I want[ed] bad karma.

First let me say that I don't believe in karma.  I have seen too many good people dealt bad hands for which they didn't deserve. 

Case in point: I had a car accident in 2014 while still wearing a volunteer shirt after cleaning up a plot of land that had been ravaged by tornadoes. If karma existed, my karmic outlook for that day would have won me a guest pass to the pearly gates. Based on that analysis and others I have witnessed, I would feel like a hypocrite if I claimed to believe it. Plus, I am not God, so there's that.

But IF I did believe in it, I would have wanted it during one point in my life and here's why: During the span of these 36 years, I have hit rock bottom. Not necessarily because of something I did, because there has been that, but because life's circumstances decide to rain on my parade. 

At one point in my  life, I was shaken. But it was during this time that I felt the strongest connection to God than ever before. My fear was replaced with calm, my anger was turned to sympathy, and my cries of desperation to be saved from a bad situation did not fall on ears that had turned away, but instead on the heart of  God where the rescue by the Most Almighty Prince came quick. 

Not on a white horse, but instead a Lamb. My world was shaken but my foundation was strong, and I was saved. 

But why me? Why you? 

Not long after my encounter with God, my desperation weakened and I rejoiced in the fact that I had been carried out to the other side where things were solid again. My heart was full of praise and filled with a new song. But later I longed to be back. I longed to feel my Father hold me closely and whisper in my ear again. I wanted to be desperate again.

Beloved, I cannot tell you why bad things happen. I can't tell you why your child went to heaven before you did. I can't tell you why you were given that diagnosis. I can't tell you why your family fell apart. Or why you can't seem to see beyond the everyday blinders that keep you restrained with anxiety and worry. 

But what I can tell you is that God will carry you like he carried me.  There will come a time when you will be able to see it, though it might be hard now. 

And take it from me: you can always be desperate for God. You don't have to have a cataclysmic shift in your life like I did to feel the presence of the One who is always with you. Being desperate for Him can come at any time. I know that there is always a possibility that something could stir things up, but my desperation for an encounter will not change as soon as my roller coaster flies downward at a speed of one-hundred miles per hour. 

I don't believe that God allows bad things to happen to us, but I do think He is capable of making them beautiful. 

Dear God, 

I have friends that are hurting. They are scared. They are in a place where I once was. Now is your time, Lord. I pray protection for them. I pray that even as they read this, they would know that You know their name, You know their situation, and You have everything in the palm of Your hand. Let them truly feel you hugging up next to them and whispering in their ear, "Everything is going to be okay. Trust me. I've got it handled." Let them encounter you, Father. 

And God, thank You. For the trials and the heartaches; for the blessings and assurances; for peace and love. And for responding in our moments of desperation.

Amen.

The Christmas present

Her name is *Lisa. She is a Cabbage Patch doll with golden brown hair, bronze skin, and a scent that reminded me of my childhood. She was a gift to me a few years ago and she is more to me than a remembrance of a simpler time when styling barbie doll hair and accessorizing every stuffed animal known to man (located in my bedroom, of course) was my happy place.

When *Lisa was given to me, I wept. Not only did she remind me of my childhood, she was the namesake of a very special little girl that I had been praying for for a number of years. They shared the same name and appearance, she was a visual reminder for me to keep my prayers coming for my real *Lisa.

When you are in student ministry, particularly younger children, you take the prayer requests week after week and pour into the children that it is your mission to minister to. After so much time has gone by, you realize that while you are not the parents or grandparents, your presence in their lives and prayers over them have bound you to them in a way that is indescribable. Like teaching in a public school, the "church kids" that you invest in become a part of your hear, too. You worry about them, you celebrate the happy times, you cry when they cry, and you try to be strong when you can't give their broken hearts the answer that they want to hear.

*Lisa lived behind me. She was at my house everyday. When she was first introduced to me, she was probably eight years old and loved everything about Justin Beiber and Tobymac. This baby could sing. She would sit at my computer accessing YouTube for as long as I let her and belt out every song like she was the next Alicia Keys. She had a heart for Christ and would accompany me every time I went to the altar on Sunday mornings, crying out to God with her words just as good as the next guy.

I knew that Lisa had a tough home life. She had a good support system in her grandparents, but the situation at home was rocky to say the least. It would be good sometimes, awful others. There would be nights she would come up to the house to simply talk and pray because "Mama and daddy were fighting" or "so-and-so was drinking again." There would be nights I could hear yells coming from the house and wondered if Lisa would be coming up, scared. I would sit on my front porch praying to God for the protection of of everyone in the house, but very specifically my Lisa and her siblings.

Time went on and I saw Lisa growing into a young woman. She was an avid Bible quizzer and as her teacher, I saw that it was more than just memorizing questions and answers, but she got it. She put those words in her heart and locked it tight. I never cared about how she performed at the quiz meets because I knew, like with all of my Bible quizzers, that if these words of life were implanted in their hearts and minds, my job was done.

Then today came. I received word that my Lisa had been placed in foster care. Once upon a time, I had been a CASA, or court appointed special advocate for children in the system. I haven't had a case in over a year because of the time required to take off of work to make court appearances and do home visits, but I know a little bit about all of it. I know that there are some amazing people that run foster homes, God bless them. But I also know that anytime a child is ripped from their home, it can be life altering. Even if the child wasn't safe. Even if foster care was the best option. Even with loving and supportive foster parents. The experience changes the child.

So here I sit dumbfounded. The prayers, Lord, the prayers! She is yours! Haven't you been listening?.

 "God, keep her safe. God, let her know how loved she is. God, let her grow up to know that her worth is not found in anything that she can do, but instead in what you can do through her. Let her light shine. Unite her family."

Pray, pray, pray.

There is a song that Lauren Daigle sings. It says, "When you don't move the mountains, I'm needing you to move. When you don't part the waters, I wish I could walk through. When you don't give the answers, as I cry out to you. I will trust, I will trust in you!"

Dear friends, here is a real live testimony about how life isn't always what we expected. We get let down. We cry out to God, but sometimes His answer is not what we had in mind. But sometimes we are not meant to see, and that is because we can't possibly fathom what God is at work at. Maybe we will get our answer someday, maybe not.

But trust, we must.

"Now this I know. The Lord gives victory to His anointed. He answers them from His Holy Sanctuary with the victorious power of his right hand." (Psalms 20:6)

So, we pray. For the answers that we hope for. For the things we don't understand, For the love of a child, whom is loved more from the Savior than from an adopted mama bear. (And that's a lot.)

God knows her name, even though I didn't tell you what it really was, so please pray for her.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n_aVFVveJNs

This changes everything.

Today, I saw "Risen."

Stay with me for a second. Many times, my writings are only the musings in my head and don't make much sense until I can sit down and sort through them. I appreciate your patience.

Rewind to 1997. Jack and Rose boarded a ship called the Titanic. The unsinkable vessel that ultimately became a death ride for many that were headed to the Big Apple in 1912. The film scored more nominations for James Cameron than any other in its time, and although Jack and Rose were fictional characters, the set of the production was made in the true likeness of the actual ocean liner and many facets of the movie could be considered aligned with the real way the boat went down.

This is how [in my mind] I can compare "Risen" to the actual story in the Bible. There are many things that are Biblically based, all with the Jack and Rose story line. Were Jack and Rose real people on the boat? Probably not. Like "Titanic," the main character "Clavius," a Roman tribune, seeks to find out the truth of the Messiah by investigating the mystery behind the vanished body. Yes, there is mention of Roman soldiers in the tale of Jesus' crucifixion in the Word, but none to the extent that the Kevin Reynolds, writer, portrays. 

Clavius is Jack and Rose, and like the Titanic truly sank, the Biblical teachings about our Risen Savior are true. During the movie, there is a scene in which Clavius sits on the peak of a hill during the early morning with Yeshua and the intimacy that is shared between the once-skeptical tribune and the Son of God is breaktaking. The scene is a reminder that we are all Clavius, in a way. If given the chance to encounter the Risen Savior in human form, what could we possibly say? Something tells me that His magnificence would overpower any will we had to ask questions, but instead put us in a state of awe.

That He would die for us. Infeasible.

For years, I have thanked God for making me a mom. It truly changed my life and brought the definition of "myself" to a whole other level. It has truly been my gift from God, amongst other things. I will never understand how some people can encounter the beauty that is new life and not walk away changed. Whether they are a mom, dad, grandma, mia, nana, aunt, poppy, paw paw, grandpa, adopted mother, adopted father, etc. When given the opportunity to help raise a child, it truly is life altering. Your life changes and unless you chose to depart from the situation, you. are. changed.

But is this understanding of our "myself" definition possible in any other way? Yes, beloved. Because such as the way that becoming a part of new life changes us, being given new life through Christ is so much more. And once we have truly encountered it, we can never be the same. Even if we falter, which we will. Even if we start to question it, which we may. Even if we forget all that God has carried us through, which we will, we are still changed. 

In the end of the movie ("Risen," not "Titanic"), the disciples start to depart from the sea of Galilee and the Roman tribune is left with a decision; will he go with them to tell the world about the miracles he has seen, or will he turn back and go a different direction? I am not going to spoil the movie and reveal what he really does, but this analogy can be said for any of us. Will we chose to press on knowing what we know to be true about the Son of God, or will we continue to walk in the other direction? 

Maybe you are reading this and asking yourself what in the world I am talking about. Maybe you have been hurt and you are carrying a burden on your shoulder and feel like this "good news" that I speak of can't possibly pertain to you. Maybe you feel like God has somehow let you down: you didn't get the promotion at work you wanted, you are burdened financially, you have yet to become a mom or dad and that resonates in your heart. Beloved, I know that pain. I have made many mistakes in my life that I have brought upon myself, but also had things happen that weren't my fault. I know pain, trust me. 

\. I know what abandonment feels like, I know what betrayal feels like, I know what it feels like to not know what the future holds. And that is scary! 

But I also know what it is like to know that no matter what my life has seen, or will see, that I have a promise. A promise that I will never be alone. I will never feel the burden on myself like my Savior felt for me. He knows my name, and it is written on His heart. Life will always have difficulties and strife, but when we know that we are loved like a mother or father love their baby, we are never alone. 

Isaiah 49:16 Can a woman forget her nursing child and have no compassion for the son in her womb? Even these may forget, but I will not forget you. Behold, I have inscribed you on the palms of my hands. Your walls are continually before me.

 Father God, my Savior Jesus, Holy Spirit,

Who am I without you? What would you have me do? I am imperfect in so many ways. I sin in so many ways. Please reveal to me what displeases you. Forgive me. Give me eyes like the One who opened mine. Help me to see the hurting and to lift them up to you. Please keep my heart full of love in such a heartless world. And thank you for my gift. I don't take it for granted, and will never be the same because of it. 

All yours,

Sarah

Terrible Tuesday's.

I always hear so many people say that Monday's are their least favorite days of the week.

Mine are Tuesday's.

Somehow, something traumatic has to happen every.single.Tuesday. that throws a wrench at my seemingly normal routine.

Maybe my nine-year old realizes that he stuck something in his backpack (in the non-designated homework section of his folder) that "has to be turned in today." Maybe my preschooler decides that he needs to have a bowel movement at the precise moment that I call everyone to the front door to leave, only to sit on the "throne" for fifteen minutes without any production. Or maybe he spills milk on his outfit and to avoid a meltdown, I allow him to wear the green Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles shirt with the grey and red striped shorts (an ensemble that has the potential to be featured on "What Not To Wear"), thus setting us back 4.5 minutes because, of course, we have to change underwear and socks too.

Ya know, because you can't not wear Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle socks and underwear if you are wearing a TMNT shirt.

I thought today might be a little bit different. I was shocked when I looked at my phone to see what time it was and it said 6:35. What?! I'm five minutes ahead of schedule? On a Tuesday? Somebody knock on wood and start anointing  the walls with essential oils in the name of Jesus because a miracle has occurred.

But then.

The celebration of my early defeat against father time came to a screeching halt as my four-year old crashed into a doorknob while "hugging" (aka:attacking) his older brother. The scream could be heard for miles and while it was a short lived episode,the Tuesday curse reared its ugly head and I was behind schedule. With child in arms, clothed in an icepack on his bruised shoulder, I managed to get me and my coffee to the car. (And the kid, too.)

By the time I dropped him off at the babysitter's house, sprinted to school, and  managed to walk in on time, I had the  aroma of defeat surrounding me. It followed me all day long and I struggled through the day, forcing a smile on my face several times but wanting to crawl into a cave instead.

I know that I haven't held much back when it comes to some pretty major stuff that God has carried me through. I have always credited with what my life is now compared to what it could have been. I have seen miracles. Real ones. I believe that God is capable of changing hearts, reshaping people's lives, restoring health to the sick, raising the dead to life, etc.

But what about the little stuff? What if I get a flat tire? What if my dryer breaks? What if I yell at my child? Does that stuff matter to God?

I believe the answer is yes. As I attempted to regain some sense of a normal day, I went to the break room and started scrolling facebook. I clicked on a link that took me to a beautiful voice, and she was sitting in the exact seat that I was sitting in. It was another teacher, and she had been in the same spot on the couch that I was now sitting on just fifteen minutes prior to my arrival. In the video, she sang, "Sometimes you have to speak victory during the test." God had prompted her to post this video, and I don't want to sound egotistical, but I don't serve a god of coincidences, and I think He knew I would be sitting in that very spot and did that just for me. Well, others too. :)

Some time went by and I was still trying to regain my usual disposition. Another friend noticed that I wasn't my "usual Sarah" and all I could do was look at her and say, " Sister, I feel so defeated today." It was then that my sister, whom battles physical pain on a regular basis and has seen some real trials in her life, looked at me and said, "No ma'am. You are not defeated. You are a conquerer. You are a daughter of the King, and sometimes you just have to remember what He has brought you through."

Oh yeah. What the Great I Am has brought me through.

And yet, here I am crying over spilt milk and mismatched clothes.

God does care about the small stuff. He is powerful enough to give the prodigal son (or daughter) a restored life as well as keep her from running over a nail in the road on a Tuesday morning.  He is the same God that formed an invisible dam in the middle of a river while people fled through. And He is the same God that made roses smell like they do. He is over everything, big and small, and everything in between.

And I. Am His. (Breathe)


Dear God,
Thank you for sweating the small stuff for me. Thank you for placing me exactly where you want me to be. Continue to open my eyes to the things you are arranging for my sake, and anoint all future Tuesday's as if they were Friday's.

Love,
Sarah, your always-anointed, sometimes-struggling, no-believing-in-coincidences, Tuesday-hating, daughter of the One True King

So I reminisce, gladly.

I remember it like it was yesterday. I was about to become a mom. I walked up to the front doors of the hospital knowing that when I walked away, my body would be my own again. Well, sortive.

Becoming a mom was a turning point in my life; one in which God truly transformed my mind. He gave me strength I never knew I had; a heart that had once been hardened; and the true understanding of what it really meant to love someone in the most purest of ways.

Four years later, my mini-me arrived. Figuring out that juggle was one that God still helps me with every day. Our family dynamic changed and where I once could cry from being separated for more than a few hours from my eldest baby, my heart now swelled from immense proportions at the thought of hearing my five year old ask his infant brother (whom was not even crawling yet) if he wanted to play with hot wheels together.

Ironic that now they are capable of full blown fights over the thought of  who gets to play with a forgotten Furby and control of the wii controller. Still, I treasure the memories of a less-dramatic conversation between a big brother and his teething baby brother.

So what has me reminiscing tonight?

Now that I am stationed at the preschool that my youngest attends, sending him off into "big boy land" is not as traumatic as it was five years ago when it was his brother. I get to see him throughout the day, and if he is sick, out of almond milk, or even being disruptive, I know about it. Mommy to the rescue, or pep talk if he needs it. It's a far cry from the ball fest I had in the parking lot when his older brother entered preschool.

But in two weeks, this "beginning of the school year" will be the last of its kind. Why stress about the future? It's not so much a stress as an awareness. Aware that this first day of preschool will be replaced with a first day of kindergarten in a year. Aware that my now-fourth grader will be finishing out his elementary school stint and moving on to a land of lockers, seven periods, and girls in training bras.

So I reminisce, gladly.

If you have young children, you have probably heard about "how fast time goes," or "just wait until they go to college." So instead of traditionally nodding my head in agreement and wondering if my children with survive with me as their mom until they make it to age eighteen, I will stop.

Sawyer was born nine years ago. In nine years to come, we will be discussing the next stage of his life. Whether it is to go to college, trade school, become a missionary, or a race car driver like he aspires to do, he will always be the baby that changed my life.

I will remember the way he giggles when I tickle under his chin and arms. I will remember him dreaming of building a go-cart and entering it into a contest like he saw in the "Little Rascals." I will remember him asking Jesus into his heart, as we sat on the floor of an itty-bitty bathroom (and then asking me if he could walk on water like Jesus did, now that he was saved.) I will remember him ordering me to pull over the car to help a man on the side of the road with a sign (and offering to give the man his happy meal). His heart is pure gold, and he is a carbon copy of his daddy.

Paxton is 4 1/2. In 4.5 years, he will be the age that his brother is now. He will be going into the fourth grade, and will hopefully still be a goofy kid. His dreams may be unknown, but I will remember him as he is now.

He refuses to keep clothes on his body. He randomly wipes snot and licks people constantly. He is my little entertainer, and keeping him off a stage where his mommy or daddy are can only be accomplished with a bouncer. He will not sit still, and he has never finished a meal in his life; he grazes and then claims to starve all the time, especially when he is sleepy. He crawls into bed with mommy and daddy every night (usually between midnight and 5am...who knows?). His smile lights up a room. He is the funniest kid I have ever been around.

I will remember these things fondly, and thank God for giving me the chance to be their mommy.

Jet-lagged summer blues

Hello summer. We have been together for a couple of months now, and I sure do appreciate the unstructured nature that you offer.

Being in a classroom now offers me the awesome "adventure" of having the hot months to spend with my children. It also gives me the freedom to slack off on a few things:

Bedtime:10pm
 (applies to children only, specifically the four year old who tends to get violent after 9pm)
Showers/bathing: every other day
(applies to children only; varies if we visited the pool)
Rise and shine: before lunch
(only applies to the nine-year-old)
Cleaning: only when my hubby starts noticing the mess.
(Which means it HAS to be bad.)
Laundry:When people start asking me to smell something to determine if it is clean.
(Then I binge wash for two days straight.)

Before I digusted you all with my summer time routine, I should have added a disclaimer that I am ordinarily a very "kept" person. No, I usually don't wash my baseboards or clean my ceiling fans, but I would rate my home  management skills a B+ ordinarily.

Except in the summer time.

This week I went back to work for a few hours to set up the classroom. Realizing that in just three short weeks my life would regain some of the structure that it previously had [in May], I decided to start easing back into the old Sarah. The hygienic Sarah.  The "I'm not just going to spray some cleaner and wipe up the sweet tea mess my child poured on the floor--I'm going to actually get out the mop this time" Sarah. My how I missed her.

As I happily reclaimed my kitchen, it happened. I had just mopped in the dining room and as far as my children were concerned, the wet floor might as well had a sign on it that said "Exclusion Zone." Unless you could float, the wet floor was off limits. So here's what "it" is: my sweet son (the little guy) came and yelled at me "Mama, I have a coffee cup for you to wash." So I jumped on my towel and started wading across the wet floor as if it were a canoe and I was floating the Nile river and made my way over to him, when... He dropped it.

Let me elaborate a little further. A full urn size coffee cup, probably 1/4 Splenda, 1/4 chocolate raspberry flavored International Delight creamer, and 1/2 coffee, fell two feet to the ground, soaking atleast half of the dining room floor, including two walls. Picture a coffee explosion, if you will.

Did I panic? Internally, yes. Did I yell? I wouldn't call it a yell, more a firm affirmation. I don't want to traumatize the little guy for helping me.

Then what did I do after I had finished mopping? I decided it would be fun to knock over my mop water onto the opposite side of the room. (yes, I had only intended to mop  up the coffee mess, not the whole floor; I wasn't back in full 'Sarah mode' yet, obviously.) After my own mishap, my disposition changed a little. I cleaned it up but was not in a happy place.

So we retreated and headed for the pool.

This morning as I read from the Word of God, I realized that my summer time schedule had affected my routine in more ways than just maintaining my house; it had affected my personal time with God. I could fill up a list with ways that I stay plugged in to the church, the will of God, the journey I am on, the praise I have in my heart, the worship songs I sing all the live long day, the ways God reminds me that I am where I should be, but even with all that, I have to get real with Him.

Alone, While the kids are asleep. In a messy home, full of worries, but praise, too; just me and Him.

I wept this morning. Nothing can replace my time with my Father and I knew that and felt like I had cheated myself of the peace that I needed to get through the days where I was worried about things. The things that I worried about yesterday are still there today, but the difference is that I am no longer worried. Psalms 28:7 says, "The Lord is my strength and my shield. My heart trusts in him and he helps me. My heart leaps for joy, and with my song I praise  him."

My heart leaps for joy!

Looking back, maybe I was the four year old spilling the cup of coffee all over the floor. My intentions are always good, but sometimes I drop the ball (or cup) too.

Thank you, God; for not getting mad at me for spilling the coffee.

Grace and power.

When you come to know the Lord, there is something that you hear a lot about: grace.

"God's grace covers a multitude of sins." "His grace is sufficient for me." "Without grace, where would any of us be?"

And so the focus on what has occurred in our lives through the redemptive power of Christ and his ability to take what had happened and apply grace becomes the defining factor for many of people as we recommit our lives to living the life that he has set out for us.

"Without grace, where would I be?"

Recommitting your life to Christ is as easy as a simple prayer.

"I am a sinner. I believe in Jesus Christ and that he died for my sins. I want God to make me new again, and ask him into my heart."

Simple.

(And the angels celebrate and your name is written in the 'Book of Life' and all of heaven rejoices. Yay!)

So now that this cataclysmic shift has occurred in your life, what now? The hangups that you had before are all forgiven and you are offered grace.

But what about this so-called power?

Stephen was a man from the Bible that walked around performing miracles and signs among God's people. The Bible specifically says that he was "full of God's grace and power" (Acts). In the end, the story doesn't end up so well for Stephen, but for the sake of condensing his story, God's grace and power are the focus.

The Bible doesn't tell us a whole lot about Stephen, except that right before he was to be stoned to death, he looked up in the sky and saw Jesus sitting on the right side of God in heaven. Just as the crowd rushed him, he asked God to forgive them and then simply "fell asleep" before he had to feel the pain of death. This guy was full of all kinds of power from God!

Back to the subject, and trying to make it relatable to my own life (and hopefully yours), I am going to stay on that subject of power, simply because it is something that I forgot about in my own life.

When I pray, I ask God for things for my friends, my family, those hurting ones around me. I have never believed that God didn't hear me because to be honest, I feel like he answers me so clearly sometimes that I have a direct prayer line to his throne.

Really,we all do.

Through the gradual change of my life becoming God's again (no, it wasn't right away; it was a progression), I talked about how God was the only one who could have taken my life and made it what it has become today.

His power is real, and I will attest to that. But will I forget that for myself?

I know that I have talked about my past a lot and what God delivered me out of, but I am not speaking about all of that "big stuff" during this post. The "big stuff" is the same to the devil as the small stuff, because no matter how small it seems to us, the devil will find a way to keep it hanging over our heads.

My "small thing" is smoking.

I have tried to quit a hundred times. I have allowed the devil to take my once-redemptive story and turn it into an excusive story in which I remember what I was delivered from, but use excuses to keep God from truly setting me free.

When I was eighteen, I started regularly smoking. During my mid-twenties, around the same time that I gave my life back to Christ progressively, I started looking for a way to validate why it was okay for me to continue to smoke.

"Well, people wouldn't judge me for this small thing if they knew what I had overcome."
 Or, "I'm not breaking any of the ten commandments, so this isn't a sin."

And that, ladies and gentleman, is how satan works.When you find yourself having conversations as to why something is okay, usually those conversations have satan written all over them.

Sure, I can put  these toxic chemicals in my body that are causing so much damage to my lungs, my heart, my everything, but since it's nothing major (and it is legal,after all), God's fine with it.

Not.

My pastor has this cool analogy. He talks about what the cross means to each of us. Many of us as young children or adolescents, accept Jesus into our heart. We acknowledge that Jesus died on the cross for our sins, thus offering us grace for the stupid stuff we did once upon a time.

Grace is awesome.

But does the cross stop there? We are giddy that our name is on the VIP list for heaven, that Saint Pete is the bouncer at a cool club up in the sky and that he's already picked us to go in, and that there's no cover charge because the cost has been covered.

What about after the cross, as in, what now?

Is that it? Is this redefining moment complete at the foot of the cross or is there more?  I think there's more.

The same thing that raised Jesus from the dead on the third day is available to us, now. It is power.

It was his power that delivered me from my past, but also is goes with me. It doesn't stop with the cross; it is the same power that brought a dead "man" back to life and then saved mine. God gives us access to it so we can take it with us as we try to disciple others.

So as I put perspective into my personal battle with my sin, I must reflect on all of the things I have been delivered from, as well as how these "insignificant"things that the devil has grown to significant proportions in my own mind and what God is going to do to bring truth and power into the situation.

My "big sin" once defined me and told me that I had no place in God's heart. Now, my "small sin" will not either. It's something that separated me from God and no matter what size category I place it into, God's power is more than enough.

He brought me back to life once, and that power has not changed.

As I wrap up, I ask you to be in prayer for me. Right now, I haven't smoked for 11 hours and approximately 36 minutes. Just keep me in your prayers because I know this will be hard, but I also know that God's power is there for me.

Love and peace to you all.