After a perfect day, driving through the mountains of Glacier National Park on “Going to the Sun Road” (See “A Day in the Park”, we drove up to Babb on the east side of the park and then in to the small town of Many Glacier. Ron and I enjoyed lunch in an Alpine lodge while we reminisced
From a state of brokenness, she heard Jesus whisper to her throughout the Advent Season.
Her son – her only son – was ill. It was a strange illness – undiagnosed, puzzling the doctors. One doctor after another. One hospital after another.
I love adventure, don’t you? Some time ago, I wrote a series of posts on my website titled “Adventure Awaits,” the theme for our big trip. How exciting it was for my husband, Ron, and me to venture 32 days across the Northwest US, 11-states, 7323 miles, hauling our cute little travel trailer – just the perfect size for the two of us.
I’ve screamed at the enemy – the devil – many times in the past and will many times again, I’m sure. But on a recent Tuesday morning, June 13, shortly after midnight, in a hospital parking lot, I raised my voice in anger and authority against the thief who was trying to kill my husband:
I pray as I walk down the narrow road, talking to the Father about those early days, years ago, when I was so zealous in my faith, so trusting, so willing. I remember the words written on the thin pages of my King James Bible, so vivid and distinct, as though they were freshly written with the very ink on the true papyrus used by St. Paul. The words seemed to magnify, embolden, and rise up, penetrating my spirit:
The Porcupine Mountains in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, are unbelievably remote. Our campsite is at the Northeast tip of this huge state park;
I drive past it nearly every day, on my way somewhere. Today, though, I pull over and park my car in the lot, now overlaid with weeds. I look at the church – an unkempt building that has been empty for many years now – and I listen. No music flows through its closed windows. No children laugh or play on the rotted teeter-totter in its side yard. No pastor preaches from its pulpit. Instead, I hear the sounds of the country – the birds, the leaves kissing the breeze, a tractor in the distance,