The point of the Book of Job is not suffering: where is God When It hurts? The prologue (chapters 1-2) dealt with that issue. The point of the Book of Job is faith: Where is Job when it hurts?

When I pray for another person, I am praying for God to open my eyes so that I can see that person as God does, and then enter into the stream of love that God already directs toward that person.

I have learned that faith means trusting in advance what will make sense only in reverse.

Yet as I read the birth stories about Jesus I cannot help but conclude that though the world may be tilted toward the rich and powerful, God is tilted toward the underdog.

In a nutshell, the Bible from Genesis 3 to Revelation 22 tells the story of a God reckless with desire to get his family back.

Grace, like water, flows to the lowest part.

The proof of spiritual maturity is not how pure you are but awareness of your impurity. That very awareness opens the door to grace.

Any discussion of how pain and suffering fit into God's scheme ultimately leads back to the cross.

No one ever converted to Christianity because they lost the argument.

In the stories of extravagant grace given to us by Jesus, there are no loopholes disqualifying us from God's love.

I doubt God keeps track of how many arguments we win; God may indeed keep track of how well we love.

It has taken me years to learn this, but it does seem to be the case if that I am not actively creating something, then I am probably actively destroying something

dark say:berthenia bellenever forgetthe tongue hid name

Power in America today is control of the means of communication.

Why does man behave like perfect idiot? This is the problem I wish to deal with.

I think almost always that what gets me going with a story is the atmosphere, the visual imagery, and then I people it with characters, not the other way around.

When I desire you a part of me is gone.

I felt his eyes devour me as I moved around the room. He assessed me head to toe without blinking, and a hot ache shivered through me. A kiss would've been less intimate.

Early in my career I began receiving letters from a woman in the Midwest who claimed to be my mother.

I have chosen to no longer be apologetic for my femaleness and my femininity. And I want to be respected in all of my femaleness because I deserve to be.

Butch didn't live in his own place. He didn't spend his own money. He had no job, no future. He was a well-kept pet, not a man.