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.

The gospel gives me hope, and hope is not a language the dark voices understand.

A thing resounds when it rings true, Ringing all the bells inside of you, Like a golden sky on a summer eve Your heart is tugging at your sleeve, And you cannot say why... There must be more

Hey, angel, your horns are sticking up.

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.

Eric Peters is a chronicler of his journey; he's been a faithful steward of the story God is telling through him, and this newest chapter, BiRDS OF RELOCATiON, is Eric's testimony that along the way there are moments of deep joy and gratitude-they may seem brief, but they're bright, and they're worth singing about. The joy I hear on this record heralds a long and welcome peace.