My Life Is A Testimony Quotes

In 2002, having spent more than three years in one residence for the first time in my life, I got called for jury duty. I show up on time, ready to serve. When we get to the voir dire, the lawyer says to me, “I see you’re an astrophysicist. What’s that?” I answer, “Astrophysics is the laws of physics, applied to the universe—the Big Bang, black holes, that sort of thing.” Then he asks, “What do you teach at Princeton?” and I say, “I teach a class on the evaluation of evidence and the relative unreliability of eyewitness testimony.” Five minutes later, I’m on the street. A few years later, jury duty again. The judge states that the defendant is charged with possession of 1,700 milligrams of cocaine. It was found on his body, he was arrested, and he is now on trial. This time, after the Q&A is over, the judge asks us whether there are any questions we’d like to ask the court, and I say, “Yes, Your Honor. Why did you say he was in possession of 1,700 milligrams of cocaine? That equals 1.7 grams. The ‘thousand’ cancels with the ‘milli-’ and you get 1.7 grams, which is less than the weight of a dime.” Again I’m out on the street.

When anyone tells me that he saw a dead man restored to life, I immediately consider with myself whether it be more probable that this person should either deceive or be deceived or that the fact which he relates should really have happened. I weigh the one miracle against the other and according to the superiority which I discover, I pronounce my decision. Always I reject the greater miracle. If the falsehood of his testimony would be more miraculous than the event which he relates, then and not till then, can he pretend to command my belief or opinion.

My best testimonies are from the times I thought I couldn't survive.

What is the one message that only you can give? It's your story.

Not in order to justify, but simply in order to explain my lack of consistency, I say: Look at my present life and then at my former life, and you will see that I do attempt to carry them out. It is true that I have not fulfilled one thousandth part of them [Christian precepts], and I am ashamed of this, but I have failed to fulfill them not because I did not wish to, but because I was unable to. Teach me how to escape from the net of temptations that surrounds me, help me and I will fulfill them; even without help I wish and hope to fulfill them. Attack me, I do this myself, but attack me rather than the path I follow and which I point out to anyone who asks me where I think it lies. If I know the way home and am walking along it drunkenly, is it any less the right way because I am staggering from side to side! If it is not the right way, then show me another way; but if I stagger and lose the way, you must help me, you must keep me on the true path, just as I am ready to support you. Do not mislead me, do not be glad that I have got lost, do not shout out joyfully: “Look at him! He said he was going home, but there he is crawling into a bog!” No, do not gloat, but give me your help and support.

I never will forget this. I went and threw myself across my daughter’s bed, and I cried and I cried and I cried and I cried, because I felt like that I had been so faithful and that there was no financial breakthrough for us. You ever have one of those days where you are tired of hearing everybody else’s testimony? But, I made a decision that day, and I think we all have to come to this point in many different areas of our life. And, as I lay across that bed and cried, when I finally got done crying I said this out loud, it was like my declaration, “God, I am going to tithe and give offerings until the day I die whether I ever see anything from it or not!” And, you know what, from that day forward we began to prosper and increase. And, I believe with all of my heart that was a test for me.

My life is my testimony.

In retrospect I must confess that I do not know, or no longer know, what I wanted to achieve with my words. I only know that without this testimony, my life as a writer—or my life, period—would not have become what it is: that of a witness who believes he has a moral obligation to try to prevent the enemy from enjoying one last victory by allowing his crimes to be erased from human memory.

But I do earnestly desire to arouse the women of the North to a realizing sense of the condition of two millions of women at the South, still in bondage, suffering what I suffered, and most of them far worse. I want to add my testimony to that of abler pens to convince the people of the Free States what Slavery really is. Only by experience can any one realize how deep, and dark, and foul is that pit of abominations.

I have sometimes thought that the mere hearing of those songs would do more to impress some minds with the horrible character of slavery, than the reading of whole volumes of philosophy on the subject could do. I did not, when a slave, understand the deep meaning of those rude and apparently incoherent songs. I was myself within the circle; so that I neither saw nor heard as those without might see and hear. They told a tale of woe which was then altogether beyond my feeble comprehension; they were tones loud, long, and deep; they breathed the prayer and complaint of souls boiling over with bitterest anguish. Every tone was a testimony against slavery, and a prayer to God for deliverance from chains. The hearing of those wild notes always depressed my spirit, and filled me with ineffable sadness. I have frequently found myself in tears while hearing them. The mere recurrence to those songs, even now, afflicts me; and while I am writing these lines, an expression of feeling has already found its way down my cheek. To those songs I trace my first glimmering conception of the dehumanizing character of slavery. I can never get rid of that conception. Those songs still follow me, to deepen my hatred of slavery, and quicken my sympathies for my brethren in bonds. If any one wishes to be impressed with the soul-killing effects of slavery, let him go to Colonel Lloyd's plantation, and, on allowance-day, place himself in the deep pine woods, and there let him, in silence, analyze the sounds that shall pass through the chambers of his soul, - and if he is not thus impressed, it will only be because "there is no flesh in his obdurate heart." I have often been utterly astonished, since I came to the north, to find persons who could speak of the singing, among slaves, as evidence of their contentment and happiness. It is impossible to conceive of a greater mistake. Slaves sing most when they are most unhappy. The songs of the slave represent the sorrows of his heart; and he is relieved by them, only as an aching heart is relieved by its tears. At least, such is my experience. I have often sung to drown my sorrow, but seldom to express my happiness. Crying for joy, and singing for joy, were alike uncommon to me while in the jaws of slavery. The singing of a man cast away upon a desolate island might be as appropriately considered as evidence of contentment and happiness, as the singing of a slave; the songs of the one and of the other are prompted by the same emotion.

Let's be about leaving this world better than we find it each and every day. Our life is a testimony and through us divine loving is becoming more manifest. Greater good is calling upon us here in this world to be done this day. One of my rallying calls is let's go out and do some good. This is who we are. This is what we are about.

To begin with, this case should never have come to trial. The state has not produced one iota of medical evidence that the crime Tom Robinson is charged with ever took place... It has relied instead upon the testimony of two witnesses, whose evidence has not only been called into serious question on cross-examination, but has been flatly contradicted by the defendant. Now, there is circumstantial evidence to indicate that Mayella Ewel was beaten - savagely, by someone who led exclusively with his left. And Tom Robinson now sits before you having taken the oath with the only good hand he possesses... his RIGHT. I have nothing but pity in my heart for the chief witness for the State. She is the victim of cruel poverty and ignorance. But my pity does not extend so far as to her putting a man's life at stake, which she has done in an effort to get rid of her own guilt. Now I say "guilt," gentlemen, because it was guilt that motivated her. She's committed no crime - she has merely broken a rigid and time-honored code of our society, a code so severe that whoever breaks it is hounded from our midst as unfit to live with. She must destroy the evidence of her offense. But what was the evidence of her offense? Tom Robinson, a human being. She must put Tom Robinson away from her. Tom Robinson was to her a daily reminder of what she did. Now, what did she do? She tempted a *****. She was white, and she tempted a *****. She did something that, in our society, is unspeakable. She kissed a black man. Not an old uncle, but a strong, young ***** man. No code mattered to her before she broke it, but it came crashing down on her afterwards. The witnesses for the State, with the exception of the sheriff of Maycomb County have presented themselves to you gentlemen, to this court in the cynical confidence that their testimony would not be doubted, confident that you gentlemen would go along with them on the assumption... the evil assumption that all Negroes lie, all Negroes are basically immoral beings, all ***** men are not to be trusted around our women. An assumption that one associates with minds of their caliber, and which is, in itself, gentlemen, a lie, which I do not need to point out to you. And so, a quiet, humble, respectable *****, who has had the unmitigated TEMERITY to feel sorry for a white woman, has had to put his word against TWO white people's! The defendant is not guilty - but somebody in this courtroom is. Now, gentlemen, in this country, our courts are the great levelers. In our courts, all men are created equal. I'm no idealist to believe firmly in the integrity of our courts and of our jury system - that's no ideal to me. That is a living, working reality! Now I am confident that you gentlemen will review, without passion, the evidence that you have heard, come to a decision and restore this man to his family. In the name of GOD, do your duty. In the name of God, believe... Tom Robinson

If Love’s testimony is corroborated, there will be indictments. Do you understand me? If you want to have me recused, go for it! Know this, however. You will have an enemy on the Wayne Circuit Court bench for life!” “Your Honor, I’ve changed my mind,” Walsh capitulated. “I have confidence in your ability to render a fair and impartial decision in the obstruction matter.

I stand amazed at this tree, this life. I stare up in awe at its branches, raising up toward heaven. I wonder about its origins, how a seed so miniscule could grow into a structure so vast and resilient. I'm still examining its genesis. To examine, to question, to discover and evolve--that is what it means to be alive. The day we cease to explore is the day we begin to wilt. I share my testimony in these pages not because I have reached any lasting conclusions, but because I have so much to understand. I am as inquisitive about life now as I was as a child. My story will never be finished, nor should it be. For as long as God grants me breath, I will be living--and writing--my next chapter.

In his testimony, I heard the familiar expectation that the victim be flawless in order to be worthy of life. The audacity to smoke marijuana, provided sufficient reason to die. The defence calling me a 'party animal', that, too, I deserved to be raped.

I try to clutch onto those last moments in the place that I was born to, but I was so busy *living* them! How was I to know I'd have to capture everything I ever wanted to remember of Eire for the rest of my life?

I daydreamed a lot about the sycamore tree, too, which at first I thought was because I was feeling melancholy. But then I remembered how my mother had called the sycamore a testimony yo endurance. It had survuvced being damaged as a sapling. It had grown. Other people thought it was ugly, but I never had. Maybe it was all how you looked at it. Maybe there were things I saw as ugly that other people thought were beautiful.

You don't need my testimony to know God is Good. I pray u have a testimony for yourself.

And it’s a shame that the measure is what is not so bad instead of what is thriving and good. I look at some of my worst relationships and think, “at least he or she didn’t hit me.” I work from a place of gratitude for the bare minimum. I’ve never been in a relationship where I’ve had to hide nonconsensual bruises. I’ve never feared for my life. I’ve never been in a situation where I couldn’t walk away. Does this make me a lucky girl? Given the stories I’ve seen women sharing via the hashtags #whyIstayed and #whyIleft, yes. This is not how we should measure luck. I have had good relationships but it’s hard to trust that because what I consider good sometimes doesn’t feel very good at all. Or I am thinking about testimony and how there has been so much over the past day and some–women sharing their truths, daring to use their voices to say, “This is what happened to me. This is how I have been wronged.” I’ve been thinking about how so much testimony is demanded of women and still, there are those who doubt our stories. There are those who think we are all lucky girls because we are still, they narrowly assume, alive. I am weary of all our sad stories–not hearing them, but that we have these stories to tell, that there are so many.

Human being" is more a verb than a noun. Each of us is unfinished, a work in progress. Perhaps it would be most accurate to add the word "yet" to all our assessments of ourselves and each other . . . If life is process, all judgments are provisional, we can't judge something until it is finished. No one has won or lost until the race is over . . . In our instinctive attachments, our fear of change, and our wish for certainty and permanence, we may undercut the impermanence which is our greatest strength, our most fundamental identity. Without impermanence, there is no process. The nature of life is change. All hope is based on process . . . It is taken me somewhat longer to recognize that a diagnosis is simply another form of judgment. Naming a disease has limited usefulness. It does not capture life or even reflect it accurately. Illness, on the other hand, is a process, like life is. Much in the concept of diagnosis and cure is about fixing, and the narrow-bore focus on fixing people's problems can lead to denial of the power of their process. Years ago, I took full credit when people became well; their recovery was testimony to my skill and knowledge as a physician. I never recognized that without their biological, emotional, and spiritual process which could respond to my interventions, nothing could have changed at all. All the time I thought I was repairing, I was collaborating.

I only know that without this testimony, my life as a writer—or my life, period—would not have become what it is: that of a witness who believes he has a moral obligation to try to prevent the enemy from enjoying one last victory by allowing his crimes to be erased from human memory.

But the most powerful arguments in favor of "a tragic optimism" are those which in Latin are called argumenta ad hominem. Jerry Long, to cite an example, is a living testimony to "the defiant power of the human spirit," as it is called in logotherapy.8 To quote the Texarkana Gazette, "Jerry Long has been paralyzed from his neck down since a diving accident which rendered him a quadriplegic three years ago. He was 17 when the accident occurred. Today Long can use his mouth stick to type. He 'attends' two courses at Community College via a special telephone. The intercom allows Long to both hear and participate in class discussions. He also occupies his time by reading, watching television and writing." And in a letter I received from him, he writes: "I view my life as being abundant with meaning and purpose. The attitude that I adopted on that fateful day has become my personal credo for life: I broke my neck, it didn't break me. I am currently enrolled in my first psychology course in college. I believe that my handicap will only enhance my ability to help others. I know that without the suffering, the growth that I have achieved would have been impossible.

Although my speaking will reflect the grace and mercy I've been offered and humbly accepted, I don't have to say much because words only go so far. At the end of the day, it will not be the year of my birth or the year of my death that will matter; it will be that hyphen in the midst of it all that will display how I lived my life; will tell a full and complete story; will say more than my mouth could utter. My actions, my trials, my triumphs, my defeats, my victories - my life will preach louder than an auditory testimony ever could. I am working on the person I want to remember.

When I read Muller’s biography I was shocked to learn why he started the orphanage. His primary purpose was not to care for orphans. Instead, he wrote in his journal: If I, a poor man, simply by prayer and faith, obtained without asking any individual, the means for establishing and carrying on an Orphan-House, there would be something which, with the Lord’s blessing, might be instrumental in strengthening the faith of the children of God, besides being a testimony to the consciences of the unconverted, of the reality of the things of God. This, then, was the primary reason for establishing the Orphan-House.… The first and primary object of the work was (and still is:) that God might be magnified by the fact, that the orphans under my care are provided with all they need, only by prayer and faith without anyone being asked by me or my fellow-laborers whereby it may be seen, that God is faithful still, and hears prayer still.8 Muller decided that he wanted to live in such a way that it would be evident to all who looked at his life—Christian and non-Christian alike—that God is indeed faithful to provide for his people. He risked his life trusting in the greatness of God, and in the end his life made much of the glory of God.

Basically, when you get to my age, you'll really measure your success in life by how many of the people you want to have love you actually do love you. I know people who have a lot of money, and they get testimonial dinners and they get hospital wings named after them. But the truth is that nobody in the world loves them. If you get to my age in life and nobody thinks well of you, I don't care how big your bank account is, your life is a disaster. That's the ultimate test of how you have lived your life. The trouble with love it that you can't buy it. You can buy sex. You can buy testimonial dinners. You can buy pamphlets that say how wonderful you are. But the only way to get love is to be lovable. It's very irritating if you have a lot of money. You'd like to think you could write a check: I'll buy a million dollars' worth of love. But it doesn't work that way. The more you give love away, the more you get." — Warren Buffett

He asked me, "Young man, do you love art? Great, lofty, immortal art?" I felt uncomfortable, and I replied that I did. That was a fatal mistake, because Volynsky put it this way: "If you love art, young man, how can you talk to me now about filthy lucre?" He gave me a beautiful speech, itself an example of high art. It was passionate, inspired, a speech about great immortal art, and its point was that I shouldn't ask Volynsky for my pay. In doing so I defiled art, he explained, bringing it down to my level of crudity, avarice, and greed. Art was endangered. It could perish if I pressed my outrageous demands. I tried to tell him that I needed the money. He replied that he couldn't imagine or understand how a man of the arts could be capable of speaking about such trivial aspects of life. He tried to shame me. But I held my own.

victory, he told me that I deserved the credit for what had happened. He said that by giving my testimony, I’d freed myself and probably also helped other people in unfair conservatorships. After having my father take credit for everything I did for so long, it meant everything to have this man tell me that I’d made the difference in my own life. And now, finally, it was my own life. Being controlled made me so angry on behalf of anyone who doesn’t have the right to determine their own fate. “I’m just grateful, honestly, for each day… I’m not here to be a victim,” I said on Instagram after the conservatorship was terminated. “I lived with victims my whole life as a child. That’s why I got out of my house. And worked for twenty years and worked my ass off… Hopefully, my story will make an impact and make some changes in the corrupt system.

Nearly every time we go to Travel Town together, I think, I've never been happier in all my life. Sometimes I say this aloud, be it to him or myself or the uncaring air. This is one of the things I've learned about happiness: when you feel it, it's good to say so. That way, if and when you say later in depression or despair, "I've just never been happy," there will be a trail of audible testimony in your wake indicating otherwise.

No amount of black girl magic, no repeated proclamations of our worth can fully treat the wound – although acknowledging its persistence is a beginning. The ultimate remedy, as I see it is supernatural. I look daily toward heaven for restoration, for spiritual healing. My true identity isn’t rooted in our history, grievous and glorious as it is. It is grounded in my designation as a Child of God, the Daughter of the Great Physician. In His care I find my cure. My hope for you is the same one I carry for myself. I pray that amid the heartache of our ancestry you can grant yourself the grace so seldom extended to us. I pray that you can pass that compassion on to your children and to their children so that it slathers comfort on our sore spots. I pray that, as a people, we can give ourselves a soft place to land. I pray even as we rightly express our fury as being regarded as sub-human, that we don’t dwell in that space. That we don’t allow anger to poison our spirits. That we embrace love as our One True Antidote. I hope, too, that you recognize your specialness, the distinctiveness the Creator has imbued us with. I see you as clearly as history has, and in unison with it, I nod. I know that swivel in your hips, that fervor in your testimony, that ebullience in your stride, that flair in your song. The fact that others are constantly trying to diminish you, ever attempting to dismiss your talents even as they mimic you, is proof of your uniqueness! No one bothers to undermine you unless they recognize your brilliance. More than anything, I pray that you can carve out a purpose for yourself, a calling beyond your own survival, a sweet offering to the world. You gain a life by giving yours away. Not everyone is meant to raise a picket sign, and yet each of us can choose a path of impact. Rearing your children with affection and warmth is a form of activism. Honoring your word impeccably is a way to raise your voice. Performing your job with excellence, with your chin high and your standards higher is as powerful as any protest march. Sowing into the lives of young people is a worthy crusade. That is what it means to leave this world of ours more lit up than we found it. It’s also what it means to lead a magnificent life, even if an unlikely one.

Revive me, O LORD, according to Your word. 108Accept, I pray, the freewill offerings of my mouth, O LORD, And teach me Your judgments. 109My life is continually in my hand, Yet I do not forget Your law. 110The wicked have laid a snare for me, Yet I have not strayed from Your precepts. 111Your testimonies I have taken as a heritage forever, For they are the rejoicing of my heart. 112I have inclined my heart to perform Your statutes Forever, to the very end.

But I was not really shown how to take up my cross and actually follow Christ. The crisis of American Christianity basically boils down to this failure. I still don’t claim to know how to walk the way of the cross or the path of resurrection very well. But I think that the quest to do so is still at the heart of a meaningful faith. What does it look like to live sacrificially but also incarnationally? Christ was God incarnate, made flesh. How do we walk through death to life, here, now?

I hate Toscanini. I’ve never heard him in a concert hall, but I’ve heard enough of his recordings. What he does to music is terrible in my opinion. He chops it up into a hash and then pours a disgusting sauce over it. Toscanini ‘honoured’ me by conducting my symphonies. I heard those records, too, and they’re worthless. I’ve read about Toscanini’s conducting style and his manner of conducting a rehearsal. The people who describe this disgraceful behaviour are for some reason delighted by it. I simply can’t understand what they find delightful. I think it’s outrageous, not delightful. He screams and curses the musicians and makes scenes in the most shameless manner. The poor musicians have to put up with all this nonsense or be sacked. And they even begin to see ‘something in it’. (…) Toscanini sent me his recording of m Seventh Symphony and hearing it made me very angry. Everything is wrong. The spirit and the character and the tempi. It’s a sloppy, hack job. I wrote him a letter expressing my views. I don’t know if he ever got it; maybe he did and pretended not to – that would be completely in keeping with his vain and egoistic style. Why do I think that Toscanini didn’t let it be known that I wrote to him? Because much later I received a letter from America: I was elected to the Toscanini Society! They must have thought that I was a great fan of the maestro’s. I began receiving records on a regular basis: all new recordings by Toscanini. My only comfort is that at least I always have a birthday present handy. Naturally, I wouldn’t give something like that to a friend. But to an acquaintance-why not? It pleases them and it’s less trouble for me. That’s one of life’s most difficult problems- what to give for a birthday or anniversary to a person you don’t particularly like, don’t know very well, and don’t respect. Conductors are too often rude and conceited tyrants. And in my youth I often had to fight fierce battles with them, battles for my music and my dignity.

Men do what is called a good action, as some piece of courage or charity, much as they would pay a fine in expiation of daily non-appearance on parade. Their works are done as an apology or extenuation of their living in the world, — as invalids and the insane pay a high board. Their virtues are penances. I do not wish to expiate, but to live. My life is for itself and not for a spectacle. I much prefer that it should be of a lower strain, so it be genuine and equal, than that it should be glittering and unsteady. I wish it to be sound and sweet, and not to need diet and bleeding. I ask primary evidence that you are a man, and refuse this appeal from the man to his actions. I know that for myself it makes no difference whether I do or forbear those actions which are reckoned excellent. I cannot consent to pay for a privilege where I have intrinsic right. Few and mean as my gifts may be, I actually am, and do not need for my own assurance or the assurance of my fellows any secondary testimony.

The fear of course is that in denying or refusing complicity in the marginalization of 'black' writers, I ended up on the very distant and very 'other' side of a line that is imaginary at best. I didn't write as an act of testimony or social indignation (though all writing in some way is just that) and I did not write out of a so-called family tradition of oral storytelling. I never tried to set anybody free, never tried to paint the next real and true picture of the life of my people, never had any people whose picture I knew well enough to paint. Perhaps if I had written in the time immediately following Reconstruction, I would have written to elevate the station of my fellow oppressed. But the irony was beautiful. I was a victim of racism by virtue of my failing to acknowledge racial difference and by failing to have my art be defined as an exercise in racial self-expression. So, I would not be economically oppressed because of writing a book that fell in line with the very books I deemed racist. And I would have to wear the mask of the person I was expected to be.

February 4 The Overmastering Majesty of Personal Power For the love of Christ constraineth us. 2 Corinthians 5:14 Paul says he is overruled, overmastered, held as in a vice, by the love of Christ. Very few of us know what it means to be held in a grip by the love of God; we are held by the constraint of our experience only. The one thing that held Paul, until there was nothing else on his horizon, was the love of God. “The love of Christ constraineth us”—when you hear that note in a man or woman, you can never mistake it. You know that the Spirit of God is getting unhindered way in that life. When we are born again of the Spirit of God, the note of testimony is on what God has done for us, and rightly so. But the baptism of the Holy Ghost obliterates that for ever, and we begin to realise what Jesus meant when He said—“Ye shall be witnesses unto Me.” Not witnesses to what Jesus can do—that is an elementary witness—but “witnesses unto Me.” We will take everything that happens as happening to Him, whether it be praise or blame, persecution or commendation. No one can stand like that for Jesus Christ who is not constrained by the majesty of His personal power. It is the only thing that matters, and the strange thing is that it is the last thing realised by the Christian worker. Paul says he is gripped by the love of Christ; that is why he acts as he does. Men may call him mad or sober, but he does not care; there is only one thing he is living for, and that is to persuade men of the judgement seat of God, and of the love of Christ. This abandon to the love of Christ is the one thing that bears fruit in the life, and it will always leave the impression of the holiness and of the power of God, never of our personal holiness.

Loving this Life These poems are my testimony and within these pages you’ll find a process of searching, feeling, growing, and learning I have seen the beauty in this life and the goodness of God I have felt great joy in little moments and everyday miracles I have grown in all times where I choose to overcome and be the sunshine I will make the place I’m in a place of light I have learned that all battles and victories are not my own and I want everyone else to know that what we’ve been chosen for is a gift We only get a few moments in this life We must live and love them well

I adhere to the fact that I am baptized, not to my life and my vocation, but to the Man called Jesus Christ. Through Him, I am in grace and have forgiveness of sin. Similarly, when I hear the Gospel, I hear nothing about myself or about my works that could justify me before God; I hear about Christ, who has been given to me by the Father for my redemption from sin and eternal wrath. Thus through the Word and Baptism you have a reliable testimony and a confirmation. You need no longer doubt and waver, but you can and should have the conviction that you have a gracious God and Father in Christ.

In my experiences with racial reconciliation conversations, there usually comes a moment when superficial talk gets real. Often this comes about because a person of color takes the risk to share how racism and white supremacy have impacted her life. And then, almost invariably, in response to this vulnerable testimony, a white person begins to speak, usually through tears. This person shares about how overwhelming this experience has been, how he hadn’t known the extent of our racialized society and its racist history, about how sad, angry, or confused he is feeling now. I’ve watched this happen so many times that I can almost predict it: the move away from a person of color’s experience to a white person’s emotions. I have experienced these strong emotions myself, but as Austin Channing Brown points out, focusing on white emotions rather than the experiences of people of color can be dangerous. She writes, “If Black people are dying in the street, we must consult with white feelings before naming the evils of police brutality. If white family members are being racist, we must take Grandpa’s feelings into account before we proclaim our objections to such speech. . . . White fragility protects whiteness and forces Black people to fend for themselves.

May I ask you something?' said Peri. 'When we first met you said you and your sister had made different choices in life. So does that mean... you prefer to cover your head?' 'Of course. My parents always gave me the option. My hijab is a personal decision, a testimony to my faith. It gives me peace and confidence.' Mona's face darkened. 'Even though I have been bullied for it, endlessly.' 'You have?' 'Sure, but it didn't stop me. If I, with my headscarf, don't challenge stereotypes, who's going to do it for me? I want to shake things up. People look at me as if I'm a passive, obedient victim of male power. Well, I'm not. I have a mind of my own. My hijab has never got in the way of my independence.

There is no narrative without structure, or plot. In a great story this structure seems like fate, like an inescapable judgment descending on its still unaware heroes, a great metaphysical causality, that crowds out all room for choice. Fate arises not as a limitation on our freedom, but as a manifestation of our freedom, testimony that choice is consequent. The exercise of your freedom cannot prevent the exercise of my own freedom, but it can determine the context in which I am to act freely. You cannot make choices for me, but you can largely determine what my choices will be about. Great stories explore the drama of this deeper touching of one free person by another. They are therefore genuinely sexual dramas astounding us once more with the magic of origins.

If you talk to these extraordinary people, you find that they all understand this at one level or another. They may be unfamiliar with the concept of cognitive adaptability, but they seldom buy into the idea that they have reached the peak of their fields because they were the lucky winners of some genetic lottery. They know what is required to develop the extraordinary skills that they possess because they have experienced it firsthand. One of my favorite testimonies on this topic came from Ray Allen, a ten-time All-Star in the National Basketball Association and the greatest three-point shooter in the history of that league. Some years back, ESPN columnist Jackie MacMullan wrote an article about Allen as he was approaching his record for most three-point shots made. In talking with Allen for that story, MacMullan mentioned that another basketball commentator had said that Allen was born with a shooting touch—in other words, an innate gift for three-pointers. Allen did not agree. “I’ve argued this with a lot of people in my life,” he told MacMullan. “When people say God blessed me with a beautiful jump shot, it really pisses me off. I tell those people, ‘Don’t undermine the work I’ve put in every day.’ Not some days. Every day. Ask anyone who has been on a team with me who shoots the most. Go back to Seattle and Milwaukee, and ask them. The answer is me.” And, indeed, as MacMullan noted, if you talk to Allen’s high school basketball coach you will find that Allen’s jump shot was not noticeably better than his teammates’ jump shots back then; in fact, it was poor. But Allen took control, and over time, with hard work and dedication, he transformed his jump shot into one so graceful and natural that people assumed he was born with it. He took advantage of his gift—his real gift.   ABOUT

Gentlemen,' he was saying, 'I shall be brief, but I would like to use my remaining time with you to remind you that this case is not a difficult one, it requires no minute sifting of complicated facts, but it does require you to be sure beyond a reasonable doubt as to the guilt of the defendant. To begin with, this case should never have come to trial. This case is as simple as black and white. 'The state has not produced one iota of medical evidence to the effect that the crime Tom Robinson is charged with ever took place. It has relied instead upon the testimony of two witnesses whose evidence has not only been called into serious question on cross-examination, but has been flatly contradicted by the defendant. The defendant is not guilty, but somebody in this court-room is. 'I have nothing but pity in my heart for the chief witness for the state, but my pity does not extend so far as to her putting a man’s life at stake, which she has done in an effort to get rid of her own guilt.

To my new found friend, May you see a good day. May your perspective be governed by light, laughter, and discernment. If mountain moments come your way, may you rise above and continue your journey knowing the Lord is with you. May the breaking of each day find you on your knees. May you live after the manner of happiness. May your focus lead you to understand that God is in the details. As you pray each day for the answer you want, may you remember that He might send the answer you need. May your heart have great experience. May listing what you love allow you to recognize your joys. If sorrow comes your way, may you sow in tears and reap in joy. May you always remember the important days of your life, specially the days when your testimony burned within. May your eyes be quick to search from one side of heaven unto the other and recognize the great things as tender mercies from the Lord. May the oil of gladness permeate your heart. May every day be a day of gladness and a good day because you have chosen the good part. This is my wish for you.

I do not at all have a sense of luring anyone into the poetic by catching hold of them through my subject matter. The idea appalls me in fact. Some events — whether a tree in a certain light, a Mexican family looking at the movie stills outside the cinema, a dream, my own condition of being in or out of love, of some epiphany relating to husband, child, friend, cat or dog, street or painting, cloud or stone, a book read, a story heard, a life thought about, a demonstration lived through, a situation, historical and/or topical, (that’s to say known in the moment of its passing into history) — it doesn’t matter, the list is endless, but some events (selected by some interior mysterious process out of all the other minutes and hours of my life) begin to form themselves in my understanding as phrases, images, rhythms of language, demand to be further formed, demand midwifery is one way to put it. Not all that one feels most strongly makes this verbal demand, even if one is a poet — by poet here I mean prose writer too — … but whatever experiences do demand it are always strongly felt ones. That is my testimony.

For as the Father has life in himself,  zso he has granted the Son also to have life in himself. 27And he  ahas given him authority to execute judgment, because he is the Son of Man. 28Do not marvel at this, for  van hour is coming when  ball who are in the tombs will hear his voice 29and come out,  cthose who have done good to the resurrection of life, and those who have done evil to the resurrection of judgment. Witnesses to Jesus 30 d“I can do nothing on my own. As I hear, I judge, and  emy judgment is just, because  fI seek not my own will  gbut the will of him who sent me. 31 hIf I alone bear witness about myself, my testimony is not true. 32There is  ianother who bears witness about me, and  jI know that the testimony that he bears about me is true. 33 kYou sent to John, and he has borne witness to the truth. 34Not that  lthe testimony that I receive is from man, but I say these things so that you may be saved. 35He was a burning and  mshining lamp, and  nyou were willing to rejoice for a while in his light. 36But  lthe testimony that I have is greater than that of John. For  othe works that the Father has given me  pto accomplish, the very works that I am doing,  qbear

First, READ this book a chapter a day. We suggest at least five days a week for the next seven weeks, but whatever works for your schedule. Each chapter should only take you around ten minutes to read. Second, READ the Bible each day. Let the Word of God mold you into a person of prayer. We encourage you to read through the Gospel of Luke during these seven weeks and be studying it through the lens of what you can learn from Jesus about prayer. You are also encouraged to look up and study verses in each chapter that you are unfamiliar with that spark your interest. Third, PRAY every day. Prayer should be both scheduled and spontaneous. Choose a place and time when you can pray alone each day, preferably in the morning (Ps. 5:3). Write down specific needs and personal requests you’ll be targeting in prayer over the next few weeks, along with the following prayer: Heavenly Father, I come to You in Jesus’ name, asking that You draw me into a closer, more personal relationship with You. Cleanse me of my sins and prepare my heart to pray in a way that pleases You. Help me know You and love You more this week. Use all the circumstances of my life to make me more like Jesus, and teach me how to pray more strategically and effectively in Your name, according to Your will and Your Word. Use my faith, my obedience, and my prayers this week for the benefit of others, for my good, and for Your glory. Amen. May we each experience the amazing power of God in our generation as a testimony of His goodness for His glory! My Scheduled Prayer Time ___:___ a.m./p.m. My Scheduled Prayer Place ________________________ My Prayer Targets Develop a specific, personalized, ongoing prayer list using one or more of the following questions: What are your top three biggest needs right now? What are the top three things you are most stressed about? What are three issues in your life that would take a miracle of God to resolve? What is something good and honorable that, if God provided it, would greatly benefit you, your family, and others? What is something you believe God may be leading you to do, but you need His clarity and direction on it? What is a need from someone you love that you’d like to start praying about? 1. ______________________________________________ 2. ______________________________________________ 3. ______________________________________________ 4. ______________________________________________ 5. ______________________________________________ 6. ______________________________________________

Mr. Watson inquired who saw the assault committed. Master Hugh told him it was done in Mr. Gardner's ship-yard at midday, where there were a large company of men at work. "As to that," he said, "the deed was done, and there was no question as to who did it." His answer was, he could do nothing in the case, unless some white man would come forward and testify. He could issue no warrant on my word. If I had been killed in the presence of a thousand colored people, their testimony combined would have been insufficient to have arrested one of the murderers. Master Hugh, for once, was compelled to say this state of things was too bad. Of course, it was impossible to get any white man to volunteer his testimony in my behalf, and against the white young men. Even those who may have sympathized with me were not prepared to do this. It required a degree of courage unknown to them to do so; for just at that time, the slightest manifestation of humanity toward a colored person was denounced as abolitionism, and that name subjected its bearer to frightful liabilities. The watchwords of the bloody-minded in that region, and in those days, were, "Damn the abolitionists!" and "Damn the n****rs!" There was nothing done, and probably nothing would have been done if I had been killed.

The Lord saw fit to lead me some time by simple faith—a childlike dependence on the Word of God. And then, when I was emptied of self, I was filled with glory and with God. For the first time in my life, my soul was continually satisfied. My need was all supplied. Oh, the fulness of Jesus ! I was saved, fully saved from sin. Years have passed since I received from the Lord the blessing I sought of him—entire sanctification. During that time, oh, what a change has taken place in me. I am no longer the desponding, unhappy creature I was. I do not now grow weary of life. I love to have the will of God done; and as long as he sees fit to keep me here, I am willing to stay. Surely, I am a wonderful “miracle of grace.” The Lord has indeed done great things for me, whereof I am glad. I have often thought I was a poor, unworthy creature, but I have never known my unworthiness as I know it now. Oh, how I have been led to loathe myself; and how I have sunk in self-abasement at the foot of the cross, completely overwhelmed with a view of self. And oh, how sweet to have Jesus take me, and wash me in his own precious blood, and realize that I am cleansed. Oh, how fully Jesus does save. My greatest desire now, is to live for Jesus; to glorify him by my looks, my actions, my walk, and even the tones of my voice. I am led to see my own weakness more and more each day, and this leads me to look to Jesus each moment. And when, in view of my vileness, I am led to exclaim: ‘* Every moment, Lord, I need, The merit of Thy death,” I can, by divine grace, triumphantly add : ” Every moment, Lord, I have The merit of Thy death. I am, indeed, A poor sinner, and nothing at all, But Jesus Christ is my all in all.

The best way to get a handle on the subject would be to ask the experts, but one does not simply walk into a church or synagogue and ask to speak with a demonologist. There are not that many of them; their names are confidential, and they are obliged to report their experiences only to their superiors. Even Ed Warren will not tell all about these horrendous black spirits that come in the night bearing messages and proclamations of blasphemy. When pressed on the matter, in fact, Ed’s reply is: “There are things known to priests and myself that are best left unsaid.” Upon what, then, does Ed Warren base his opinions? Is there proper evidence or corroboration to substantiate his claims? “People who aren’t familiar with the phenomenon sometimes ask me if I’m not involved in a sort of ultrarealistic hallucination, like Don Quixote jousting with windmills. Well, hallucinations are visionary experiences. This, on the other hand, is a phenomenon that hits back. My knowledge of the subject is no different than that of learned clergymen, and they’ll tell you as plainly as I will that this isn’t something to be easily checked off as a bad dream. “I can support everything I say with bona fide evidence,” Ed goes on, “and testimony by credible witnesses and blue-ribbon professionals. There is no conjecture involved here. My statements about the nature of the demonic spirit are based on my own firsthand experiences over thirty years in this work, backed up by the experiences of other recognized demonologists, plus the experiences of the exorcist clergy, plus the testimony of hundreds of witnesses who’ve been these spirits’ victims, plus the full weight of hard physical evidence. Theological dogma about the demonic simply proves consistent with my own findings about these spirits in real life. But let me be more specific. “The inhuman spirit often identifies itself as the devil and then—through physical or psychological means—proves itself to be just that. Again speaking from my own personal experiences, I have been burned by these invisible forces of pandemonium. I have been slashed and cut; these spirits have gouged marks and symbols on my body. I’ve been thrown around the room like a toy. My arms have been twisted up behind me until they’ve ached for a week. I’ve incurred sudden illnesses to knock me out of an investigation. Physicalized monstrosities have manifested before me, threatening death,

The slaves selected to go to the Great House Farm, for the monthly allowance for themselves and their fellow-slaves, were peculiarly enthusiastic. While on their way, they would make the dense old woods, for miles around, reverberate with their wild songs, revealing at once the highest joy and the deepest sadness. They would compose and sing as they went along, consulting neither time nor tune. The thought that came up, came out—if not in the word, in the sound;—and as frequently in the one as in the other. They would sometimes sing the most pathetic sentiment in the most rapturous tone, and the most rapturous sentiment in the most pathetic tone. Into all of their songs they would manage to weave something of the Great House Farm. Especially would they do this, when leaving home. They would then sing most exultingly the following words:— "I am going away to the Great House Farm! O, yea! O, yea! O!" This they would sing, as a chorus, to words which to many would seem unmeaning jargon, but which, nevertheless, were full of meaning to themselves. I have sometimes thought that the mere hearing of those songs would do more to impress some minds with the horrible character of slavery, than the reading of whole volumes of philosophy on the subject could do. I did not, when a slave, understand the deep meaning of those rude and apparently incoherent songs. I was myself within the circle; so that I neither saw nor heard as those without might see and hear. They told a tale of woe which was then altogether beyond my feeble comprehension; they were tones loud, long, and deep; they breathed the prayer and complaint of souls boiling over with the bitterest anguish. Every tone was a testimony against slavery, and a prayer to God for deliverance from chains. The hearing of those wild notes always depressed my spirit, and filled me with ineffable sadness. I have frequently found myself in tears while hearing them. The mere recurrence to those songs, even now, afflicts me; and while I am writing these lines, an expression of feeling has already found its way down my cheek. To those songs I trace my first glimmering conception of the dehumanizing character of slavery. I can never get rid of that conception. Those songs still follow me, to deepen my hatred of slavery, and quicken my sympathies for my brethren in bonds. If any one wishes to be impressed with the soul-killing effects of slavery, let him go to Colonel Lloyd's plantation, and, on allowance-day, place himself in the deep pine woods, and there let him, in silence, analyze the sounds that shall pass through the chambers of his soul,—and if he is not thus impressed, it will only be because "there is no flesh in his obdurate heart." I have often been utterly astonished, since I came to the north, to find persons who could speak of the singing, among slaves, as evidence of their contentment and happiness. It is impossible to conceive of a greater mistake. Slaves sing most when they are most unhappy. The songs of the slave represent the sorrows of his heart; and he is relieved by them, only as an aching heart is relieved by its tears. At least, such is my experience. I have often sung to drown my sorrow, but seldom to express my happiness. Crying for joy, and singing for joy, were alike uncommon to me while in the jaws of slavery. The singing of a man cast away upon a desolate island might be as appropriately considered as evidence of contentment and happiness, as the singing of a slave; the songs of the one and of the other are prompted by the same emotion.

Look at that ship. That clipper cost me a queen’s ransom, even with the Kestrel thrown in the bargain. But it was the fastest ship to be had.” He took her hands in his. “Forget money. Forget society. Forget expectations. We’ve no talent for following rules, remember? We have to follow our hearts. You taught me that.” He gathered her to him, drawing her hands to his chest. “God, sweet, don’t you know? You’ve had my heart in your pocket since the day we met. Following my heart means following you. I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth if I have to.” He shot an amused glance at the captain. “Though I’d expect your good captain would prefer I didn’t. In fact, I think he’d gladly marry us today, just to be rid of me.” “Today? But we couldn’t.” His eyebrows lifted. “Oh, but we could.” He pulled her to the other side of the ship, slightly away from the gaping crowd. Wrapping his arms around her, he leaned close to whisper in her ear, “Happy birthday, love.” Sophia melted in his embrace. It was her birthday, wasn’t it? The day she’d been anticipating for months, and here she’d forgotten it completely. Until Gray had appeared on the horizon, she hadn’t been looking forward to anything. But now she did. She looked forward to marriage, and children, and love and grand adventure. Real life and true passion. All of it with this man. “Oh, Gray.” “Please say yes,” he whispered. “Sophia.” The name was a caress against her ear. “I love you.” He kissed her cheek and pulled away. “I’ve been remiss in not telling you. You can’t know how I’ve regretted it. But I love you, Sophia Jane Hathaway. I love you as no man ever loved a woman. I love you so much, I fear I’ll burst with it. In fact, I think I shall burst if I go another minute without kissing you, so if you’ve any mind to say yes, I’d thank you to-“ Sophia flung her arms around his neck and kissed him. Hard at first, to quiet the fool man; then gently, to savor him. oh, how she loved the taste of him, like freshly baked bread and rum. Warm and wholesome and comforting, with just a hint of spice and danger. “Yes,” she sighed against his lips. She pulled back and looked into his eyes. “Yes, I will marry you.” His arms tightened about her waist. “Today?” “Today. But you must let me change my gown first.” Smiling, she stroked his smooth cheek. “You even shaved.” “Every day since we left Tortola.” He gave her a rueful smile. “I’ve a few new scars to show for it.” “Good.” She kissed him. “I’m glad. And I don’t care if society casts us out for the pirates we are, just as long as I’m with you.” “Oh, I don’t know that we’ll be cast out, exactly. We’re definitely not pirates. After your stirring testimony”-he chucked her under the chin-“Fitzhugh decided to make the best of an untenable situation. Or an unhangable pirate, as it were. If he couldn’t advance on his career by convicting me, he figured he’d advance it by commending me. Awarded me the Kestrel as salvage and recommended me to the governor for a special citation of valor. There’s talk of knighthood.” He grinned. “Can you believe it? Me, a hero.” “Of course I believe it.” She laced her fingers at the back of his neck. “I’ve always known it, although I should curse that judge and his ‘citation of valor.’ As if you needed a fresh supply of arrogance. Just remember, whatever they deem you-gentleman or scoundrel, hero or pirate-you are mine.” “So I am.” He kissed her soundly, passionately. “And which would you prefer tonight?” At the seductive grown in his voice, shivers of arousal swept down to her toes. “Your gentleman? Your scoundrel? Your hero or your pirate?” She laughed. “I imagine I’ll enjoy all four on occasion. But tonight, I believe I shall find tremendous joy in simply calling you my husband.” He rested his forehead against hers. “My love.” “That, too.

April 15 I trust in your word. (Psalm 119:42) The strength of our faith is in direct proportion to our level of belief that God will do exactly what He has promised. Faith has nothing to do with feelings, impressions, outward appearances, nor the probability or improbability of an event. If we try to couple these things with faith, we are no longer resting on the Word of God, because faith is not dependent on them. Faith rests on the pure Word of God alone. And when we take Him at His Word, our hearts are at peace. God delights in causing us to exercise our faith. He does so to bless us individually, to bless the church at large, and as a witness to unbelievers. Yet we tend to retreat from the exercising of our faith instead of welcoming it. When trials come, our response should be, “My heavenly Father has placed this cup of trials into my hands so I may later have something pleasant.” Trials are the food of faith. Oh, may we leave ourselves in the hands of our heavenly Father! It is the joy of His heart to do good to all His children. Yet trials and difficulties are not the only way faith is exercised and thereby increased. Reading the Scriptures also acquaints us with God as He has revealed Himself in them. Are you able to genuinely say, from your knowledge of God and your relationship with Him, that He is indeed a beautiful Being? If not, let me graciously encourage you to ask God to take you to that point, so you will fully appreciate His gentleness and kindness, so you will be able to say just how good He is, and so you will know what a delight it is to God’s heart to do good for His children. The closer we come to this point in our inner being, the more willing we are to leave ourselves in His hands and the more satisfied we are with all of His dealings with us. Then when trials come, we will say, “I will patiently wait to see the good God will do in my life, with the calm assurance He will do it.” In this way, we will bear a worthy testimony to the world and thereby strengthen the lives of others. George Mueller

Paired - That converge meet of us is to be like, dressed with grunge fitted epic black with blood red sneakers and both of us pierced with black studs. And me with military reg cut , and she's with cute lob. The Christ cross is the testimony of us in our hand as ring , and carrying her into my hands as me protecting her. Both evolving in intended love , as witnessing each of both mummering evermore evermore....

For instance, in the early days of this nation, white women teachers in Native schools wrote about feeling safer in tribal communities than in their own. Ethnographers and journalists described the rarity of rape. Abuse of women was right up there with theft and murder as one of three reasons a man could not become a sachem, or wise leader. Anything that is prohibited must have existed, but it shocked Europeans by its rarity. I found testimonies like that of General James Clinton—no friend of the Indians he hunted down— who wrote in 1779, “Bad as these savages are, they never violate the chastity of any woman, [not even] their prisoner.”11

TESTIMONIAL Back when the earth was new and heaven just a whisper, back when the names of things hadn’t had time to stick; back when the smallest breezes melted summer into autumn, when all the poplars quivered sweetly in rank and file . . . the world called, and I answered. Each glance ignited to a gaze. I caught my breath and called that life, swooned between spoonfuls of lemon sorbet. I was pirouette and flourish, I was filigree and flame. How could I count my blessings when I didn’t know their names?

Unable to face the paltriness of our lives, it is simpler to bask in a fleeting pleasure dome than labor endlessly to create worthy secular testimonies demonstrating that a life well lived does in fact have intrinsic value. Regardless of what providence has in store, dense men such as me fritter away their lives hoping to capture eroticism’s delights. It is less taxing to rummage through the garbage dump picking amidst the trash heap of life’s inglorious scandals than it is to delve into penetrating our defensive shells.

The Lord says, ‘Whoever finds his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for My sake will find it.’ Many more will give their lives because of the Word of God and the testimony they have maintained.

I discovered that I had spent a decade seeing death in slow motion. I had built moments movement by movement: the head turning, the arm rising, the finger jerking on the trigger. I packed in detail with every death. I traced the flight of the bullet from autopsy reports and witness testimony. I listed the witnesses, noted the reactions, integrated what someone had thought and seen and heard into walls of text attempting to reconstruct the last minutes of a man’s life. The truth was simpler: It takes longer to type a sentence than it does to kill a man.

know this from God’s Word, from my own experience, and from the testimony of thousands of other people: No matter how big of a mess you have in your life, or how big of a mess you are yourself, if you follow the guidance of the Holy Spirit and desire to be obedient to God, He will bring a double blessing into your life. Don’t think it is too late for you, because it is never too late to begin.

Kertész says that the first two chapters are animated by the question “why” (and the answer is that “to pose the question ‘why’ is itself nonsensical, [as] there is no ‘why’”); the middle section by the question “how,” and the concluding part by the questions “can one survive [the extermination camp]?” and “after one has survived, can/should one remain alive?” (2006b: 160–1, my translation).

There’s me getting married and realizing that I have to be less selfish and less me-me-me, and that I also have to work through my own trauma to make sure I’m not passing it on and projecting it onto my partner. Each one of these cataclysmic moments was deeply uncomfortable, agonizing, with tears (snot bubbles included), and shrouded by struggle. They had me doubting everything I knew to be true. I could feel my emotional bones stretching, and the growing pains felt physical at times. But each one of these incidents also led me to becoming the person that I am now. Even if I didn’t understand it in the moment, change always leads me to something greater. My life is a testimony to the instances when I’ve been forced to change, and the lessons that I’ve learned have always been greater than anything I could have imagined. And those lessons were stairs to the person I am now, and who I am now is another step to the person I’m going to be.

that estranged angrily demanding beast …. The problem was that without my food allotment the question of survival appeared to be purely academic. (1997a: 32) In an insightful interpretation of that scene, Summers-Bremmer emphasizes the inseparability of “the instinct that connects food with survival and the excessive, enigmatic elements to do with meaning”—namely “the way hunger can never be divorced from hope […]

without the pressure, in other words: whether I had been broken down or distorted by the dictatorships that I had lived through, whether I had lost my ability to breathe freely, or, to the contrary, if those gruesome systems have helped by forcing me to unfold my creative powers and style in my ambition to write.

Two weeks before trial there’s something called a trial readiness conference; a meeting between judge, prosecutor, and defense to ensure they are ready. While this is happening, the victim is off somewhere, lying on her bed, peeling string cheese into limp shreds. No readiness conference exists for her; the witnesses do not gather into a room for a pep talk, putting hands into a pile, to yell out a team cheer. I was not allowed to attend other witnesses’ testimonies, which meant that for the next few weeks I’d spend most days waiting aimlessly at home. I would later learn eighteen people testified, but I had no idea most of them existed. We were like horses, lined up in separate stalls with our blinders on, unaware of those in our periphery. When you heard the bang, felt the smack, you ran for your life.

Faith confession for your children to receive wisdom, knowledge, understanding, revelation, fear, and power of God, to be anointed and set apart for God, and to preach the Gospel and be a testimony for Christ: "I declare that my children are chosen and appointed by God for a purpose and that they will be filled with the wisdom, knowledge, and understanding of the Lord. I pray that the fear of the Lord will be upon them, and that they will be anointed with the power of the Holy Spirit to preach the Gospel and be a testimony for Christ. I trust that they will be set apart for God's work and that they will be a light in the darkness, shining the light of Jesus to all those around them. I believe that God will use them mightily to advance His kingdom and bring glory to His name." Remember to hold on to this confession with faith and patience, trusting that God's power and love are at work in your children's lives. Keep seeking Him and His guidance, and believe that He is working for their good.

In his testimony, I heard the familiar expectation that a victim be flawless, in order to be worthy of life.

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As I walked in the darkness I concluded that I was not dissatisfied with my employment; I was dissatisfied with myself. And I am embarrassed at the decision I reached that night, because when it is verbalized without the qualifications I gave it as soon as I had uttered it, the impression it leaves is almost ludicrous. But as soon as the stars came out and I could see the low mountains I had escaped, I swore: ‘I’m going to live the rest of my life as a great man.’ And despite the terrible braggadocio of those words, I understood precisely what I meant: ‘I’m going to erase envy and cheap thoughts. I’m going to concentrate my life on the biggest ideals and ideas I can handle. I’m going to associate myself with people who know more than I do. I’m going to tackle objectives of the moment.’ On and on I went, laying out the things I would and would not do, but always I came back to one overriding resolve: I will constantly support the things I believe in. And in the nearly fifty years since that night, I have steadfastly borne testimony to all my deeply held beliefs. Before the night was out, I modified my initial conviction; I would not act as if I were a great man, for that was too pompous; but I would act as if I knew what greatness was, and I have so ordered my life.” —Chapter VIII, “Writing”, page 264

It would have been helpful (Psalm 39:2) if David had felt able to tell us the sort of thing he was fearful he might say in the presence of someone with no profession of faith. We can, of course, try to guess. We have all heard Christians speak in such a carelessly confident way about dying that their testimony sounded glib and brash, failing to take into account the solemnity of death, or that in the majority of cases it comes as an unwelcome intruder into a life we are loathe to leave. Again, have we not heard Christians speak of death – or pray for someone seriously ill – as if death was the very worst thing that could possibly happen (whereas the truth is that for a Christian, considered solely as an individual, setting aside relationships and responsibilities, to die is the very best thing that can happen)! David discovered that the ending of earthly life and the advent of death was, putting it mildly, a hurdle to be faced, and a task to be prepared for. First, be careful what we say – and maybe best say nothing. Dying without being afraid is one of the pearls of great price of being a Christian, so be careful, in the words of Jesus, not to cast this pearl before swine. A calm and unanxious demeanour could well speak louder than words. And, secondly, David certainly does tell us how we can go about cultivating this – in the threefold directive implied in 39:7–8. As ever that great old song ‘Turn your eyes upon Jesus’ strikes the essential note – or as David put it: ‘my hope is in you’. Are you in the prime of life? Are you in the later years when death waits round the corner? Are you, by divine sovereign appointment, in a terminal illness? Whatever: turn your eyes on Jesus and keep them fixed there. Beyond this, we must take up Paul’s motto – to have a conscience void of offence towards God and man always (Acts 24:16), for is that not what David is saying in Psalm 39:8? Yes, of course, all our sins were anticipated at Calvary and covered there, but what was done once and for all on the Cross becomes real all over again in our experience as we obey the divine command that all men everywhere should repent (Acts 17:30). The third strand in a ‘good death’ is the repute among others that we leave behind – a ‘savour of Christ among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing’ (2 Cor. 2:15, niv).

Looking back, it’s uncanny the people God put me on tour with at such a pivotal time in my life. Light pushed through the darkness every time I heard Danny and Jeremy talk about how they persevered in faith with broken hearts. I would expect it to be impossible to trust God after losing their spouses through tragic circumstances, and yet they did. In the midst of pain and loss, they chose to keep believing. In spite of losing someone they loved, these men abided in the love of Christ and continued to proclaim God’s goodness. Observing their faith and strength began to heal some of the raw parts of my broken heart. Testimonies are powerful. God uses our stories to encourage others and to reveal His power and goodness. It reminds me of Psalm 66:16, which says, “Come and hear, all you who fear God; let me tell you what he has done for me.” When we proclaim to fellow Christians what God has done in our lives, it strengthens their faith and ours. Some of my most powerful songs have been stories of something God has done in my life. I love to proclaim from stage the victories God has accomplished in my walk with Him. And as I tell others about the ways He has been faithful, I am encouraged in return.

A delicate voice replied, and my throat clenched. Her voice was the sweetest, most beautiful thing I’d ever heard in my existence, both in life and in death. It was gentle, with a sweet hum to it. One that tickled my ears and made my blackened heart feel alive again. I instantly needed her. Poor Maggie.

Jewish mystic and Christian messiah describe how I see Jesus before and after Easter. To use language from my previous chapter, I see the pre-Easter Jesus as the former and the post-Easter Jesus as the latter. The affirmation in the title thus also includes an implicit negation. Namely, I am not persuaded that the pre-Easter Jesus thought of himself as the messiah, and so I describe him in nonmessianic categories. Instead of seeing any of the exalted metaphors as reflecting Jesus’ own self-awareness or sense of identity, I see them as post-Easter affirmations. They are the early Christian movement’s witness to what Jesus had become in their experience, not his own testimony about himself. Such language is “history metaphorized,” and in this case it is Jesus himself, his life and his death, who is metaphorized.

The struggle you went through wasn’t meant to define or label you, but to create an amazing story that showcases the hand of God over your Life

I buried my face in my hands, thinking he didn’t have to go downstairs and sit at the dinner table with the ice king next. “If this is healing, I’d rather be sick. I need my ability to shut everyone and everything out, but it’s gone. I can’t cope.” To my surprise, Jameson laughed, then crossed the chamber to join me on the window seat. Looking at Edward, he asked, “Does she know the story about the lame man whom Peter healed?” Edward threw his palms up as if to say my religious training was still a mystery to him and that Jameson should leave me be. “I know it,” I said, not in the mood to hear it recited. Gritting my teeth, I looked toward the door, feeling as trapped as I used to with my former vicar. I couldn’t handle people acting as though everything could be solved with the Bible. “All right, I won’t repeat it, then.” Jameson held up innocent hands. “But have you ever considered how costly and painful that healing was for the man?” I rolled my eyes, unable to hide my antagonism toward receiving a religious lecture. “Yes, how he must have hated being able to walk.” “Oh, I’m certain it was exciting at first. A huge miracle, center of attention, a great testimony, and all that.” Jameson rested one foot on the bench, then laced his fingers about his knee. “But afterwards there’s still the business of living to get to. What do you suppose he did for work the following morning?” I touched my temples, not certain how I’d fallen into this conversation and wondering the quickest way out. “Think about it, Mrs. Auburn. He was lame from birth, which meant he was a beggar by trade. He’d never been trained for any occupation, never been apprenticed. Likely he couldn’t read or write. He had to learn to adjust to a half life to survive. The entire way he viewed the world, structured his life, and adapted, all gone—” Jameson snapped his fingers—“in the blink of an eye.” I said nothing but looked at him. At least he wasn’t telling me what I ought to be feeling or thinking. And like it or not, I was now captivated enough to listen. “Everywhere he went, he likely was stared at. Some probably suspected he’d faked being lame for pity and money. To be healed ended up costing him everything he knew. His entire world was deconstructed, leaving him the hard task of rebuilding it.” Jameson’s voice grew tender as I only stared. “Sounds familiar, doesn’t it? I’ve known full-grown men to collapse under less strain than you’ve endured. You’ve been crippled from birth, too, just in a different sort of way. It hurts to be healed, but would you honestly rather be lame at the gate?

Revelation 11:3–13.” Tyce found the passage, then read silently: 11:3 And I will give power unto my two witnesses, and they shall prophesy a thousand two hundred and threescore days, clothed in sackcloth. 11:4 These are the two olive trees, and the two candlesticks standing before the God of the earth. 11:5 And if any man will hurt them, fire proceedeth out of their mouth, and devoureth their enemies: and if any man will hurt them, he must in this manner be killed. 11:6 These have power to shut heaven, that it rain not in the days of their prophecy: and have power over waters to turn them to blood, and to smite the earth with all plagues, as often as they will. 11:7 And when they shall have finished their testimony, the beast that ascendeth out of the bottomless pit shall make war against them, and shall overcome them, and kill them. 11:8 And their dead bodies shall lie in the street of the great city, which spiritually is called Sodom and Egypt, where also our Lord was crucified. 11:9 And they of the people and kindreds and tongues and nations shall see their dead bodies three days and an half, and shall not suffer their dead bodies to be put in graves. 11:10 And they that dwell upon the earth shall rejoice over them, and make merry, and shall send gifts one to another; because these two prophets tormented them that dwelt on the earth. 11:11 And after three days and an half the Spirit of life from God entered into them, and they stood upon their feet; and great fear fell upon them which saw them. 11:12 And they heard a great voice from heaven saying unto them, Come up hither. And they ascended up to heaven in a cloud; and their enemies beheld them. 11:13 And the same hour was there a great earthquake, and the tenth part of the city fell, and in the earthquake were slain of men seven thousand: and the remnant were affrighted, and gave glory to the God of heaven.

Dear Heavenly Father, thank You for helping me give a testimony to what You have done in my life. Thank You for showing me that by testifying to what You have done in me, I can keep the devil at bay and help others who are as lost as I was. Thank You that I can always find someone to say something nice to. Thank You that I can always bless some one with love. Thank You for opening doors for me to speak to people about Your glory. Help me to know where and how to continue to testify for You. Give me the words to say to edify You. Lord help me to live in a way that backs up what I say, in Jesus name I pray, amen.

My grandma loved to be on stage entertaining people.  She loves to make people smile and laugh.  She loves to brighten other people's day.  She often calls perfect strangers her angel, as a way of witnessing, but also to encourage and build their self-esteem.

My testimony is like iodine on starch. There is nothing neutral about it, about me, or about my life in Jesus Christ.             Of

What they display, these students who don't arrive in the reading room until nine, or even later, is a kind of daring. They play with life, with possibilities. For me my studies are like a tightrope I'm balancing on, life will begin only when I've reached the other side. Only when I'm standing there triumphantly, with a glowing testimonial and glittering results, only then, I think to myself, will I be free.

I have vowed to heal in the name of all beings. This vow is being fulfilled, Sofia, with the testimony of this book. I have shared this life experience with you in order to help my readers better recognize the power of their own mind.

We have to be careful, however, to distinguish between evidence and artifacts. The testimony of an eyewitness can be properly viewed as evidence, but anything added to the account after the fact should be viewed with caution as a possible artifact (something that exists in the text when it shouldn’t). The Gospels claim to be eyewitness accounts, but you may be surprised to find that there are a few added textual artifacts nestled in with the evidential statements. It appears that scribes, in copying the texts over the years, added lines to the narrative that were not there at the time of the original writing. Let me give you an example. Most of us are familiar with the biblical story in the gospel of John in which Jesus was presented with a woman who had been accused of committing adultery (John 8:1–11). The Jewish men who brought the woman to Jesus wanted her to be stoned, but Jesus refused to condemn her and told the men, “He who is without sin among you, let him be the first to throw a stone at her.” When the men leave, Jesus tells the woman, “I do not condemn you, either. Go. From now on sin no more.” This story is one of my favorite passages in all of Scripture. Too bad that it appears to be an artifact. While the story may, in fact, be absolutely true, the earliest copies of John’s gospel recovered over the centuries fail to contain any part of it. The last verse of chapter 7 and the first eleven verses of chapter 8 are missing in the oldest manuscripts available to us. The story doesn’t appear until it is discovered in later copies of John’s gospel, centuries after the life of Jesus on earth. In fact, some ancient biblical manuscripts place it in a different location in John’s gospel. Some ancient copies of the Bible even place it in the gospel of Luke. While there is much about the story that seems consistent with Jesus’s character and teaching, most scholars do not believe it was part of John’s original account. It is a biblical artifact, and it is identified as such in nearly every modern translation of the Bible (where it is typically noted in the margin or bracketed to separate it from the reliable account).

Many years of my life i have suffered with shame, low self-esteem and insecurities. Because of my past, my background, my education, and especially because of the way i looked. It was so bad that I couldn't look people in their eyes and talk to them. I missed out on so many oppertunities, experiences and even on good friendships because i felt that I couldn't be myself around people. I feared what people would think or say about me to much. I was broken but as I looked around me I thought i was the only person. So I pretented to be ok. But when Jesus came into my heart and i started obeying his teachings, Something happened. He started to heal me from the inside out. Before, I was like a bird with a rope tide around its feet. Everytime i tried to be free and fly away the devil pulled me back to the ground. But now Jesus has set me free. He took that rope off my feet and put oil on my wounds to heal the pain. Now I am free to enjoy other people, To enjoy relationships and Even to laugh at myself now Haha. I enjoy being who God made me. So Whatever shame or insecurities you might feel even right now. Jesus understands it. Whatever it may be. If you would get down on your knees, reach out your hands and call on Jesus name wherever your at. Tell Jesus, "Lord I commit my Life to obey your teachings." And then do it. And watch and see what the Lord will do for you. He will turn your greatest struggle into a victory song.

I’ve tried to not preach at you with words, but rather let my life stand testimony to what I know, Kylar. But maybe I’ve erred in that. A saint once said, ‘Preach at all times. When necessary, use words.’ ...."The Way of Shadows

quivers under my stare. I feel uneasy intimidating her, but that is what the game calls for. Although she is on Mitchell’s side, she is perhaps too much. She could have killed Dr. Winslow to save the business. That is a clear motive. This plant was her life, and I am sure that she

In your care I will be released from my worries” (CIL 11.137). In a few brief sentences, this man’s colorful life, during which he passed from freedom to slavery to freedom and ultimately to prosperity, is memorialized. An aspect of life that these tombstones bring to light is the strong emotions that tied together spouses, family members, and friends. One grave marker records a husband’s grief for his young wife: “To the eternal memory of Blandina Martiola, a most blameless girl, who lived eighteen years, nine months, five days. Pompeius Catussa, a Sequanian citizen and a plasterer, dedicates this monument to his wife, who was incomparable and very kind to him. She lived with him five years, six months, eighteen days without any shadow of a fault. You who read this, go bathe in the baths of Apollo as I used to do with my wife. I wish I still could” (CIL 1.1983). The affection that some parents felt for their children is also reflected in these inscriptions: “Spirits who live in the underworld, lead innocent Magnilla through the groves and the Elysian Fields directly to your places of rest. She was snatched away in her eighth year by cruel fate while she was still enjoying the tender time of childhood. She was beautiful and sensitive, clever, elegant, sweet, and charming beyond her years. This poor child who was deprived of her life so quickly must be mourned with perpetual lament and tears” (CIL 6.21846). Some Romans seemed more concerned with ensuring that their bodies would lie undisturbed after death than with recording their accomplishments while alive. An inscription of this type states: “Gaius Tullius Hesper had this tomb built for himself, as a place where his bones might be laid. If anyone damages them or removes them from here, may he live in great physical pain for a long time, and when he dies, may the gods of the underworld deny entrance to his spirit” (CIL 6.36467). Some tombstones offer comments that perhaps preserve something of their authors’ temperaments. One terse inscription observes: “I was not. I was. I am not. I care not” (CIL 5.2893). Finally, a man who clearly enjoyed life left a tombstone that included the statement: “Baths, wine, and sex ruin our bodies. But what makes life worth living except baths, wine, and sex?” (CIL 6.15258). Perhaps one of the greatest values of these tombstones is the manner in which they record the actual feelings of individuals, and demonstrate the universality across time, cultures, and geography of basic emotions such as love, hate, jealousy, and pride. They also preserve one of the most complicated yet subtle characteristics of human beings—our enjoyment of humor. Many of the messages were plainly drafted to amuse and entertain the reader, and the fact that some of them can still do so after 2,000 years is one of the best testimonials to the humanity shared by the people of the ancient and the modern worlds.

They addressed the crowd, exhorting them to repentance and bearing testimony to the truth. When their sentence was read out they reproached the magistrates and the jury for shedding innocent blood, and these excused themselves by saying that they acted under compulsion of the Emperor…. “O blind world” exclaimed Mändl “each man should act according to his own heart and conscience, but you condemn us according to the Emperor’s order!” They preached further to the people, Mändl continuing until he was hoarse. “Do stop, my Hans!” cried the magistrate, but Mändl continued, and said: “What I have taught and testified is the Divine truth.” They spoke up to the moment of their death, for no one would hinder them. One of them was so ill that it was feared he might die before he could be executed, so he was beheaded first. Then the other turned to the executioner and cried with triumphant courage: “Here I forsake wife and child, house and farm, body and life for the sake of the faith and the truth”, then kneeled down and offered his head to the fatal blow. Hans Mändl was bound to a ladder and cast alive into the flames where the bodies of his fellow-martyrs had already been thrown. There was one witness, Paul Lenz, who so took all this to heart that he shortly after joined the despised disciples, to share with them in the sufferings of Christ.

Matthias Zerfass, of his own accord, acknowledged that he was a teacher among them, and remained firm and patient under torture, and was then beheaded. He wrote from prison: “The chief object of our torture has been that we should say how many of us were teachers, and reveal their names and addresses…. I was to acknowledge the authorities as Christian and that infant baptism is right; I pressed my lips together, yielded myself to God, suffered patiently, and thought of the Lord’s word when He said, ‘Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends. Ye are My friends, if ye do whatsoever I command you.’ It looks as though I have still much to suffer, but the Lord alone has it in His hand, and I can pray for nothing except that His will be done.” An instruction was issued as follows: “In order to arrest the leaders, teachers, bush-preachers, and corner-preachers of the sectaries… officials shall send spies into the hedges, fens, and moors, especially at the approach of the more important festivals, and when there is full and continued moonlight, in order to discover their secret meeting-places.” Yet in 1534 the Bishop of Münster, in writing to the Pope, bore testimony to the excellent lives of the Anabaptists.

My life went from “You don’t know My Story” to “Let me tell you my story” to “This is my Story” to “I didn’t chose this story” it’s only right that now that I’ve told my story, that you know that I am grateful for my story.

So precious is the testimony of the mission of the Prophet Joseph Smith and the message that he delivered to this earth in reestablishing the Gospel of Jesus Christ to me that rather than do anything to lose that testimony I would be cut into inch pieces every night in my life and be put together in the morning to live out the day.

April 4 Too many things get swept under the carpet called the Sovereignty of God. IN A FALSE understanding of sovereignty, God gets blamed for whatever happens in life. People often assume everything that happens must be His will because He is God. This perspective does not consider the exchange that took place in Eden, nor does it bring to mind Jesus’ own words to the devil during His temptation. There is an enemy with an agenda of his own. He is not all-powerful, but he is certainly cunning. He is ever looking for an inroad of agreement. He talks and talks until we actually buy in to his deception. Much of what we mistakenly brand as the sovereignty of God is actually the world operating under demonic influence. From disease to disaster, we must reconsider how we approach everything that steals, kills, and destroys. The problem is when we identify these things as God’s sovereign will. That simply isn’t true. God is “not willing that any should perish but that all should come to repentance” (2 Peter 3:9). Is anyone perishing? Yes. Is it God’s will? No. Because of that, I tend to emphasize the role that we play in the outcome of things. From the outset, God formed man to collaborate with. This tells me that we play a vital role in the unfolding of Heaven’s agenda on earth. God is not powerless, waiting for man to dictate His next move. This is the other side of imbalance. By sovereign decision, God Almighty has set up a system where man, indwelt by His Presence, has been restored to a position of authority on the earth. It is time for us to step into this identity even more to bring about God’s restorative solutions into a world marred by the consequences of sin. DAILY SCRIPTURE READING 2 PETER 3:8-9 PRAYER Lord, teach me what things I can actually change for the better by praying or declaring or by taking action. As I step out to play a part in bringing Heaven to earth, thank You for encouraging me through testimonies and answered prayers. These continue to strengthen my faith and cause me to keep taking risks.

To the Teachers in Our Schools My Dear Brethren and Sisters: The Lord will work in behalf of all who will walk humbly with Him. He has placed you in a position of trust. Walk carefully before Him. God’s hand is on the wheel. He will guide the ship past the rocks into the haven. He will take the weak things of this world to confound the things that are mighty. I pray that you will make God your Counselor. You are not amenable to any man, but are under God’s direction. Keep close to Him. Do not take worldly ideas as your criterion. Let there be no departure from the Lord’s methods of working. Use not common fire, but the sacred fire of the Lord’s kindling. Be of good courage in your work. For many years I have kept before our people the need, in the education of the youth, of an equal taxation of the physical and mental powers. But for those who have never proved the value of the instruction given to combine manual training with the study of books, it is hard to understand and carry out the directions given. Do your best to impart to your students the blessings God has given you. With a deep, earnest desire to help them, carry them over the ground of knowledge. Come close to them. Unless teachers have the love and gentleness of Christ abounding in their hearts, they will manifest too much of the spirit of a harsh, domineering master. The Lord wishes you to learn how to use the gospel net. That you may be successful in your work, the meshes of your net must be close. The application of the Scriptures must be such that the meaning shall be easily discerned. Then make the most of drawing in [268] the net. Come right to the point. However great a man’s knowledge, it is of no avail unless he is able to communicate it to others. Let the pathos of your voice, its deep feeling, make an impression on hearts. Urge your students to surrender themselves to God. “Keep yourselves in the love of God, looking for the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ unto eternal life. And of some have compassion, making a difference: and others save with fear, pulling them out of the fire; hating even the garment spotted by the flesh.” Jude 1:21-23. As you follow Christ’s example you will have the precious reward of seeing your students won to Him.

Here are to be seen all the varied colors which Bierstadt and Church endeavor to represent in their mountain scenery. A journey across and around them on foot and upon horseback will well repay the tourist or artist. The air is pure and fragrant, and as exhorting as the purist wine; the climate entrancingly mild; the sky clear, and blue as the most beautiful sapphire, with here and there clouds of rarest loveliness, presenting to the eye the richest commingling of bright and varied colors; delightful odors are constantly being wafted by; while forests, filled with the mockingbird, the colibri, the hummingbird, and the thrush, constantly put forth a joyful chorus, and all combine to fill the soul with visions of delight and enhance the perfection and glory of the creation. Strong indeed must be the unbelief which can here contemplate nature in all her purity and glory, and unawed by the sublimity of this closely-connected testimony, question either the Divine origin or purpose of the beautiful firmament.

Good day everybody, am marina i have a testimony to talk about.. i happened to meet a certain spell caster who was introduced to me by my friend who was suffering from cancer for 2yrs.. she told me how are cancer was cured by a certain spiritualist named agbalagba, i needed to meet himn because i was having problems with my marriage and my business.. my husband was an alchoholic drunk and it gave me sleepless night as wife and a mother.. i contacted gbalagba and he promised to restore everything in my life back again, today am really happy and over joyed because he kept his promise.. i promised to tell the world of his greatness, contact him through this email.. agbalagbatemple@yahoo.com

Kilimanjaro offered a diverse and riveting selection of ways to die: malaria, typhoid fever, yellow fever, hepatitis, meningitis, polio, tetanus, and cholera. Those, of course, could be vaccinated against. There was no injection to protect you from the fog, which could roll in fast and as dense as clouds. According to one hiker’s online testimonial, “At lunch . . . the fog was so thick, I did not know what I was eating until it was in my mouth. Even then, it was a guess.” With zero visibility, people wandered off the trail and died of exposure. Even on a clear day, one could step on a loose rock and slide to an exhilarating demise. Or sometimes the mountain just came to you. In June 2006, three American climbers had been killed by a rockslide traveling 125 miles per second. Some of the boulders had been the size of cars, and scientists suspected the ice that held them in place had melted due to global warming. On the other end, hypothermia was also a concern. Temperatures could drop below zero at night. Then there was this heartening tidbit I came across in my research: “At 20,000 feet, Mount Kilimanjaro is Africa’s highest peak and also the world’s tallest volcano. And although classified as dormant, Kilimanjaro has begun to stir, and evidence suggests that a massive landslide could rip open the side of the mountain causing a cataclysmic flow of hot gases and rock, similar to Mount St. Helens.” A volcano?! They’re still making volcanoes? But the biggest threat on Kilimanjaro was altitude sickness. It happened when you ascended too quickly. Symptoms could be as mild as nausea, shortness of breath, and a headache. At its worst it resulted in pulmonary edema, where your lungs filled up with fluid (essentially, drowning on land), or cerebral edema, where your brain swelled. Eighty percent of Kilimanjaro hikers got altitude sickness. Ten percent of those cases became life threatening or caused brain damage. Ten percent of 80 percent? I didn’t like those odds. Maybe this trip was too dangerous. My

February 20 Abba, Father Because those who are led by the Spirit of God are sons of God. For you did not receive a spirit that makes you a slave again to fear, but you received the Spirit of sonship. And by him we cry, “Abba, Father.”—Romans 8:14-15 I stood glued to my spot in front of the nursery window. My son-in-law bathed my firstborn granddaughter, Rachel, as I watched. Three hours later I relinquished my spot to another new grandparent. What miracles children are! They are screaming testimonies of God’s creation. My granddaughter, Rachel, is now a teenager. She is still beautiful. However, she eats meat, walks, talks and understands so much more than she did that first morning. When we acknowledge that we are sinners, repent and give our lives to Christ, we are babies in Christ. We drink milk. We grow as we learn more about Christ through Bible study, prayer and church attendance. If we avail ourselves of opportunities, we give up the bottle and become mature Christians. However, that doesn’t always happen. This problem is addressed in Hebrews 5:11–14.the writer is admonishing Jewish Christians to grow up. He tells them that milk is for beginners. Solid food is for the mature. He tells them that instead of expecting to be fed, they should be teachers themselves. I have heard several Christians give the same testimony time and time again. I want to ask, “What is the Lord doing for you right now? Did your salvation experience put your Christian testimony on pause?” Ask yourself some questions. What is Christ doing in my life right now? Am I closer to Him today than I was a year ago? How am I growing in Christ? What new service has He called me into? Is anything exciting happening in my prayer life? Am I growing more in love with Jesus and digging into His Word? Dear Father, help us get out of diapers and off the bottle in our Christian maturity.

Enter into His gates with thanksgiving, and into His courts with praise. Be thankful to Him, and bless His name. For the Lord is good; His mercy is everlasting, and His truth endures to all generations. Psalm 100:4-5 NKJV And whatever you do, in word or in deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through Him. Colossians 3:17 HCSB I will thank you, Lord, with all my heart; I will tell of all the marvelous things you have done. I will be filled with joy because of you. I will sing praises to your name, O Most High. Psalm 9:1-2 NLT And those who have reason to be thankful should continually sing praises to the Lord. James 5:13 NLT SHADES OF GRACE Grace and gratitude belong together like heaven and earth. Grace evokes gratitude like the voice of an echo. Gratitude follows grace as thunder follows lightning. Karl Barth A PRAYER FOR TODAY Heavenly Father, Your gifts are greater than I can imagine. May I live each day with thanksgiving in my heart and praise on my lips. Thank You for the gift of Your Son and for the promise of eternal life. Let me share the joyous news of Jesus Christ, and let my life be a testimony to His love and His grace. Amen

I HAVE ASKED FOR HELP FROM ALMOST ALL THE SO CALLED PEOPLE PARADING THEMSELVES TO BE SPELL CASTERS, AT THE END I WAS RIPPED OFF OF MY HARD EARNED MONEY WITHOUT ANY RESULT. TO THE EXTENT THAT I SAW SOME OF THEM REWRITING WHAT I WROTE ON ONLINE TO THANK AKPE OSILAMA.MOST OF THESE PEOPLE TELLING YOU FAKE TESTIMONIES AND FOR YOU TO BEWARE AND BE-WISE TO AVOID BEEN RIPPED OFF, YOU HAVE TO MAKE THE RIGHT CHOICE AT ONCE TO CONTACT THE ONLY REAL AND APPROVED SPELL CASTER IN THE WORLD CALLED AKPE OSILAMA. AS HE IS THE ONLY MAN YOU CAN ACTUALLY TRUST ON SPELLS I WOULD HAVE BROUGHT HIM RIGHT HERE IN THE STATES IF POSSIBLE. HE DID A WHOLE LOT OF THINGS WHICH I WON’T REALLY MENTION HERE BUT THE MOST OF WHAT HE DID FOR ME WAS HELP ME CURED OF MY CANCER,HELPED ME RESTORE BACK MY JOB AND MY LOST MARRIAGE.OH HE IS GREAT AND I MET HIM IN REAL TIMES IN HIS TEMPLE THAT WAS DIRECTED TO ME BY A CHINESE FRIEND OF MINE THAT FOLLOWED ME FOR A CONFERENCE MEETING IN AFRICA. I’M STILL VERY MUCH INDEBTED TO AKPE OSILAMA FOR SAVING MY LIFE AND MY MARRIAGE. I WANT TO LET YOU ALL KNOW THAT YOU DON’T HAVE TO TRY ANYBODY ELSE EXCEPT THIS GREAT SPELL CASTER CALLED AKPE OSILAMA.HIS EMAIL CONTACT IS: CHIEFPRIESTAKPEOSILAMASPELLCAST@YAHOO.COM TO GET ANY DIFFICULTY YOU MIGHT FACING IN LIFE SOLVED.

It’s easier to construct a more palatable life story—where I can draw straight lines from each hurt of the past to the healing I later experienced—than to face the raw truth. I prefer to neatly match each hard part of my testimony with the soft place I landed in the middle of God’s grace, forgiveness, and restoration as proof I am walking in freedom.

As you’ve heard in Ms. Ward’s testimony, she is declining guardianship of these children. As per the stipulations in your sister’s will, you are to be offered the legal guardianship of the Ward children. Mr. Walker, do you accept the role of guardian for these children and all the responsibilities that accompany that role?” “No, Your Honor, I don’t.” Meridith’s eyes darted to Jake. He was staring straight at her. She’d misheard. The judge cleared his throat. “Mr. Walker, perhaps you misunderstood the question. Do you wish to be guardian of the children?” “No, Your Honor, I don’t,” Jake said clearly. She didn’t understand. What was he doing? The children— “Mr. Walker—” “Not unless . . .” Jake lowered his voice. “Not unless Meridith Ward agrees to stay.” His gaze beat a path to her heart. “In fact, not unless Ms. Ward agrees to marry me. Only then will I agree to share guardianship of the kids.” What? Meridith’s mind couldn’t assimilate the facts. But the love shining from Jake’s eyes said more than his words. Her eyes burned. “As it turns out,” Jake continued slowly, staring right into Meridith’s eyes, “I’m wildly, madly, and passionately in love with Ms. Ward, and I want us to be a real family.” “Me too!” Benny said loudly. “Me three,” Max called. “Ditto.” Noelle. Even Noelle. Had they known? She turned and looked at the children. Noelle’s eyes were teary. Benny and Max stared back, hope and worry lining their faces. She turned back to Jake, got caught in his eyes. He blurred in front of her. Her lip trembled, and she bit it still. The judge cleared his throat. “I see. This is most unusual. Well, I think a recess might be in order. Would you like to take a moment, Ms. Ward?” He loved her. Jake loved her and wanted to— Could she find the courage to love, to walk in uncertainty? To risk being hurt? She knew her foundation was stable. Everything else she had to take one day at a time, right? “Ms. Ward?” “Uh . . . yes. A recess, please.” The judge and bailiff exited, and Jake stood. She watched all six feet of him close the gap between them. Somewhere behind her, the children were as quiet as fireflies. Meridith stood, her legs trembling beneath her. And then Jake was there, standing in front of her, his solemn brown eyes shining. “I’m so sorry, Meri. I was a jerk. I’m sorry I hurt you, sorry for everything.” He took her chin in his hand. “And I do love you,” he whispered. “I want you to be my wife. Not for the kids, but because I want you with me every day for the rest of my life.” It was enough. More than enough. She swallowed hard. “I want that too. So much.” Jake

this one is a matter of personal testimony; I could put together a whole volume of tales I’ve been told along the lines of “I used to be an atheist, and I was [strung out on drugs] [cruel to my family] [divorcing my wife] [etc.], but then I found Jesus and became a new man of high character and deep happiness, therefore Jesus was real.” The entire churchgoing people of America must once have been raving angry atheist hedonists in broken relationships—which suggests that at an earlier time in our civic life, the parties were much more fun and the libertines far more common. Unfortunately, I’ve never been able to identify this magical period in recent history, even though I’ve lived through a few generations now. Yet all the Christians today seem to be citing this mythical past of ubiquitous godlessness. I really regret that I missed it all. Having