God gave us laughter, I think, as a balm to wash the wounds of our own blunders, as a splint to mend the bones we break in our rashness or vanity.

Physical sickness we usually defy. Soul sickness we often resign ourselves to.

This is the love of God, an alchemy that can turn enemies into children.

Here lies the basic flaw of all doubt. It can never really be satisfied. No evidence is ever fully, finally enough. Doubt wants always to consume, never to consummate. It clamors endlessly for an answer and so drowns out any answer that might be given it.

Mindset of the man too busy: I am too busy BEING God to become LIKE God.

Unless and until we rest in God, we will never risk for God.

God gave us laughter, I think, as a balm to wash the wounds of our own blunders, as a splint to mend the bones we break in our rashness or vanity.