Even in the winter, in the midst of the storm, the sun is still there. Somewhere above the clouds, it still shines and warms and pulls at the life buried deep inside the brown branches and frozen earth.

There are times when I draw near enough to touch Him, then I know that He has been there all the time

Prayer is sort of like an unlocked door with a giant, red-lettered sign on it that says: "Welcome. Feel Free to Take What You Need." Inside is the storehouse of all that God is. He invites us to share it all. He doesn't intend for us to stay on the outside and struggle all alone with the perplexities of life, and He not only invites us to come in, but to stay in. . . . It is an on-going process, not just an occasional religious-sounding speech we make to a nebulous divinity "out there somewhere." Prayer is meant to be a part of our lives, like breathing and thinking and talking.

Line by line, moment by moment, special times are etched into our memories in the permanent ink of everlasting love in our relationships.

Love is the seed of all hope. It is the enticement to trust, to risk, to try, to go on.

Memories are perhaps the best gifts of all.

Satan labels you. God names you.