seeing, you’ll get them, but they’re nothing if you don’t apply them.

2020 Quarantine Killings by Playon Patrick And they ask: how do black boys write about their city? How do we know street if we don't know un-cracked sidewalk? They ask: how do these black boys know anything about their city? How the buildings are sitting on corners where brothers' bodies are still learning how to rot. There are small crosses placed in the grass where families cannot afford to bury their loved ones Reminds my brothers and I that we are early graves before we are anything else. We call those corners playgrounds, We call those corners the killing fields. We call our bodies bullets even if we were never aimed in the right direction We called the remnants of our mother's family the Diaspora tree. We make a catalog of prayers out of broken hands We pray for our family tree to make its way back home to this soil. We use our hands to dig the graves we cannot afford. We are farmers - our broken black bodies - We have never know city, never known comfort, Never known safe street in any city. We use our feet to walk streets paved by sunlight, And asked our shadows if they meant to choose this skin. We make a catalyst of bodies our dinner menu And we eat with our eyes closed. We are fed lies so easily it tastes like medicine. Always conflicted between being black and being people. I wish God could have given us a choice. For years we have been told that there is something we need to scrub off this body As if this dirt could go away Working in the field make you realize how easily black can cook in the sun. How easily we turn on each other for a little slice of the pie. We don't know this city - how it was built with our grandmother's arthritic hands. how we wouldn't have gotten a house or a bed when it was first built When it was first settled - when it was first taken from the Indians When our God believed in the same beginning. We don't know home. We don't know how generations of our people could use these legs Could run miles on end into the night Our faces bedazzled with the remnants of the stars We will forever search for our forefathers' footsteps We don't know home - we know run We know this land has never been ours We know how to fold ourselves into nothing We know our sweat and tears tenderize this soil Somehow we make fertilizer for the soil We know how to make these hands be useful We are the farmers of every revolution No country was built without the piling up of dead bodies This country just happens to be where our dead were dragged and hung up. America: the land of the free and home of the brave We fought and died for that slogan right beside our white brothers Doesn't that make us worth something? Tonight a riot is the language of the unheard

And so we come full circle, back to where we began. For it is this pervasive sense of impotence that has paved the way for the emergence of political saviors and the all-powerful state that promise salvation through changed structures.

Sometimes God delays your John The Baptist so he heralds and paves the way of a greater somebody (Christ) for a purpose.

In a way, the Phi Triangle of the Golden Mean could be compared to the path of light sent forth from the great All-Seeing Eye of God in the beginning, and which paved the way for the creation of the Universe.

2. Corah, a Hebrew of principal account, both by his family and by his wealth, one that was also able to speak well, and one that could easily persuade the people by his speeches, saw that Moses was in an exceeding great dignity, and was at it, and envied him on that account, (he of the same tribe with Moses, and of kin to him,) was particularly grieved, because he thought he better deserved that honorable post on account of great riches, and not inferior to him in his birth. So he raised a clamor against him among the Levites, who were of the same tribe, and among his kindred, saying, "That it was a very sad thing that they should overlook Moses, while he hunted after and paved the way to glory for himself, and by ill arts should obtain it, under the pretense of God's command, while, contrary to laws, he had given the priesthood to Aaron, the common suffrage of the multitude, but by his own vote, as bestowing dignities in a way on whom he pleased.

The true spirit follows the light no matter what happens or obstacles are coming their way for the spirit knows that the only way to connect with God and pave the way for higher consciousness is to follow the true path of light

2020 Quarantine Killings And they ask, 'How do black boys write about their city? How do we know street if we don't know uncracked sidewalk?' They ask, 'How do these Black boys know anything about their city? How the buildings are sitting on corners where brothers' bodies are still learning how to rot?' There are small crosses placed in the grass where families cannot afford to bury their loved ones, reminds my brothers and I that we are early graves before we are anything else. We call those corners playgrounds. We call those corners the killing fields. We call our bodies bullets, even if we were never aimed in the right direction. We call the remnants of our mothers' family the disaspora tree. We make a catalog of prayers out of broken hands. We pray for our family tree to make its way back home to this soil. We use our hands to dig the graves we cannot afford. We are farmers of broken Black bodies. We have never know city, never known comfort, never know safe street in any city. We use our feet to walk streets paved by sunlight and ask our shadows if they meant to choose this skin. We make a catalyst of bodies our dinner menu and we eat with our eyes closed. We are fed lies so easily it tastes like medicine. Always conflicted between being Black and being people. I wish God could've given us a choice. For years, we have been told that there is something we need to scrub off this body, as if this dirt could go away. Working in the field make you realize how easily Black can cook in the sun, how easily we turn on each other for a little slice of the pie. We don't know this city, how it was built with our grandmothers' arthritic hands. How we couldn't have gotten a house or a bed when it was first built, when it was first settled, when it was first taken from the Indians, when our gods believed in the same beginning. We don't know home. We know how generations of our people could use these legs, could run miles on into the night, our faces bedazzled with the remnants of the stars. We will forever search for our forefathers' footsteps. We don't know home. We know run. We know this land has never been ours. We know how to fold ourselves into nothing. We know our sweat and tears tenderized this soil. Somehow we make fertilizer for the soil. We know how to make these hands be useful. We are the farmers of every revolution. No country was built without the piling up of dead bodies. This country just happens to be where our dead were dragged and hung up. America, the land of the free and home of the brave. We fought and died for that slogan, right beside our white brothers. And doesn't that make us worth something? Tonight, a riot is the language of the unheard. Playon Patrick

PRAYER FOR OUR PARENTS Dear God, Please bless my parents. Thank You, thank them for the life they gave me. For the ways they helped me and made me strong, I give thanks. For the ways they stumbled and held me back, please help me to forgive them and receive Your compensation. May their spirits be blessed, their roads forward made easy. Please release them, and release me, from my childhood now gone by. Release us also from any bitterness I still hold. They paved the way, in all that they did, for where I have been has led me here. I surrender my parents to the arms of God. Thank you, dear ones, for your service to me. Bless your souls. May your spirits fly free. May we enter into the relationship God wills for us. Thank You, Lord, for I am free now. Glory, hallelujah. Amen.

Knowledge is awareness, and to it there are many paths, not all of them paved with logic. But sometimes one is guided through the maze by intuition. One is led by something felt on the wind, something seen in the stars, something that calls from the wastelands to the spirit. To receive the message, the mental pores must be open, and we white men in striving for our success, in seeking to build a new world from what lies about us, sometimes forget there are other ways, sometimes forget the Lonesome Gods of the far places, the gods who live on the empty sea, who dance with the dust devils and who wait quietly in the shadows under the cliffs where ancient men have marked their passing with hands.

When module minds began to communicate with one another through complex external representations it paved the way for the emergence of superminds and the mental powers of a god—a volatile and capricious god who tends to reach for the darkness with nearly the same likelihood as it reaches for the light.

We were Methodists now and didn’t worship our ancestors as gods. But the commandments that decreed the one true God also said to honor thy father and mother. So it was right, Mother said, to follow the old ways and esteem our predecessors who had paved the paths upon which we walked.

The most dangerous route we should avoid is to become rivals to our spiritual mentors and compete with them. These women and men of God paved the way for us to be born again Christians and they deserve our respect and honour.

There is the striking chapter on “The Five Deaths of the Faith” near the end of The Everlasting Man, arguably Chesterton’s masterpiece, in which he declares that “Christianity has died many times and risen again; for it had a God who knew the way out of the grave.

Praying in tongues consistently paves the way for a deeper dimension of the same Spirit of God. You could go ankle-deep, knee-deep, waist-deep till you experience the overflow. Even at that, you could still go deeper. No holds barred!

If Judaism was going to survive, the rabbis would have to take their religion into their own hands and shape it so that it could deal with the reality of exile. The same sense of independence helps explain why the rabbis adopted a high degree of tolerance for each other’s opinions on the meaning of God’s laws. If the rabbis could argue with God, as they sometimes did, they could certainly argue with other rabbis.

When God designed your features and joined your brows Paved my way, then trapped me with your gestures & bows The spruce and I, both rooted to the ground Fate, like a fine cloth belt, its bind endows. United the knots of my doing and of the budding heart The fragrant breeze, when to you it made its vows. Fate convinced me to be enslaved to thee Yet nothing moves unless your will allows. Like an umbilical cord, don't wrap around my heart It is your flowing lock of hair that I espouse. You were the desire of another, O breeze of union, Alas, my heart's hope and fire you douse. I said because of your infliction I shall leave my house Smilingly said go ahead Hafiz, with chained hooves and paws. Ghazaliyat Of Hafiz Shirazi Khajeh Shamseddin Mohammad Hafiz Shirazi

Ratzinger was afraid to intervene on a deadlocked Roman Curia, with reformers on one side, and the money changers on the other,” wrote author Gianluigi Nuzzi. “So he decided to create a clean slate by bowing out and paving the way for the election of a strong Pope.”34

The result of Alexander the Great’s victory over Darius in 330 BCE not only shifted the balance of power in the ancient world to the Macedonian general but also instigated a political and cultural transformation that has shaped the course of Western history down to the present day. Although the fall of Constantinople in 1453 brought an end to Greek cultural dominance in the Mediterranean world, the legacy of Greek thought never met the same end.9 As we shall come to see, it was this singular event in world history that led to the translation of the Hebrew scriptures into Greek, which paved the way for the creation and expansion of Christianity. For many centuries, the fortunes of the church would be tied intimately to those of Greek culture, and the direction of Western history would be closely related to that of the church.

At some point, I came to the realization that everyone has hurts from the past. And everyone has the choice to either let those past hurts continue to haunt and damage them or to allow forgiveness to pave the way for us to be more compassionate toward others.

Generation after generation, this lack of institutional support paves the way for alternative, supernaturally-minded group to surge. This pattern of American unrest was also responsible for the rise of cultish movements throughout the 1960s and 70s, when the Vietnam War, the civil rights movement and the Kennedy assassination knocked US citizens unsteady. At the time, spiritual practice was spiking but the overt Traditional Protestantism was declining so new movements rose to quench that cultural thirst. These included everything from Christian offshoots like Jews for Jesus and Children of God; to eastern-derived fellowships like 3H0 and Shambala Buddhism, to pagan groups like the Covenant of the Goddess and the Church of Aphrodite, to sci-fiesque ones like Scientology and Heaven's Gate. Some scholars refer to this as the fourth great awakening.