Grace Jones Quotes

we must never look at any sin in our past life in any way except that which leads us to praise God and to magnify His grace in Christ Jesus.

If your preaching of the gospel of God's free grace in Jesus Christ does not provoke the charge from some of antinomianism, you're not preaching the gospel of the free grace of God in Jesus Christ.

As graceful as a floating swan, but as deadly as a silver bullet.

That Grace looked annoyed at me. "I didn't say you would go to jail, Junie B.," she said. "I just wish you would say the word correctly, that's all.

We tend to have a wrong view of law and to think of it as something that is opposed to grace. But it is not. Law is only opposed to grace in the sense that there was once a covenant of law, and we are now under the covenant of grace.

I can be a pain, but most of all, I can be a pleasure.

Next time, I’ll be laying you flat on your back and showing you all the different ways a tongue can be used that doesn’t involve praying your Hail-Fucking-Mary’s.

If you are a fan of doing the unexpected, and I am, then it is an advantage to be highly skilled at changing your mind. If you do not want to limit yourself, then be prepared to change your mind—often.

I kept my head down and my breathing steady. No idea why. I totally felt like a sniper in the marines. Only I was pregnant. Other than that, and the fact that I couldn’t snipe if they’d paid me to, I embodied all that a sniper should be. Stealth. Grace. The patience of a panther on the prowl.

And then Jonah heard God’s voice. “Jonah, do you know what the difference is between you and the trees?” He was confident it was God because God usually asked questions but gave no answers. Jonah didn’t need a divine answer to this question, he knew it. “Yes,” he said. “The difference between me and the trees is that the trees let go of their leaves. I keep holding onto mine. The trees make room for new life. I don’t.

If you are lonely when you are alone, you’re in bad company.

...and said grace in Welsh. It was all rolling, thundering language.

I can't run out of different ideas. I am different. When can I run out of me?

They're the devil's work, and I don't sin. Much. Today. Well, since last night. Hail Mary full of grace...

(To clarify, when white people say dark they mean Greek or Italian but when black people say dark they mean Grace Jones.)

What I'm feeling, I think, is joy. And it's been some time since I've felt that blinkered rush of happiness, This might be one of those rare events that lasts, one that'll be remembered and recalled as months and years wind and ravel. One of those sweet, significant moments that leaves a footprint in your mind. A photograph couldn't ever tell its story. It's like something you have to live to understand. One of those freak collisions of fizzing meteors and looming celestial bodies and floating debris and one single beautiful red ball that bursts into your life and through your body like an enormous firework. Where things shift into focus for a moment, and everything makes sense. And it becomes one of those things inside you, a pearl among sludge, one of those big exaggerated memories you can invoke at any moment to peel away a little layer of how you felt, like a lick of ice cream. The flavor of grace.

Please. I was held captive in a damn cell with massive masked men who wanted to eat me alive for seven days and then sell me to the highest bidder. A girl with no emotion and nothing to lose can be a very dangerous weapon up against girls who care entirely too much about what shoes match what outfit.

We can put it this way: the man who has faith is the man who is no longer looking at himself and no longer looking to himself. He no longer looks at anything he once was. He does not look at what he is now. He does not even look at what he hopes to be as the result of his own efforts. He looks entirely to the Lord Jesus Christ and His finished work, and rests on that alone. He has ceased to say, "Ah yes, I used to commit terrible sins but I have done this and that." He stops saying that. If he goes on saying that, he has not got faith. Faith speaks in an entirely different manner and makes a man say, "Yes I have sinned grievously, I have lived a life of sin, yet I know that I am a child of God because I am not resting on any righteousness of my own; my righteousness is in Jesus Christ and God has put that to my account.

There was always someone else in the way until I worked out how to make myself the one who was in the way of others.

Those who demand that you conform the most to how they live are the ones who are the most scared and intimidated by life. I

You have something much more enduring than beauty,” she said severely. “And what is that?” “Grace,” she said simply. “Grace, and talent.” I

You go out into your world, and try and find the things that will be useful to you. Your weapons. Your tools. Your charms. You find a record, or a poem, or a picture of a girl that you pin to the wall and go, "Her. I'll try and be her. I'll try and be her - but here." You observe the way others walk, and talk, and you steal little bits of them - you collage yourself out of whatever you can get your hands on. You are like the robot Johnny 5 in Short Circuit, crying, "More input! More input for Johnny 5! as you rifle through books and watch films and sit in front of the television, trying to guess which of these things that you are watching - Alexis Carrington Colby walking down a marble staircase; Anne of Green Gables holding her shoddy suitcase; Cathy wailing on the moors; Courtney Love wailing in her petticoat; Dorothy Parker gunning people down; Grace Jones singing "Slave to the Rhythm" - you will need when you get out there. What will be useful. What will be, eventually, you? And you will be quite on your own when you do all this. There is no academy where you can learn to be yourself; there is no line manager slowly urging you toward the correct answer. You are midwife to yourself, and will give birth to yourself, over and over, in dark rooms, alone. And some versions of you will end in dismal failure - many prototypes won't even get out the front door, as you suddenly realize that no, you can't style-out an all-in-one gold bodysuit and a massive attitude problem in Wolverhampton. Others will achieve temporary success - hitting new land-speed records, and amazing all around you, and then suddenly, unexpectedly exploding, like the Bluebird on Coniston Water. But one day you'll find a version of you that will get you kissed, or befriended, or inspired, and you will make your notes accordingly, staying up all night to hone and improvise upon a tiny snatch of melody that worked. Until - slowly, slowly - you make a viable version of you, one you can hum every day. You'll find the tiny, right piece of grit you can pearl around, until nature kicks in, and your shell will just quietly fill with magic, even while you're busy doing other things. What your nature began, nature will take over, and start completing, until you stop having to think about who you'll be entirely - as you're too busy doing, now. And ten years will pass without you even noticing. And later, over a glass of wine - because you drink wine now, because you are grown - you will marvel over what you did. Marvel that, at the time, you kept so many secrets. Tried to keep the secret of yourself. Tried to metamorphose in the dark. The loud, drunken, fucking, eyeliner-smeared, laughing, cutting, panicking, unbearably present secret of yourself. When really you were about as secret as the moon. And as luminous, under all those clothes.

One boyfriend told me that I loved myself too much. I thought, Well, you can love a boyfriend too much, but you can’t love yourself too much. Sometimes you have to love yourself to keep yourself whole. Something

It is hard to know God when your knowing faculties have been disabled. It is hard to feel divine love when your capacity to feel anything at all has been shut down.

The Christian life starts with grace, it must continue with grace, it ends with grace. Grace, wondrous grace. MARTYN LLOYD-JONES

The circumstances of our lives are pieces of a larger scheme in the puzzle of life, and in His Perfect Wisdom, the pieces fit.

Sylvie Rabineau, thank you for loving Stevie Nicks the way I do and for handling the chaos that was Daisy Jones with grace and joy.

The secret to happiness is freedom. The secret to freedom is courage.” —Carrie Jones

Everyone has to make their own decisions. You just have to be able to accept the consequences without complaining. —Grace Jones

Sometimes, there’s nothing wrong with breaking promises, though. You can’t go through life without breaking promises. You need to break a few rules as well. Well, a lot of rules. When

Learn to make peace with the mysteries of surrender, submission, endurance. The promise is based on God’s grace. The promise comes by faith. All of Abraham’s children will certainly receive the promise. And it is not only for those who are ruled by the law. Those who have the same faith that Abraham had are also included. He is the father of us all. —Romans 4:16 NIrV

What are the chances of a female president being elected? The men-only corporate reaction is: What about the tampons?Will she bleed everywhere? What if she gets pregnant? What if she is going through menopause? What if she’s been through menopause and is therefore old and used up? It’s the same old caveman shit, a power thing.

Jones? Christian interrupts my train of thought. “I want you to kneel up on this,” he says when we’re at the table. Oh, okay. What does he have in mind? My inner goddess can’t wait to find out—she’s already scissor-kicked onto the table and is watching him with adoration. He gently lifts me onto the table, and I fold my legs beneath me and kneel in front of him, surprised by my own grace. Now we are eye to eye. He runs his hands down my thighs, grasps my knees, and pulls my legs apart and stands

When we are afraid of having too much hope, we’re actually afraid of being disappointed. We are anxious about expecting the world to gift us and show us grace, because what if we end up on our asses? So we dream small or not at all. Because if we expect nothing or expect something small, we cannot be disappointed when the big things don’t happen.

To be young, really young, takes a very long time. Picasso

Be your own sugar daddy!

Grace squeezed a fresh cold flannel in the bowl, and gently wiped Cissie’s forehead. Only small acts of care were left to her now, as Cissie’s world diminished by the second.

Grace will complete what grace begins. God does not abandon his work in an incomplete state.” WILLIAM JONES

I was the first to be sent “Boogie Wonderland” and I turned it down because I didn’t believe in it. Can you imagine me singing “Boogie Wonderland”? Preposterous.

I know. And that’s the thing about grace. And love, too. They’re not fair at all.

just realized that there is nothing fair about grace or about love. As soon as your soul feels its worth, all you can do is receive grace and love as a gift. A very good gift.

Grace offered in words can be very healing, but actions are the true expression of love.

To preach grace and truth to people who have never known condemnation is absolutely fatal.

The lateness also became more apparent, and notorious, once I started to perform. Half of the time I was late arriving onstage. I was asked to be late. That’s a big secret about my lateness. It has to do with money. A lot of the time when people are waiting for me to appear, I am waiting myself backstage. The clubs want to make money on the booze, and because people leave as soon as I finish, they make me wait so they can sell more booze. They pay me the door money, so they need the money from the bar. That was in my contract. They wouldn’t let me go onstage even if I wanted to. In that case, I might as well turn up late, rather than hang around. And then people started to expect me to be late. It became a Grace Jones thing. There would be disappointment if everything ran smoothly.

There had been the very Jamaican revival religion that flourished in the nineteenth century, in which African rituals and Jamaican folk traditions were mixed with Christian belief, and many revivalists easily took to Pentecostalism because of its vibrant energy and faith in the power of healing. Pentecostalism incorporated rituals, spirits, and visions, but without seeming unchristian or unbiblical.

If you survive a childhood like mine relatively unscathed, you’re lucky, and as soon as you can make up rules for yourself, that’s what you are going to do, without thinking about what you leave behind. My

Know that grace and accountability can coexist. Grace makes you forgive yourself for your mistakes and accountability lets you know that the lesson learned must be remembered and those mistakes can’t be frequent.

There seemed to be more happening in London than in New York, more interesting artistic people to collaborate with. I had vowed to leave America if George Bush became president, and the day after he was voted in I left.

If you have ever been lost in a wilderness, treated unjustly, dealt with harshly, or have fled in fear or in the hope of something better, Hagar’s story is for you. It is evidence of God’s abiding grace, no matter what. You aren’t alone. The Lord sees you. He hears. He knows. He is with you. His grace will comfort you. It’s not unusual to feel as if you are caught like a prisoner in your life. At times you may wonder if something or someone out there is better than what you have now. That’s a common temptation for every human since the garden. But is what you must endure right now unbearable? Deep down, if you’re honest, you know that God is right there with you, even if your situation is uncomfortable, discouraging, or unfair. He is accomplishing his plan for you. His comfort is available. His hope is good. Even in the confines of your situation, an abiding grace resides.

There is nothing to add to that. Any man who has had some glimpse of what it is to preach will inevitably feel that he has never preached. But he will go on trying, hoping that by the grace of God one day he may truly preach.

I remember when I started going out with Dolph Lundgren. The grapevine hummed very quickly. Andy got the news before anyone else. Andy would ring up wanting to know how big Dolph’s dick was. It was that kind of world. Everyone was curious.

Do not be discouraged at sight of sinfulness in the flesh. It is only in the light of the Spirit of God, and by the discernment of the mind of Christ, that you can see so much sinfulness in your flesh; and the more sinfulness you see in your flesh, the more of the Spirit of God you certainly have.... Then when you see sinfulness abundant in you, thank the Lord that you have so much of the sinfulness; and know of a surety that when sinfulness abounds, grace much more abounds...

I do not know you, my friends, not individually, most of you, but this is the wonderful thing about the work of a preacher, he does not need to know his congregation. Do you know why? Because I know the most important thing about every single one of you, and that is that each of you is a vile sinner. I do not care who you are, because all have sinned and come short of the glory of God. I do not care what particular form your sin takes. There is a great deal of attention paid to that today. The preacher is not interested in that. I do not want a catalogue of your sins. I do not care what your sins are. They can be very respectable or they can be heinous, vile, foul, filthy. It does not matter, thank God. But what I have authority to tell you is this. Though you may be the vilest man or woman ever known, and though you may until this moment have lived your life in the gutters and the brothels of sin in every shape and form, I say this to you: be it known unto you that through this man, this Lord Jesus Christ, is preached unto you the forgiveness of sin. And by him all who believe, you included, are at this very moment justified entirely and completely from everything you have ever done— if you believe that this is the Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of God, and that he died there on the cross, for your sins and to bear your punishment. If you believe that, and thank him for it, and rely utterly only upon him and what he has done, I tell you, in the name of God, all your sins are blotted out completely, as if you had never sinned in your life, and his righteousness is put on you and God sees you perfect in his Son. That is the message of the cross, that is Christian preaching, that it is our Lord who saves us, by dying on the cross, and that nothing else can save us, but that that can save whosoever believeth in him.

When her breast grew, Teena hated how they hurt. When someone stared at her chest, it would make her feel sick. She liked her body before puberty and despised it when it started to develop. She wasn't feminine she wasn't graceful and she didn't want to be [page 47]

Now many evanglical people have encouraged a disregard for the law. They say 'Don't preach the law any longer. Don't condemn, don't denounce, just say "Come to Christ."' So they have been aiding and abetting this whole tendency to do away with law, which leads to modern chaos.

Every poet will forever try to write the greatest poem ever written, I have found that this kind of poem can be written with “One” word. And that word consists of a beauty beyond any measure to man and one of the most beauty creations to grace the presents of man. That one word poem is…….. “YOU

He didn't give me any of the solutions I begged and bargained for. All God gave me was Himself. His presence. And even though I didn't recognize it at the time, the grace of His presence was sufficient. His abiding Spirit was like the moon. A sliver of comfort and light rising even on the darkest night.

The Garage was members only, and you had to be interviewed to become a member. That was a bit strange, having to pass a test to prove how free-spirited you were, but it seemed to work. There would be a thousand, two thousand people in there—by the 1980s even more—and for a while most of them knew each other’s names.

Oh,” he’d say, “nobody gets me on the dance floor but you, Grace,” as we danced to Michael Jackson. He loved Michael. They made a nice couple. I was also one of the few who could get Michael Jackson on a club dance floor dancing for the sake of it. I would have been best man for both of them if they had married, which in some universe was their destiny.

Then there were her childhood book: Anne of Green Gables, Heidi, What Katy did next, Pollyanna - stories about girls who were good. All Pollyanna had ever done wrong was ruin her parasol. Beth in Little Women was so perfect she was only fit for heaven. Why were girls in novels exemplary, almost saintly? Grace preferred adventure stories, histories and romances about what to do if you were damned and female, tales about women who were kind, likeable and believable, who escaped unpunished. No thin Quakers with lace caps. No beatific consumptives coughing delicately. No unloved, eternally jolly orphans. Grace craved books about girls like herself: good women, normal women in a world bigger and more powerful than themselves.

When I mention religion, I mean the Christian religion; and not only the Christian religion, but the Protestant religion; and not only the Protestant religion, but the Church of England. And when I mention honour, I mean that mode of Divine grace which is not only consistent with, but dependent upon, this religion; and is consistent with and dependent upon no other.

True followers of Jesus will not dismiss the Sermon on the Mount as “impossible” or argue that it was “only for the apostles” and not for ordinary Christians. In addition they will not see it as something that just makes us aware of our need for grace, although it does that quite powerfully. Jesus could not be clearer: He expects His followers to obey and to live His message. This is exactly what grace teaches us to do (Tit. 2:11-12).

Still tripping after the flight, I decided I was going to hitchhike from Luxembourg, and I took one of my big photographs and wrote on the back in big black letters: Paris. I had no idea how far away it was, or even that it was in another country. I stood on this big highway—it was a beautiful day. I felt I looked pretty hot in my cape and hat, certainly worth someone stopping for to find out what the story was, but all these sports cars whizzed past me without stopping, totally ignoring me. None of them stopped. I thought, Everyone in Europe is so rude! Eventually, a sports car skidded to a halt. It backed up to me, and the driver said, in English, by the way, “You’re on the wrong side of the road. Paris is the other way! I think it’s safer for you to catch a train,” and he took me to the train station. He helped me get a ticket and onto the train, heading for Paris. I’m not sure if he was being kind or just wanted to get rid of me. I didn’t speak a word of French, not one word.

My sinuses got infected, and I became unwell. The next day, I had this TV show to do, and after the scuzzy dockland shoot, I was in a bad way and not thinking very clearly. To top it all off, somebody gave me some really bad coke to keep me going, because I was clearly wilting. That’s how it was. “No,” I said, “I am not taking that!” That’s not really my thing. I am happy to take something that I think will do me some good, but I was not so sure about sticking this powder up my nose without knowing if it was a weak coke substitute. I was a connoisseur, and it looked suspicious to me. It looked like it had been through a few distribution centers, diluted at each stop, cut down

I pulled at the knot again and heard threads begin to pop. “Allow me, Miss Jones,” said Armand, right at my back. There was no gracious way to refuse him. Not with Mrs. Westcliffe there, too. I exhaled and dropped my arms. I stared at the lotus petals in my painting as the new small twists and tugs of Armand’s hands rocked me back and forth. Jesse’s music began to reverberate somewhat more sharply than before. “There,” Armand said, soft near my ear. “Nearly got it.” “Most kind of you, my lord.” Mrs. Westcliffe’s voice was far more carrying. “Do you not agree, Miss Jones?” Her tone said I’d better. “Most kind,” I repeated. For some reason I felt him as a solid warmth behind me, behind all of me, even though only his knuckles made a gentle bumping against my spine. How blasted long could it take to unravel a knot? “Yes,” said Chloe unexpectedly. “Lord Armand is always a perfect gentleman, no matter who or what demands his attention.” “There,” the gentleman said, and at last his hands fell away. The front of the smock sagged loose. I shrugged out of it as fast as I could, wadding it up into a ball. “Excuse me.” I ducked a curtsy and began my escape to the hamper, but Mrs. Westcliffe cut me short. “A moment, Miss Jones. We require your presence.” I turned to face them. Armand was smiling his faint, cool smile. Mrs. Westcliffe looked as if she wished to fix me in some way. I raised a hand instinctively to my hair, trying to press it properly into place. “You have the honor of being invited to tea at the manor house,” the headmistress said. “To formally meet His Grace.” “Oh,” I said. “How marvelous.” I’d rather have a tooth pulled out. “Indeed. Lord Armand came himself to deliver the invitation.” “Least I could do,” said Armand. “It wasn’t far. This Saturday, if that’s all right.” “Um…” “I am certain Miss Jones will be pleased to cancel any other plans,” said Mrs. Westcliffe. “This Saturday?” Unlike me, Chloe had not concealed an inch of ground. “Why, Mandy! That’s the day you promised we’d play lawn tennis.” He cocked a brow at her, and I knew right then that she was lying and that she knew that he knew. She sent him a melting smile. “Isn’t it, my lord?” “I must have forgotten,” he said. “Well, but we cannot disappoint the duke, can we?” “No, indeed,” interjected Mrs. Westcliffe. “So I suppose you’ll have to come along to the tea instead, Chloe.” “Very well. If you insist.” He didn’t insist. He did, however, sweep her a very deep bow and then another to the headmistress. “And you, too, Mrs. Westcliffe. Naturally. The duke always remarks upon your excellent company.” “Most kind,” she said again, and actually blushed. Armand looked dead at me. There was that challenge behind his gaze, that one I’d first glimpsed at the train station. “We find ourselves in harmony, then. I shall see you in a few days, Miss Jones.” I tightened my fingers into the wad of the smock and forced my lips into an upward curve. He smiled back at me, that cold smile that said plainly he wasn’t duped for a moment. I did not get a bow. Jesse was at the hamper when I went to toss in the smock. Before I could, he took it from me, eyes cast downward, no words. Our fingers brushed beneath the cloth. That fleeting glide of his skin against mine. The sensation of hardened calluses stroking me, tender and rough at once. The sweet, strong pleasure that spiked through me, brief as it was. That had been on purpose. I was sure of it.

Be'…” ha cominciato Tanis, ma si è interrotta subito e ha scosso la testa. “Torna qui e mettiti a sedere.” Pat Fitzgerald ha sghignazzato. “Cos'è, ci si scambiano i segreti adesso?” “Proprio così.” “Sai che affare,” ha osservato Corky Herald. Con questo ha suscitato le risa della classe. Irma Bates se n'è tornata mogia mogia in fondo all'aula, dove si è immersa in non so quale confabulazione con Tanis, Anne Lasky e Susan Brooks. Sylvia conversava sottovoce con Grace, sotto lo sguardo avido di Porcile. Ted Jones corrugava la fronte. George Yannick stava incidendo qualcosa sul suo banco mentre fumava una sigaretta e sembrava proprio un falegname assorto. Gli altri erano quasi tutti occupati a guardar fuori della finestra gli sbirri che dirottavano il traffico e quelli che tramavano in piccoli capannelli dall'aria sconfitta. In quel momento è echeggiato all'improvviso un campanello con un gran baccano che ha fatto saltare in aria tutti quanti. "È la campana del cambio dell'ora," ha spiegato Harmon. Io ho guardato l'orologio a muro. Erano le 9.50. Alle 9.05 ero seduto al mio posto vicino alla finestra a osservare lo scoiattolo. Adesso lo scoiattolo non c'era più, il buon vecchio Tom Denver se n'era andato e Mrs. Underwood se n'era andata ancora di più. Ci ho riflettuto e ho concluso che me n'ero andato anch'io.

He swore sharply, David Jones’s still-so-familiar voice coming out of that stranger’s body. “Do you have any idea how unbelievably hard it’s been to get you alone?” Had she finally started hallucinating? But he took off his glasses, and she could see his eyes more clearly and . . . “It’s you,” she breathed, tears welling. “It’s really you.” She reached for him, but he stepped back. Sisters Helen and Grace were hurrying across the compound, coming to see what the ruckus was, shading their eyes and peering so they could see in through the screens. “You can’t let on that you know me,” Jones told Molly quickly, his voice low, rough. “You can’t tell anyone—not even your friend the priest during confession, do you understand?” “Are you in some kind of danger?” she asked him. Dear God, he was so thin. And was the cane necessary or just a prop? “Stand still, will you, so I can—” “No. Don’t. We can’t . . .” He backed away again. “If you say anything, Mol, I swear, I’ll vanish, and I will not come back. Unless . . . if you don’t want me here—and I don’t blame you if you don’t—” “No!” was all she managed to say before Sister Helen opened the door and looked from the mess on the floor to Molly’s stricken expression. “Oh, dear.” “I’m afraid it’s my fault,” Jones said in a British accent, in a voice that was completely different from his own, as Helen rushed to Molly’s side. “My fault entirely. I brought Miss Anderson some bad news. I didn’t realize just how devastating it would be.” Molly started crying. It was more than just a good way to hide her laughter at that accent—those were real tears streaming down her face and she couldn’t stop them. Helen led her to one of the tables, helped her sit down. “Oh, my dear,” the nun said, kneeling in front of her, concern on her round face, holding her hand. “What happened?” “We have a mutual friend,” Jones answered for her. “Bill Bolten. He found out I was heading to Kenya, and he thought if I happened to run into Miss Anderson that she would want to know that a friend of theirs recently . . . well, passed. Cat’s out of the bag, right? Fellow name of Grady Morant, who went by the alias of Jones.” “Oh, dear,” Helen said again, hand to her mouth in genuine sympathy. Jones leaned closer to the nun, his voice low, but not low enough for Molly to miss hearing. “His plane went down—burned—gas tank exploded . . . Ghastly mess. Not a prayer that he survived.” Molly buried her face in her hands, hardly able to think. “Bill was worried that she might’ve heard it first from someone else,” he said. “But apparently she hadn’t.” Molly shook her head, no. News did travel fast via the grapevine. Relief workers tended to know other relief workers and . . . She could well have heard about Jones’s death without him standing right in front of her. Wouldn’t that have been awful?

The most wonderful thing of all about the cross is that it reveals the love of God to us. It is not surprising that Paul should say to the Romans, "God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us." How do we see the love of God in the cross? Ah, says the modern man, I see it in this way, that though man rejected and murdered the Son of God, God in His love still says, "All right, I still forgive you. Though you have done that to My Son, I still forgive you." Yes, that is part of it, but it is the smallest part of it. That is not the real love of God. God was not a passive spectator of the death of His Son. That is how the moderns put it - that God in heaven looked down upon it all, saw men killing His own Son, and said, "All right, I will still forgive you." But it was not we who brought God's Son to the cross. It was God. It was the predeterminate counsel and foreknowledge of God. If you really want to know what the love of God means, read what Paul wrote to the Romans: "For what the law could not do, in that it was weak through the flesh, God sending his own Son in the likeness of sinful flesh, and for sin, condemned sin in the flesh." God condemned sin in the flesh of His own Son. This is the love of God. Read again Isaiah 53, that wonderful prophecy of what happened on Calvary's hill. You notice how he goes on repeating it: "Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows... it pleased the Lord to bruise him; he hath put him to grief." These are the terms. And they are nothing but a plain, factual description of what happened on the cross.

THIS IS MY ABC BOOK of people God loves. We’ll start with . . .           A: God loves Adorable people. God loves those who are Affable and Affectionate. God loves Ambulance drivers, Artists, Accordion players, Astronauts, Airplane pilots, and Acrobats. God loves African Americans, the Amish, Anglicans, and Animal husbandry workers. God loves Animal-rights Activists, Astrologers, Adulterers, Addicts, Atheists, and Abortionists.           B: God loves Babies. God loves Bible readers. God loves Baptists and Barbershop quartets . . . Boys and Boy Band members . . . Blondes, Brunettes, and old ladies with Blue hair. He loves the Bedraggled, the Beat up, and the Burnt out . . . the Bullied and the Bullies . . . people who are Brave, Busy, Bossy, Bitter, Boastful, Bored, and Boorish. God loves all the Blue men in the Blue Man Group.           C: God loves Crystal meth junkies,           D: Drag queens,           E: and Elvis impersonators.           F: God loves the Faithful and the Faithless, the Fearful and the Fearless. He loves people from Fiji, Finland, and France; people who Fight for Freedom, their Friends, and their right to party; and God loves people who sound like Fat Albert . . . “Hey, hey, hey!”           G: God loves Greedy Guatemalan Gynecologists.           H: God loves Homosexuals, and people who are Homophobic, and all the Homo sapiens in between.           I: God loves IRS auditors.           J: God loves late-night talk-show hosts named Jimmy (Fallon or Kimmel), people who eat Jim sausages (Dean or Slim), people who love Jams (hip-hop or strawberry), singers named Justin (Timberlake or Bieber), and people who aren’t ready for this Jelly (Beyoncé’s or grape).           K: God loves Khloe Kardashian, Kourtney Kardashian, Kim Kardashian, and Kanye Kardashian. (Please don’t tell him I said that.)           L: God loves people in Laos and people who are feeling Lousy. God loves people who are Ludicrous, and God loves Ludacris. God loves Ladies, and God loves Lady Gaga.           M: God loves Ministers, Missionaries, and Meter maids; people who are Malicious, Meticulous, Mischievous, and Mysterious; people who collect Marbles and people who have lost their Marbles . . . and Miley Cyrus.           N: God loves Ninjas, Nudists, and Nose pickers,           O: Obstetricians, Orthodontists, Optometrists, Ophthalmologists, and Overweight Obituary writers,           P: Pimps, Pornographers, and Pedophiles,           Q: the Queen of England, the members of the band Queen, and Queen Latifah.           R: God loves the people of Rwanda and the Rebels who committed genocide against them.           S: God loves Strippers in Stilettos working on the Strip in Sin City;           T: it’s not unusual that God loves Tom Jones.           U: God loves people from the United States, the United Kingdom, and the United Arab Emirates; Ukrainians and Uruguayans, the Unemployed and Unemployment inspectors; blind baseball Umpires and shady Used-car salesmen. God loves Ushers, and God loves Usher.           V: God loves Vegetarians in Virginia Beach, Vegans in Vietnam, and people who eat lots of Vanilla bean ice cream in Las Vegas.           W: The great I AM loves will.i.am. He loves Waitresses who work at Waffle Houses, Weirdos who have gotten lots of Wet Willies, and Weight Watchers who hide Whatchamacallits in their Windbreakers.           X: God loves X-ray technicians.           Y: God loves You.           Z: God loves Zoologists who are preparing for the Zombie apocalypse. God . . . is for the rest of us. And we have the responsibility, the honor, of letting the world know that God is for them, and he’s inviting them into a life-changing relationship with him. So let ’em know.

D. Martyn Lloyd-Jones taught that the gospel emphasis on grace could be lost in several ways. A church might simply become heterodox — losing its grip on the orthodox tenets of theology that under-gird the gospel, such as the triune nature of God, the deity of Christ, the wrath of God, and so on. It may turn its back on the very belief in justification by faith alone and the need for conversion and so move toward a view that being a Christian is simply a matter of church membership or of living a life based on Christ’s example. This cuts the nerve of gospel renewal and revival.2 But it is possible to subscribe to every orthodox doctrine and nevertheless fail to communicate the gospel to people’s hearts in a way that brings about repentance, joy, and spiritual growth. One way this happens is through dead orthodoxy, in which such pride grows in our doctrinal correctness that sound teaching and right church practice become a kind of works-righteousness. Carefulness in doctrine and life is, of course, critical, but when it is accompanied in a church by self-righteousness, mockery, disdain of everyone else, and a contentious, combative attitude, it shows that, while the doctrine of justification may be believed, a strong spirit of legalism reigns nonetheless. The doctrine has failed to touch hearts.3 Lloyd-Jones also speaks of “defective orthodoxy” and “spiritual inertia.”4 Some churches hold to orthodox doctrines but with imbalances and a lack of proper emphasis. Many ministries spend more time defending the faith than propagating it. Or they may give an inordinate amount of energy and attention to matters such as prophecy or spiritual gifts or creation and evolution. A church may become enamored with the mechanics of ministry and church organization. There are innumerable reasons that critical doctrines of grace and justification and conversion, though strongly held, are kept “on the shelf.” They are not preached and communicated in such a way that connects to people’s lives. People see the doctrines — yet they do not see them.

I’m Zeke.” The golden-eyed-boy gracefully stood to his feet. His v-neck t-shirt revealed an array of knotted hemp necklaces, his black jeans stylishly ripped, black-on-black Converse on his feet. But it was his thick mess of black curls that had her gripping the side of her skirt to keep from touching him. He held out his hand. “Zeke D’Angelo. Drummer. And you are?” Dry-mouthed. Speechless. Yours?

By nature ye are wholly corrupted; by grace ye shall be wholly renewed . . . . Now ‘go on’ ‘from faith to faith,’ until your whole sickness be healed, and all that ‘mind be in you which was also in Christ Jesus’!

There’s nothing so sweet as my husband apologizing after we fight. There’s nothing so endearing as his testing my good graces, or as satisfying as his make-up kiss.” —Grace, Nashville, TN

My definition of Theology My proverb of theology is a doctrine study of overall foundation of biblical notions, transcendence, an scriptures relativist, researcher and conservative of the Word of God with sensible and measured pursuit of infinite growth, a marriage of the spiritual knowledge (Gnosis), and unutterable love for the faith in constant pursuits and mission for truths with devoutness to prowess faith and love from faith’s vocation and noetic that’s flamed within that gives us the calling (vocation) of theologian. For theology pursues and endless journey of the Lord’s knowledge while maintaining the faith and is the strength hold of creed that manifest purpose, ontology and guardianship of the soul and wisdom, in a relation, a sound mind for divinity. . .

Consider, finally, what it meant to Him to do this for us. “I go,” He says. Where is He going? He is going to the Garden of Gethsemane to sweat drops of blood. Where is He going? He is going to be arrested, to be tried in court, to be mocked and jeered and laughed at. He is going to be spat upon, to have His holy body scourged. He is going to have a crown of thorns placed upon His head. They will take Him and drive cruel nails into His blessed hands and feet. He is going to be nailed to a tree. Can you picture it happening to you, with nails being hammered in through hands and feet? That is what He is going to. And, too, He is going to endure the mockery and the spitting and the jeering of the cruel mob; they did not know who He was or what He was doing. He is going to die and to be laid in a grace, He who is the eternal Son of God through whom the world was made and by whom all things consist. He is going deliberately to all that because that is the only way whereby the door and the gate of heaven can be opened for us. “I go to prepare a place in heaven with God, a mansion for you. Beloved friend, have you realised that the Lord Jesus Christ has done all that for you? If you see it, if you believe it, you will agree with Paul when he says that you are not your own, you “are bought with a price,” therefore you must give yourself and your life to Him (1 Cor. 6:20). If you believe Him, you can know for certain that He has prepared a place for you and will come again and received you unto Himself so that where He is, you shall be also.

We are anxious about expecting the world to gift us and show us grace, because what if we end up on our asses? So we dream small or not at all. Because if we expect nothing or expect something small, we cannot be disappointed when the big things don’t happen. We think it’s a great defense mechanism, but what it really is is a liability on our lives, because we are constantly bracing for impact. When we are afraid of thinking things can be too good, it can become a self-fulfilling prophecy

In the meantime, I hope you shed the guilt of not being able to get everything done all the time. I hope you are gentle on yourself when you drop a ball. I hope you give yourself grace when you cannot handle everything facing you. Fire yourself from the expectation that you should be Superwoman or Thor.

You need to see for yourself what is out there and make your own versions of what you see.

I had been treated as a victim for too long and now I wanted to be invisible, unmarked, too elusive to be domesticated.

And resistance negates grace, where it used to only stretch it.

Experiencing life itself was the point: to propel myself out of my comfort zone, to feel alive, to take revenge on reality.

We are not perfect, but Christ is. And because of His grace and mercy, we can be perfect in Christ right now—today. We can have the confidence that Nephi and Alma had, knowing that Christ can and will save us. We can know that we are claimed by His Atonement and that we are securely on the path of being gradually perfected by Him. His grace is sufficient for us now. And when we’ve personally experienced God’s grace and mercy, we cannot deny the power of God in our life. Moroni’s plea to remember God’s mercy toward His children is an essential principle in preparing our hearts to receive an enduring witness of Jesus Christ and His restored gospel. When our imperfections, shortcomings, and sins tempt us to lose hope and give into doubt, we can instead choose to look to the Savior in those thoughts. We can choose to let Him heal us. We can choose to remember how merciful the Lord has been.

James Earl Jones was surely one of the finest thespians ever. A sequoia in the dense forests of Hollywood, he acted with superlative deportment, increasing the cadence of histrionics with an uncommon flair. His voice, guttural and distinctive, hung freely on the atmosphere of decorous grace.

So you can tell Kurt from me, that he can go and fuck himself with the rough end of a pineapple, and when he’s finished, perhaps he might choose to make a small donation to the Maca Music and More foundation, seeing as my husband had more talent, grace and humility in his little toenail than Kurt fucking Wade will ever have even if he lives for a millennium.” With

Aside from the gospel of Jesus Christ, no religion offers anything like this. Every other religious system operates under a system of developing your own righteous acceptance before God. In the gospel, however, God develops a perfect record (résumé; moral performance) in Christ himself, and he offers it to us as a gift, and by it we are accepted.

While the errors of perfectionism have been and always will be a threat to true Christian religion, the opposite error of practical antinomianism, whereby preachers fail to exhort their people to obey God with a pure heart, is equally pernicious because such a view undermines the grace of God in saving sinners from the power of sin.

Grace,

This is a mistake, and the mistake in this leads you into all the rest; though faith (which we call the condition on our part) be the gift of God, and the power of Believing be derived from God; yet the act of believing is properly our act . . . else it would follow, when we act any grace, as Faith, Repentance, or Obedience, that God believes, repents, and obeys in us, and it is not we, but God that does all of these.74

When we look at the whole picture, the book of Romans teaches that we are saved by grace alone, through faith alone, in the event of baptism alone. Baptism is not a work of man for salvation; it is the “powerful working of God” in us at that event (Col. 2:12). Baptism is the “real sinner’s prayer” where we call out to God for his saving grace (1 Pet. 3:21; cf. Acts 22:16).

The butterfly continues to sit on my hand, its tiny feet tickling my skin. I raise my hand in order to examine this most beautiful yet frail of God’s creatures. The butterfly is unafraid of me, yet I might quash its life force at any moment. That is the beauty of the butterfly. It rises from the most humble of beginnings, only to awaken one summer day and find that it has become most beautiful, most happy, in its transformation. Yet, the life of the creature that becomes a butterfly is short, most short indeed. It is only in its beauty for a very short time. The butterfly graces us with its beauty, such is its magic. Then, in a short time, that loveliness is removed from our presence.

God’s purpose for his children is not that we have a comfortable life. God’s purpose is that we grow to be great through the groaning of life, ultimately being “conformed to the image of his Son.” Even Jesus himself learned obedience to God “through the things that he suffered” and became the perfect founder of our salvation through his sufferings (Heb. 5:8; 2:10).

He slid his hand into his vest pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He then opened it and held it before her. “I’ve been charged with capturing Velvet Grace.” The poster had haunted her every move in town, pasted on the wall at the bank, the post office, Jupiter’s, wherever she’d went. Her pulse kicked into a stampede seeing it in the new sheriff ’s hand. “W-what does this have to do with me?” He refolded the paper and returned it to his clothing. “I figured you might be able to give me a few possible names to begin with. It’s rather extraordinary, a woman who shot a sheriff and fired at the deputy? She wouldn’t be any regular homesteader’s wife, I imagine.” She played with a curl that had fallen to her shoulder and forced a laugh. “Do you think I know any women besides the ones who work for me? Really? You should ask me about the men of Fort McNamara, Sheriff. The only other females I see are the wives who come around here looking for their husbands.” He laughed. “I guess you’re right.” “You’re on your own. I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help.” She skirted around him, intending to open the door for him to leave, but he caught her elbow. “Cora—” His grip was loose, but he captivated her with the appeal in his gaze and the tender stroke of his thumb on her arm. “What?” She fell under the spell of his azure gaze as his touch sent a ripple of pleasure deep within her. “I really would like another night with you. One I can remember.

They should be beautiful, but I know what they are. They are not beautiful, because beauty is about grace and love and hope. They are all about need.

No matter how glorious the past, choosing to live there is choosing to live in a tomb. Live in New Life!

For the grace of God that bringeth salvation hath appeared to all men, teaching us that, denying ungodliness and worldly lusts, we should live soberly, righteously, and godly, in this present world; looking for that blessed hope, and the

McCarthy. My name’s McCarthy. Mrs Georgia Layton McCarthy and don’t worry about it. We won’t be needing the attendance of Kurt Wade. We’ll get by with the other fifty-odd rock and pop stars that’re all giving their time for free and making absolutely no demands for transport, not even a contribution towards their bus fare. So you can tell Kurt from me, that he can go and fuck himself with the rough end of a pineapple, and when he’s finished, perhaps he might choose to make a small donation to the Maca Music and More foundation, seeing as my husband had more talent, grace and humility in his little toenail than Kurt fucking Wade will ever have even if he lives for a millennium.

Grace is especially associated with men in their sins; mercy is especially associated with men in their misery.

God, who has saved us and called us to a holy life—not because of anything we have done but because of his own purpose and grace. . . . 2 TIMOTHY 1:8–9 NOVEMBER 13 I remember an experience of my old friend E. Stanley Jones, the famous missionary. During his first few years in India, he labored under a heavy sense of personal inadequacy. He began to think he would have to give up his missionary career. At a meeting in Lucknow he had a remarkable experience. He was praying and he seemed to hear a voice asking, “Are you ready for this work to which I called you?” Silently, he confessed that he just didn’t seem to have the strength. Then the voice said, “If you will turn it over to Me, I will take care of it.” But there is a catch. You can’t expect God to help you repeatedly unless you help Him. The furtherance of His kingdom on earth comes about through human beings trying to help and serve. That is how He ordained it should be. God wants to have the love and help of people. Our Heavenly Father, we thank You for the great truth that we are not alone, that You are always with us and always will be, to the end of our lives and beyond. Through Jesus Christ, our Lord. Amen.

Thank you, Lord, for this good life. Thank you for the love and time, fleeting as it seemed, we've had together. Thank for your grace and mercy on us poor, pitiful creatures who have tried to do your work, to follow you in love and goodness, and all too often failed and fell short. Thank you for the wonder of this world and the promise of the next. Thank you, Lord, for giving me my Mama and for taking her soon to be with you...Amen.

Life is not about picking out the parts you like and leaving the rest, it’s learning to coexist with it all and choosing to see the beauty, the grace, and the hilarity while also experiencing the inevitable disappointment and failure.