I don't want a Christmas you can buy. I don't want a Christmas you can make. What I want is a Christmas you can hold. A Christmas that holds me, remakes me, revives me. I want a Christmas that whispers, Jesus.

Comparison is a thug that robs your joy. But its even more than that - Comparison makes you a thug who beats down somebody - or your soul.

Are stress and worry evidence of a soul too lazy, too undisciplined, to keep gaze fixed on God?

Once you have tasted conviction, you can’t bear to keep swallowing complacency.

Grace is alive, living waters. If I dam up the grace, hold the blessings tight, joy within dies... waters that have no life.

I only live the full life when I live fully in the moment.

Joy and pain, they are but two arteries of the one heart that pumps through all those who don't numb themselves to really living.