So he held her and he prayed. Shafts of moonlight on his face. But the baby in her womb, He was the maker of the moon. He was the author of the fate that could make the mountains move.

So he held her and he prayed. Shafts of moonlight on his face. But the baby in her womb, He was the maker of the moon. He was the author of the fate that could make the mountains move.

Well "I do" are the two most famous last words. The beginning of the end. But to lose your life for another I've heard is a good place to begin.

Love is not a feeling in your chest; it is bending down to wash another's feet.

Blood was shed that you three might breathe the good air of life, and if that means you have to miss out on a Zibzy game, then so be it. Part of being a man is putting others' needs before your own.

God gave music the power to carry his light into the darkness. That’s a mighty privilege. It means intentionally telling stories and writing songs that bear truth that outlasts the songs themselves. If I did this in hopes of thunderous applause and piles of cash, I would have quit years ago. But there are moments on the stage when I sense something magical, a connection with the band and the audience, when our stories intersect and suddenly we’re wading in an ancient river. Suddenly the song is secondary to the greater story being told through each of us.

Winter is where hope lies happy.