I’m reading “Florence Nightingale: A Biography” by Annie Matheson free online by way of “The Project Gutenberg.” In chapter 8 is the call to Florence Nightingale to run the hospital during the war. 

“Dear Miss Nightingale, —You will have seen in the papers that there is a great deficiency of nurses at the hospital of Scutari. The other alleged deficiencies, namely, of medical men, lint, sheets, etc., must, if they ever existed, have been remedied ere this, as the number of medical officers with the army amounted to one to every ninety-five men in the whole force, being nearly double what we have ever had before; the deficiency of female nurses is undoubted; none but male nurses have ever been admitted to military hospitals. It would be impossible to carry about a large staff of female nurses with an army in the field. But at Scutari, having now a fixed hospital, no military reason exists against the introduction; and I am confident they might be introduced with great benefit, for hospital orderlies must be very rough hands, and most of them, on such an occasion as this, very inexperienced ones.

I receive numbers of offers from ladies to go out, but they are ladies who have no conception of what a hospital is, nor of the nature of its duties; and they would, when the time came, either recoil from the work or be entirely useless, and consequently, what is worse, entirely in the way; nor would these ladies probably even understand the necessity, especially in a military hospital, of strict obedience to rule, etc....

There is but one person in England that I know of who would be capable of organizing and superintending such a scheme, and I have been several times on the point of asking you hypothetically if, supposing the attempt were made, you would undertake to direct it. The selection of the rank and file of nurses would be difficult—no one knows that better than yourself. The difficulty of finding women equal to the task, after all, full of horror, and requiring, besides knowledge and goodwill, great knowledge and great courage, will be great; the task of ruling them and introducing system among them great; and not the least will be the difficulty of making the whole work smoothly with the medical and military authorities out there.

“This is what makes it so important that the experiment should be carried out by one with administrative capacity and experience. 

A number of sentimental, enthusiastic ladies turned loose in the hospital at Scutari would probably after a few days be mises à la porte (Ushered out) by those whose business they would interrupt, and whose authority they would dispute.

“My question simply is—would you listen to the request to go out and supervise the whole thing? 

You are the only person who can judge for yourself which of conflicting or incompatible duties is the first or the highest; but I think I must not conceal from you that upon your decision will depend the ultimate success or failure of the plan.... Will you let me have a line at the War Office, to let me know?”

Of course, history records she said yes. 

In choosing the nurses to go with her she once wrote to Sir Bartle Frere of “that careless and ignorant person called the Devil,” and she did not want any of his careless and ignorant disciples to go out with her among her chosen band. 

Nor did she want any incompetent sentimentalists of the kind brought before us in that delightful story of our own South African War, of the soldier who gave thanks for the offer to wash his face, but confessed that fourteen other ladies had already offered the same service.

 

Indeed, the rather garish merriment of that little tale seems almost out of place when we recall the rotting filth and unspeakable stench of blood and misery in which the men wounded in the Crimea were lying wrapped from head to foot. 

No antiseptic surgery, no decent sanitation, no means of ordinary cleanliness, were as yet found for our poor soldiers, and Kinglake assures us that all the efforts of masculine organization, seeking to serve the crowded hospitals with something called a laundry, had only succeeded in washing seven shirts for the entire army!

Miss Nightingale knew a little of the vastness of her undertaking, but she is described by Lady Canning at this critical time as “gentle and wise and quiet”—“in no bustle or hurry.” Yet within a single week from the date of Mr. Herbert’s letter asking her to go out, all her arrangements were made and her nurses chosen—nay more, the expedition had actually started.

The following passage reminds us that the deepest joys of life are not destinations but invitations.

Whether our hearts are drawn by beauty, truth, love, or God Himself,

we are meant to keep moving beyond every earthly satisfaction toward something greater.

The true pilgrim is not the one who has arrived,

but the one who continues seeking with humility, hope, and reverence for the different paths of others.

FELLOW PILGRIMS

"Everything depends on whether our love—

whether for nature, art, spiritual things, God, humanity, or the fellowship of others—

leads us toward something higher and still unfulfilled, or whether it becomes satisfied.

If our desire is fully satisfied, we fail.

But if it remains forever reaching beyond itself,

we are on the right path, though none can say where it leads—

through wilderness or paradise, across stormy seas or unseen realms of air.

If the artist rests in beauty itself, or the mystic lingers in spiritual ecstasy, they have left the pilgrim's road and must begin the journey again through weariness and tears.

But if they continue earnestly, not knowing the end,

never mistaking the delight of the moment for the greater joy that shines beyond the furthest horizon,

then they belong to that happy company who have embraced the true quest.

Such faith produces patience, gentleness, and deep affection for fellow travelers—

especially for those whose eyes reveal a longing to see beyond the shadows of earthly things.

Above all, we must refrain from judging others,

questioning their motives,

or despising their aims.

Each person has a path prepared for them.

Nor should we force upon others the convictions that seem most beautiful to us.

We should speak our truths faithfully,

for they may help another along the way.

But our chief method must be perfect sincerity,

resisting any attempt to overpower or divert honest souls from the path they have chosen." Arthur C. Benson.

 

Do I need to go to church?

Much of Christian fellowship is built not on dramatic acts of self-denial, but on hundreds of small, almost invisible sacrifices that teach us to love one another.

When we engage with others in church, here are some of the sacrifices we make.

• Listening when we would rather be doing something else. 

• Staying after a service to talk with someone who needs encouragement. 

• Attending meetings, Bible studies, or events that require effort. 

• Helping someone move, visit the sick, or provide a meal. 

• Changing plans to meet another person's needs. 

• Giving rides. 

• Waiting for slower people. 

• Accommodating schedules that differ from our own. 

• Listening to long-winded stories. 

• Enduring repeated complaints. 

 

• Bearing with personalities that irritate us. 

• Introducing ourselves to strangers. 

• Sitting beside someone who makes us uneasy. 

• Entering difficult conversations. 

• Serving in areas where we feel inadequate. 

• Admitting we were wrong. 

• Accepting correction. 

• Letting others receive recognition. 

• Asking forgiveness. 

• Remaining silent when we want to defend ourselves. 

• Singing songs we would not choose. 

• Accepting different styles, traditions, and personalities. 

• Yielding our opinions for the sake of unity. 

• Allowing others to have their way in nonessential matters. 

• Carrying another person's burdens. 

• Rejoicing with those who rejoice when we are struggling. 

• Weeping with those who weep when we feel tired.

 

• Continuing to care when caring is costly. 

• Giving financially. 

• Sharing possessions. 

• Opening our homes. 

• Supporting those in need.

 

• Being accountable to others. 

• Receiving advice. 

• Allowing others to speak into our lives. 

• Working as part of a body instead of acting alone.

 

Perhaps this is one of the greatest hidden sacrifices. 

Love continually interrupts us.

 Nearly every meaningful relationship requires a continual dying to self. Most of these sacrifices are small enough that they scarcely feel heroic, yet they are often the very things through which Christ is formed in us.

As one writer observed, the great test of Christian love is not whether we would die for our brethren, but whether we can patiently live with them. 

The person who talks too long, arrives late, asks for help at an inconvenient moment, or sees things differently from us becomes an opportunity to practice the kind of love that 

"does not seek its own."

These little sacrifices are the hidden currency of every healthy church, family, and friendship. They are often unnoticed by men, but never by God. "Through love serve one another" (Galatians 5:13). The service is usually found in the small things. 

"Eros once lit the stars—

a holy ache in the fabric of things,

pulling cosmos from chaos,

and Adam toward Eve.

She moved through gardens

with oil on her hair

and honey on her lips.

She called in the night,

not with noise,

but with longing.

A whisper,

a calling.

Come.

She was there

when Adam first turned toward Eve—

not to name,

not to tame,

but to behold.

Flesh of my flesh.

Bone of my bone.

The first liturgy of wonder

spoken in the language of touch.

But now—

we live in the age of forgetting.

The world has been mapped,

measured,

monetized.

Desire is tagged and tracked.

Every ache is answered

with an advert.

We no longer seek—we scroll.

We no longer ache—we click.

We no longer rise at midnight

to search the city for the One—

we settle

for mirrors and phantoms.

Even love

has lost its scent.

No longer spiced with mystery,

or slow as song,

but made instant,

hollow,

and safe.

Eros—

once the fire that drew Moses to the bush,

once the cry of the psalmist

panting for streams of living water—

has been reduced to appetite

and buried beneath shame.

But eros is older than shame.

She is the breath of transcendence—

a trembling of the soul

toward beauty,

toward communion,

toward God.

She is the pull

between lovers who have waited,

who have vowed,

who have weathered storms

and still reach for one another

with reverence.

But she is also there—

in the clasped hands of friends

who share soul-deep laughter

and carry one another’s pain.

In the artist’s ache to name the unnameable.

In the silence shared by pilgrims

beneath a darkened sky.

In the fierce joy of solidarity,

and the holy solitude

where longing turns to prayer.

She is tenderness that knows

both wound and healing,

both ache and joy,

both fire and fidelity.

In covenant,

she becomes holy flame—

not transaction,

not performance,

but presence.

Body and soul,

offered and received

in trust,

in truth,

in time.

And beyond the veil of flesh—

she becomes sacrament.

A glimpse of divine desire,

a shadow of the feast to come,

a whisper of the Bridegroom’s voice

in every act of love

that honors the other as mystery.

But the dragon still whispers

from within the pixel and the algorithm.

He sings songs of disembodiment.

He names our ache “weakness”

and sells it back as illusion.

He tells us to grasp,

to gorge,

to objectify.

He disenchants.

He digitizes.

He devours.

And so the chaos deepens.

Bodies become currency.

Desire becomes commerce.

Love becomes contract.

And Eve is left

scrolling through shadows,

longing to be seen again.

But I remember Eden—

not as a myth,

but as memory.

A place of first touch,

first gaze,

first ache—

where eros and agape

walked hand in hand

through a garden not yet guarded

by shame.

And I remember the Song,

hidden deep in the Scriptures,

where God is not only Shepherd

or King

but Lover.

Where the voice of the Beloved

calls not from the temple,

but from the thicket,

where desire meets delight.

Christian faith

was never meant

to be managed.

It was meant to burn.

To ache.

To kiss the feet of the Beloved

with tears and oil.

To say with trembling lips:

I found the one my soul loves.

So let eros wake in me again—

not to consume,

but to commune.

Not to possess,

but to praise.

Not to flatten,

but to follow.

Let her fire lead me

through the silence,

through the wilderness,

through covenantal tenderness

and mystical prayer,

through friendship and faithfulness,

through longing that never needs to be named,

to the place where the veil is torn

and the Lover still speaks

in the language of longing.

Arise,

she says.

Come away.

And I—

soul stirred,

flesh sanctified,

spirit singing—

go.

- Rev’d Jon Swales,  as part of a collection called ‘Desire’

 

Thus far, our complaints about the hardships of life reveal a wrong attitude toward God. The disappointment from which they spring is itself the result of blessings received; for if we had never been blessed, we could never become discontented. Instead of looking back with affection and gratitude, we allow murmuring to intrude; and our quarrel with the present becomes a substitute for thankfulness for the past.

When familiarity with God's mercies tempts us to forget that they are gifts, and leads us to claim them as if they were our right; when we begin to count as blessings only the unusual and unexpected favors of life; when we measure God's goodness only by the overflowings of the cup, and grow angry whenever happiness does not rise to the brim—it is time for our indulged hearts to learn, through sorrow, a gentler spirit. The decay of too much comfort is eating away the very religion of our souls.

We are treating this life as though it were the eternal palace of a god, rather than the brief lodging of a pilgrim. And there would be mercy even in the blow that laid it in ruins and sent us, unsheltered, into the storm, there to seek our rest in a humbler and more dependent spirit.

Martineau

 This quote was hard for me to understand.

But I think it's important to understand, so I read and re-read it, ran it through A.I. and finally understood it.

In short, the passage demands radical authenticity in religion:

total gift of self rather than a calculated bargain.

It's a critique of comfortable, consumerist, or utilitarian spirituality.

"Ye have not chosen me, but I have chosen you" (John 15:16)—flips the script: authentic faith begins with God's initiative and our unconditional response, not our shopping for benefits.

Here's the full quote -

“The same insult dealt to religion when it is reduced to a tool of social order is repeated when it is prescribed as the only means of finding any semblance of comfort in circumstances otherwise desperate.

Everyone has heard the advice:

stockpile faith now as a prudent reserve of happiness,

to sustain you through the long, dark winter of suffering.

Nothing is truer to life than the fact that faith can bring solace in hardship. Yet nothing is more false than the counsel built solely upon it.

True victory over evil belongs only to the devout heart that can bleed beneath its thorny fate and still draw it closer in love—

like pressing the piercing crucifix of self-mortification upon the breast.

Only a pure trust, which defies nothing God sends

but bows in self-renunciation before His sweeping whirlwinds, meets terrible necessity with the least inner resistance and deepest peace.

But to seek the comforts of faith out of mere selfish desire is no religion at all—it is its complete absence.

It is the calculated fencing-off of the self against pain,

a hired service that betrays Heaven at its core.

God grants no success to these insurance schemes upon His grace.

Only those who surrender themselves to Him without bargaining or condition ever find their happiness returned.

All attempts to bend the Divine to our personal ends are vain.

They summon only the solemn rebuke:

“You have not chosen Me, but I have chosen you.”

This quote struck me so because I primarily minister to those in crisis, and in desperate circumstances.

When I read -

"Nothing is truer to life than the fact that faith can bring solace in hardship. Yet nothing is more false than the counsel built solely upon it."

I had to pause because solace in hardship is a big part of my counsel,

and it's a rich vein of Gold all through the scriptures,

but if my counsel is built solely upon that, and not the total gift of self, it's a "calculated bargain" that may be a beginning place, but as the author says

"True victory over evil belongs only to the devout heart that can bleed beneath its thorny fate and still draw it closer in love—"

 "Who would dare reveal the delicate, glowing colors of their soul to a scornful eye that offers no warmth of love—

where nothing beautiful can ever truly shine?

Who would lay their weary head upon a bosom

as cold and hard as marble?

Who would confess their highest, most spiritual dreams to someone who stands forever ready with a cheap, degrading explanation for every noble thing?

To a person who sees the devout as nothing but hypocritical traders,

the patriot as a mere schemer after power,

and the martyr as an ambitious seeker of applause?

All that is beautiful instinctively shrinks from one who delights in instantly soiling everything pure with dust.

How wretched are those who have lost the ability to admire!

They have said farewell to the deep comfort of reverence.

They can pick up the sacred pages left by departed genius without any awe.

They can read of humanity’s struggles for liberty with no spark of enthusiasm,

and watch the good walk their path of mercy

without their hearts swelling in mighty joy.

No sorrow deserves greater pity than the hopeless emptiness of a scornful heart."

This passage uses rhetorical questions and vivid imagery to evoke emotional repulsion toward the cynical personality.

It is a defense of idealism, reverence, and emotional openness against reductive skepticism.

To bring out the deep emotional needs, questions and struggles in others, one cannot be a cynic.

One cannot be emotionally barren and expect others will open up to you, in ministry, with those we love as well as our children.

 

"One such child..."

Every "blood-bought, born-again" child of God desires to bring honor to Christ by serving Him with the gifts and callings they are graced with. Some are graced with many, some with few, but however many or few, those gifts call out from within the spirit to be active, and when quenched it grieves the Holy Spirit.

I'm reminded when the disciples were arguing among themselves about who was the greatest in Mark 9:34. Jesus overheard them and later asked them what they were talking about. They kept silent....

 So Jesus sat down, and called the twelve and said to them, 

“If anyone wants to be first, he shall be last of all and servant of all.”   

And He took a child and placed him among them, and taking him in His arms, He said to them, 

“Whoever welcomes 'one such child' like this in My name welcomes Me; and whoever welcomes Me does not receive Me, but Him who sent Me.”

 The Bible repeatedly and emphatically commands care for orphans, the fatherless, and vulnerable children— more than a hundred times! It is presented as a non-negotiable part of justice, pure religion, and reflecting God’s character. Neglecting them is equated with oppression and invites judgment, while caring for them brings blessing. This theme underscores humility and service, aligning with teachings like this one in Mark 9 (welcoming the child as welcoming Christ). 

In no way do I mean to diminish any act of kindness or charitable deed, gift or calling; whether it's sharing the gospel, caring for the widow, the downcast, the poor, educating the ignorant, medical aid to the afflicted, supporting those recovering from substance abuse or adverse childhood circumstances: or any of the acts of love described within the scriptures. But today, this morning, Jesus emphasized "One such child."

  

 

 I hesitated to post this because some churches tend to minimize the workings of the Holy Spirit, while other churches seem to overemphasize certain expressions of His work. My desire is not to lean toward either extreme, but simply to honor the Spirit as He is revealed in Scripture and experienced in a Christ-centered life.That being said, hopefully those that feel a call of God on their life may find this inspiring, that's my hope and purpose. 

"I'm sitting here in the afterglow of this morning's service at Union Gospel Mission. As unlikely as it may seem, Jesus called me to preach to the last, the least, and the lost.

The first step came back in the late seventies when we decided to become foster parents through the state. It was life-changing and birthed within me a hunger to experience more of what it means to have Jesus love others through me.

This intoxicating, compelling love defies explanation. Yet it overwhelms the soul and remains the clearest spiritual reality I have ever experienced. It compels me to seek out those who need Christ and help them cross over from darkness into His marvelous light. It has nothing to do with duty. It rises far above duty. It is like ascending the "mountain of spices"—that place of beauty, intimacy, fragrance, and sweet companionship between God and His people. It is the overflowing life Jesus spoke of in Luke 6:38: "Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap."

There are spiritual ecstasies of the heart that words cannot adequately define or express. One hesitates to speak of them because they are holy, private, and better felt than told. Yet there are times when heavenly raptures and gracious visitations come with such sweetness that they feel like a foretaste of paradise itself. They fill the soul with such joy that it becomes impossible to keep silent. The heart must let its praise ring out. Jesus loves us, and loves through us!" 

  

After the service at the jail, a young man of 35—let's call him Brad—approached me, eager to talk. He told me that just before he was transferred there, he had spoken with a fellow who had recently given his life to Christ.

The man was rough-cut and not an eloquent speaker, but the light in his eyes and the glow about him as he testified of how Jesus had saved him and filled him with such joy simply couldn't be denied.

Brad told me of a time, years ago, when he felt a touch of God that struck him to the core. But in the bustle of life, he didn't pursue it, and it faded into a distant memory. Hearing this man's testimony, however, rekindled a hunger and a fire within him to experience that reality again.

We talked at length, and I shared John 3:3 with him about the new birth and the joy of the Holy Spirit. He was eager to learn, and I have rarely seen a hungrier heart.

As I drove home, I couldn't help but think about the power of simply sharing one's testimony. In the space of a brief conversation with a stranger, Brad came face to face with "the ardent ecstasies and vital impulses" of the Holy Spirit.

 If you're a parent, scenes like this are commonplace; 

Jubilation in simple things,

Laughing freedom

Sunlit innocence

 Joyous abandon where imagination turns backyards into kingdoms and where childhood games played at the living room table turn simple pleasures into treasures; and so it should be for every child. 

Sadly, for this child they are absent...

But for the love of Christ that lives in my son and daughter in law, this little girl is welcomed in and cared for like one of their own. 

My heart bursts with pride, and I feel all the joy that all of heaven feels seeing my son and his wife offer this little doe, this little dove a place of refuge, safety and love, if only for a brief respite. 

This world has many orphans and children living without the stability and security every child should have. When we step in and offer the needs of a child's soul, for an hour, a day, month or season, we fulfill Christ's greatest commands, and is so doing, we gain His greatest blessings. 

"Give freely, and you’ll have plenty poured back into your lap—a good measure, pressed down, shaken together, brimming over. You’ll receive in the same measure you give." Luke 6:38

  

 

 

"It is a solemn thing to be married; to have to preach to a congregation from your own loins; to have God put the hand of ordination on you in the birth of your children, and say to you, “ Now art thou a priest unto those whom I have given thee.”

If ever the stream of life should flow like crystal water over shining stones, it should be the stream of daily life in the family. If God has taught us all truth in teaching us to love, then he has given us an interpretation of our whole duty in our own households. We thank him that we are not born as the partridge of the wood, or the ostrich of the desert, to be scattered every whither; but that we are grouped together and brooded by love, and reared day by day in that first of churches, the family." Henry W. Beecher. 

"I love the Church and honor what it has given the world — the comfort and strength it brought to countless struggling souls. But I have to ask: if a modern believer were transported back to the early Church, would their faith grow or shrink?

Today we see God as the Father of all humanity. Back then, His favor seemed reserved for church members only. Today we feel hope for all people. Back then, that hope stopped at the institution's walls.

Today we find God's glory in nature, in history, in the whole sweep of human experience. The old Church didn't deny this exactly — but it kept pushing you toward God in special places, special moments, and one narrow thread of sacred history.

In short, modern faith has gained a certain freedom and largeness. Carried back into the old Church, it would feel bound and artificial."

 As I was walking downtown Portland, in the darkest district, I couldn't help noticing a woman as busy as one could possibly be, sweeping the street vigorously with a single stick. There was no apparent debris, nothing I could see that she was accomplishing. I've become accustomed to seeing behaviors by souls held captive in  addiction doing the most bizarre, and sometimes alarming, things. But this woman wasn't disturbing anyone, and she carried out her activity with such detail, I left wondering what in the world she was doing?

As I looked back, I noticed a pile of sticks about 3 feet long, 1 foot high and 1 foot wide, stacked with such precision even an architect would be impressed! The row of sticks was stacked with such care it had a beauty about it, almost like a weaving? It was done so intricaly, I wished I had my phone to take a picture of the artful stack.  

As I sat here this morning thinking, 'What did she hope to  accomplish?'  I have no doubt she was homeless, had no job, and has probably lost everything. But here she was, busy as one can be, sweeping and stacking sticks. I had to wonder, was she adding some small degree of order into a life of chaos? Some little effort to add  beauty among such bleak darkness? 

It was a futile effort, but it showed a spirit that had not completely given up. And for that, I admired her, and felt a whelming flood of compassion for this unknown industrialist.    

The following are thoughts I gleaned from G. Wilson Knight’s book titled – “Shakespeare and Religion.” 

“We must not forget that Jesus calls us not only to a mystic tranquility, but also to an impassioned adventure; involving action, risk, engagement with the world, and emotional intensity.

Until then, we talk of matters we do not understand: Without this balanced call (tranquility plus adventure), our religion becomes empty talk, intellectualizing, or formal ritual.

We worship ideas about God rather than encountering the living reality.

Therefore, the love to which He calls us to, Christian love (agape) doesn't suppress or deny human desires and instincts. It fulfills and directs the best in us — our deepest longings for connection, creativity, purpose, and joy.

Jesus' call integrates contemplation with action, divine love with human passion, and spirituality with real-world fulfillment. 

It rejects a faith that feels repressive, abstract, or escapist. Instead, God's love aligns with — and perfects — our truest selves and society's best potential. 

It's optimistic, seeing the Gospel as the completion of human nature rather than its contradiction.”

 

 Last night there were eight women at the jail Bible study. As always a tapestry of ages and colors and ethnicities. I can hardly describe how privileged we are as Christians to posses a book that speaks truth into every age, every sorrow, every soul, and every society.

We began in Isaiah 58:6, where the Lord unfolds both His heart and His command for all who would join their hearts to His and live beneath the gentle authority of His kingdom rule.  

"Is this not the fast (religious life) that I choose:

To release the chains of wickedness, to lighten the load of those heavily burdened, to free the oppressed and shatter every type of oppression." 

The Lord Himself chose to begin with that verse, and there we stopped to ponder and talk about what that meant to each person. There were many answers and you could almost see each mind quietly searching its own wounds, memories, and hopes to understand how these words touched their lives. 

One woman brought up addiction, another of domestic violence: we discussed racism, the crushing tyranny of political dictators, the grievous evil of child trafficking and the silent oppression of child abuse and the horrors of sexual assault.  

And as we talked, it seemed to settle over us that if this spirit — this mercy-filled attitude of heart — truly grew within humanity, whole nations could begin to heal. The world itself would breathe easier beneath the far-reaching kindness of God’s loving mercy.  

 

 

Here is a word of advice for girls written by Frances Willard, considered the most influential woman of the 19th century and was commemorated on a U.S. postage stamp.  I think her advice is  equally good for boys. 

“My dear girls, dreaming is the poorest of all grindstones on which to sharpen one’s wits. To my mind, the rust of woman’s intellect 

and the worm in the bud of her noblest possibilities 

has been this aimless reverie: 

this wandering of thought, this vagueness that ends in emptiness. 

Let us look inward, those of us who are not fully engaged in work of brain or hand. 

What do we find? 

A mild chaos; 

a glimmering nebula of fancies; 

an insipid brain-soup 

where a few lumps of thought drift in a watery gravy of dreams. 

And since nothing comes from nothing, what wonder if no brilliance of achievement seems likely to light our future? 

Few women, under the present order of things, can claim complete freedom from this grave intellectual infirmity. 

Somehow one falls so readily into a sort of mental indolence; 

one's thoughts flow onward in a pleasant, gurgling stream, 

a sort of intellectual lullaby, 

coming no-whence, going no-whither. 

Only one thing can help you if you are in this extremity, 

and that is what your brothers have — 

the snag of a fixed purpose in this stream of thought. 

Around it will soon cluster the dormant ideas, hopes, 

and possibilities that have thus far floated at random.” Frances Willard.

 

"I’ve talked about the sudden change of heart that happens when a new faith opens up inside someone. Early Christianity clearly recognized this as possible.

Philosophers are partly right when they emphasize the power of habit and how slow, difficult, and gradual moral improvement usually is. They doubt abrupt conversions can happen. But they don’t have the whole truth. 

I believe the popular view—that real change can strike suddenly—contains a deep reality. Most genuine popular beliefs about inner human experience usually do. It’s true that instant, total transformation of the mind is rare, especially today. Yet nearly all the most remarkable moral recoveries we see (and there are far too few) happen exactly this way.

Yes, the normal path—wrestling your way out of destructive passions through sheer willpower and reason—is slow and exhausting. If all change worked like that, the philosophers would be correct to call it uncommon and laborious. But real transformation often comes from a higher, more powerful source. 

It begins with a new, intense feeling—a fresh surge of reverence, shame, or love—that then pulls reason and conscience along behind it. 

The bad habits and failings aren’t carefully dug out one by one like weeds in a garden. Instead, they’re burned away in a sudden blaze of divine shame and love.

This kind of change cannot be planned or counted on. Trying to calculate or schedule it is extremely dangerous. The deepest movements of the soul pull away from our schemes and predictions. They come unannounced—or not at all. 

If you try to force or rely on them, you only drive them further away, revealing how barren your own heart has become. Self-cure is incredibly hard. What is impossible for us on our own may be entirely possible for God.

In the end, denying that such sudden changes can happen—while pretending to be wise about human nature—actually shows a profound ignorance of real people." James Martineau.

 

Chance encounters

When I go to the mission it's rare to come away without an unforeseen  blessing. I go to mentor one of the men in the drug and alcohol recovery program and while waiting for him I struck up a conversation with another man in the program, let's call him Jose. I asked him what it was that made him decide to come to the mission. He told me he was a gang-banger in L.A. and at some point he got fed up with the life and joined Salvation Armies program, stayed with it and graduated from it. After graduating he wanted to move away from his familiar stomping grounds and that's what took him to Portland. He stayed with Salvation Army in one of there programs, and was doing well until.... he met some "wild-eyed" beauty that swept him off his feet, and he left the program. She lived in a rough part of town and to make a long story short, one night while he was with her, two men started kicking down the door! She ran to the bathroom and he, dazed and confused, was just standing when the men burst in. They both drew on him with 9mm's and from six feet opened up and fired at him 15 times! When they began shooting he said it was like everything turned to slow motion, but amazingly he felt the presence of the Lord on him so strongly he felt no fear! He felt a bullet tear into his left arm but felt nothing else. After one of them ran out of ammo. and the other's gun jammed, they turned and ran out leaving him standing there with blood everywhere. His girlfriend came out of the bathroom, saw him and he called out and said, "Help me." Then he collapsed. The next thing he remembered was waking up in the hospital. 

That was enough, after he recovered, he left her and headed to the bus station to go back home. On his way, as it happened, a fella who works at the Union Gospel mission program, struck up a conversation, and he found himself joining the mission. 

The bullet that struck him hit his forearm, bounced off a bone and traveled up his arm and bypassed his heart by a millimeter, and stopped lodged in the back of his shoulder! He promptly took off his shirt and had me feel the tip of the bullet right under his skin! The surgeon's scar was nearly the length of his entire arm! 

Just then, the man I came to meet entered, let's call him Bill, he is friends with Jose, the man sharing the story, and they say they belong to the club of "Fifteen." Fifteen mercies, Bill overdosed on Fentanyl 15 times before he fled to Christ, and Jose was shot at close range 15 times, and all the bullets missed him but one, and that was in his arm. I'll tell you, the presence of the Holy Spirit was so heavy on all three of us I thought my soul was going to burst! 

 Psalm 46:1 “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.”

 

What is “The Mind of Christ?

"She felt her way through her deep thoughts, 

guided by a grief-awakened inner light, 

she saw things about humanity that transcend time and space."

This sentence is poetic language describing how Simone Weil came to a fuller wisdom.

It suggests she did not arrive at insight only through logic or academic analysis. 

She “felt her way through her deep thoughts” which means she thought with the whole person—

mind, 

conscience, 

compassion, 

and lived sensitivity. 

She explored truth carefully, through education like we all do by eyes, mind, reason and conscience, but also, almost by touch, through reflection and inward honesty by her term, "Grief awakened inner light."

“Guided by a grief-awakened inner light” means 

suffering or sorrow had awakened something in her: 

moral clarity, 

tenderness, 

seriousness, 

spiritual perception

In short, Christ likeness. 

Grief often strips away illusions. 

It can make a person less impressed by status, power, and superficial success, 

and more able to recognize pain, injustice, and what truly matters.

“Inner light” which I take to mean the “mind of Christ,” 

refers to conscience, 

insight, or our spiritual faculty 

that helps one perceive truth beyond appearances.

Finally, “she saw things about humanity that transcend time and space” 

That means her observations were not limited to one era, country, or circumstance. 

“Go into all the world.”  As Jesus said. 

She understood patterns of human nature that remain true across generations: 

power and oppression, 

suffering and dignity, 

blindness and compassion, 

ego and grace.

In simpler words: Because suffering deepened her heart and sharpened her conscience, Simone Weil was able to understand enduring truths about what human beings are really like and feel.

All through the gospels Jesus makes care for the poor, oppressed, downtrodden and suffering central to following Him, it is tied to 

eternal reward, 

judgment, 

and imitating His own mission.

 

The “least of these” in Matthew 25 is especially broad, covering 

physical poverty, 

imprisonment (oppression), 

illness, 

and social exclusion.

 Jesus lived this out by eating with outcasts, healing the marginalized, and giving His life for the downtrodden.

Jesus began winning my heart by speaking to me through a secular song.

I was married as a teen and we were both very immature and had not one tool in our box to make a marriage work. It was the late sixties and the temptations were high, the times were rebellious and the popular slogan of the time was, "God is dead."

I assure you He was not dead, and the largest revival the world ever saw was during the late sixties and early seventies where a world wide revival swept through like a might wind.

I see signs of it now, and I pray it grows midst, what in some ways,

are the darkest of times.

I'll paste the link to the song that began my salvation experience.

He used this song to open my heart and that very night I picked up a Bible and began reading about Jesus.

The Holy Spirit fell with such force I found Him irresistible,

long before I knew what the Holy Spirit was!

That experience taught me the truth of the following quote --

"In all churches individuals are better than their denomination, creed, or doctrines, and amidst gross error and indoctrination,

which is often of a very narrow spirit,

noble virtues spring up, and eminent Christians are formed.

God always looks for a seeking spirit,

and even in the midst of many errors,

His truth will penetrate the heart. "

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s4WGPxg9jPQ&list=RDs4

"Someone says, “I have a rebellious heart and an unholy life. When I look honestly at myself, I get totally discouraged. I know temptation and feeling abandoned by God are bad enough, but if my heart and my daily life were truly good, I wouldn’t feel this way. Yet I keep committing serious sins—so don’t I have every reason to be discouraged?”

No. Discouragement itself is a sin—a “gospel sin.” Your failures under the law are never a good excuse to break the gospel by losing heart. Yes, every sin is far worse than any suffering or punishment. Hardships are only the first scratch of sin’s claws. But here’s the truth that changes everything: even though the sins of God’s people dishonor the Holy Spirit, wound the name of Jesus, and damage the reputation of the gospel, believers still have zero reason to stay discouraged. Why?

Because you will never be condemned for your sin—no matter how great it is. The Bible is clear: “There is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” Christ was made sin for you. If He took your sin on Himself, that sin can never destroy you. God’s justice will not make you pay a debt twice. Jesus wasn’t just arrested for your debt—He was locked up and paid it in full, to the very last penny. He paid it better than you ever could have, even if you had gone to hell yourself. The bill is settled. The case is closed. So stop letting your sins talk you into despair. Christ has already handled them completely."

William Bridge, "A lifting up for the downcast" 1600s.

 “We all long to have our “youth renewed like an eagle’s.”

At first glance, the surest path to happiness seems simple: hold on to that carefree childhood zest, when everything felt fresh, exciting, and full of wonder. A lucky few, bursting with vitality, manage to keep that spark alive their whole lives.

I remember a friend of Robert Louis Stevenson telling me this story. Stevenson was alone in London, and about to set off on a lonely sea voyage.

He dropped in on his friend, who was also packing for a trip the next day and had to rummage through the junk-filled attic for his trunks.

Stevenson begged to come along.

There, perched on a broken chair amid the dusty clutter, he spun an entire wonderful romance out of the random stuff lying around.

That kind of eager, childlike freshness is something most of us lose as we grow older.

Instead, we’re left fighting off weariness and drudgery, trying not to become just tired commuters plodding through our endless to-do lists and burdens.

The real question is: can we find some kind of “medicine” for the soul—something that revives our fading sense of wonder, brings back the delight and untroubled zest we felt as children when everything new felt magical, and pushed back against the dullness and staleness of everyday adult life?”

Arthur C. Benson.

I love this little story and it brings so many thoughts to mind.

In Psalm 103 the Lord says -

"He satisfies your desires with good things

so that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s."

To live having our desires satisfied by "good things",

and not the evil bread of darkness, is one of God's greatest gifts to us.

 

It was "men's church" at the jail last night; about 18 guys showed, and over half were there at the last meeting, and one fella that looked vaguely familiar, and he told me he was in jail 12 years ago, and remembered me too. 

The one thing I know now, more than ever is, you can't read a person by their looks. Time and again, the meanest looking turn out to be the most gentle and the most open. 

The first fella to arrive, introduced himself as a street preacher, and I sensed the Holy Spirit in him but his mission seemed to be the unraveling of end times prophecy and he had a graph he's been working on and was itching to show it to me. I was rescued by the arriving men, and I prayed in the meeting. 

I preached on Matt. 6:22-23 "The eye is the lamp of the body." 

The presence of God hovered in and over the meeting, and every man's eye was on me: they were engaged! This is His power and His love that pours out, calling them to Himself: and I can tell you there is no place I'd rather be than in that rushing, surging tide of grace!  

Christ's words plumbed the depth of sin and His grace beamed with an almost irresistible glory. Believe me, you can feel it when the hearts relates, is convicted and is looking for mercy. 

Before I closed I made an appeal for prayer for any special needs, no one spoke up, so I began praying for every child the men have, every waiting spouse, every weeping parent and grandparent, and every lamenting sibling and loved one. This was the Holy Spirit's grandest entrance, almost like a "mighty wind." 

When I finished, one fella, that struck me as one of the most innocent, asked if I would pray for his wife, he then revealed that after he was incarcerated she fell into depression, and then, on top of all the upheaval, her beloved dog died, and ultimately she relapsed, and is now out selling herself on the streets to feed her Fentanyl habit. I was stunned. He wasn't angry, no jealousy or shame, no nothing, his only thought was for her safety, he just wanted God to protect her. 

The world of darkness can reduce us in ways we never imagined; and it's depth of evil is beyond calculation; only satisfied when we forfeit our souls. 

 

 

At times, when sorrow weighs us down or a hard duty rises before us, we still find enough light within to pray with a lifted heart. In that quiet surrender, God seems near—gathering us into a vast deliverance. The soul turns inward and sees His light; it reaches outward and feels His strength.

Then we step over fear and labor with a new resolve. Even sorrow is transfigured—its clouds glowing with a solemn beauty, like a sky lit from within. They hang above us not as threats, but as a sheltering fire, or as the high mountains of another world—terrible, yet strangely a place we could remain, even beneath the rumble of what we cannot escape.

What once loomed so large to our anxious sight shrinks into smallness before a wider vision. Troubles that felt like floods become as dew upon the grass. The world itself, with all its noise and striving, seems a quiet sphere, drifting in the depths of heaven.

Such moments come to every tested and faithful soul. They hold more true life than years spent in routine and striving. They become our inner landmarks—steady lights that remain long after, reminding us how deeply our spirit shapes what we see above us.

We romanticize the past because fear has been stripped away from it.

We spoil the present because fear still clouds it.

The tragedy is that life keeps proving we can survive the worst—

yet we cannot stop fearing the next thing.

Understanding why fear is part of our story might be the key to wisdom itself.

That's the point of the following quote by Arthur C. Benson ---

"After living a full life—seeing much, enjoying much, and enduring much—a person often looks back and feels a quiet dissatisfaction.

Their days weren’t ruined, but they were always slightly shadowed by the sense that happiness was never quite as pure as they had hope.

So they turn their thoughts to the old scenes of love and companionship.

They call up memories from the darkness, like flipping through an old photo album, and gently retouch them.

They remove the worries, the disappointments, and especially the fears—transforming the past not into what it actually was,

but into what it might have been: warmer, softer, more golden.

Thomas Carlyle nailed it when he said the reason memories of the past always look so beautiful is because the fear has been taken out of them.

It is fear of what may happen and what must eventually happen that overshadows our present happiness.

Remove fear, and we would be truly happy.

Yet here’s the strange paradox: even though we’ve survived our darkest and saddest experiences completely unscathed,

we never seem to learn not to be afraid.

If we could only understand why fear is woven so deeply into human life,

we would have solved a great part of the riddle of the world."

It's no mystery why the Bible says "Fear not" near 365 times.

“He took her by the hand and lifted her up, and immediately the fever left her; and she ministered unto them.” — Mark I: 31.

Mark had a very active mind, perhaps the most active of the four evangelists. He delights to record not words, but deeds. I do not think that any of the others, after telling of this woman’s cure, would have immediately added, “and she ministered unto them.” The sequel is not what we should expect. When an invalid rises from fever, we expect others to minister to her and help repair the ravages of disease. Matthew, after describing the healing of Jairus’s daughter, records Jesus’ command that “something should be given her to eat.” No doubt the time came when she, too, ministered to the household; but Matthew does not go on to say so. He leaves the scene at the bedside.

Is Mark, then, less sympathetic? Is it a lack of sentiment that makes him hasten to tell us how soon this woman was back at her work? No; I think it is the opposite. Mark sees that the great use of a temporary burden is the power it gives for human service. This is a side of suffering we seldom consider. We rarely think of sickness as preparation for deeper usefulness. But Mark does; to him, that is its glory. The woman raised from the bed of fever is not merely restored; she is enlarged. She is in a better state than if she had never been ill. The illness has become an enrichment. And her new spirit of service must have been to her friends as great a surprise, and as great a miracle, as her healing.