The Doors That Never Close
My husband is on the road a lot, and when he must make a long, quick trip, I try to arrange to go with him to assist in the driving. So it was this week. There is always a two … Read more
My husband is on the road a lot, and when he must make a long, quick trip, I try to arrange to go with him to assist in the driving. So it was this week. There is always a two … Read more
Many, many years ago, we sang a hymn called "Count your blessings". The words instructed us: Count your blessings, name them one by one, Count your blessings, see what God hath done. The church played a large part in most … Read more
In 1967 while taking a class in photography at the University of Cincinnati, I became acquainted with a young man named Charles Murray who also was a student at the school and training for the summer Olympics of 1968 as … Read more
The power of prayer is receiving a lot of "press" these days. People in "positions" are sitting up and taking notice that prayer works. Courses are being taught in the "art" of praying. Most people, if not regular pray-ers, do … Read more
Part of our church's ministry is our involvement in the chapel ministry at William Head Prison. Some of our members go to the chapel services every week, and often more than once a week. I don't often go with them … Read more
In the last few months, I've attended services for several friends and acquaintances who were good people, but not regular church goers. When the service is one which includes a minister, they are called upon to perform a duty usually … Read more
Love will always reach out toward the eternal. Love comes from that place within us where death cannot enter. Love does accept the limits of hours, days, weeks, months, years, or centuries. Love is not willing to be imprisoned by … Read more
When I was a little kid, we used to sing an action song that went: Read your Bible, pray every day, Pray every day, pray every day; Read your Bible, pray every day, And you'll grow, grow, grow, And you'll … Read more
This is a story of two men. The first is my father. His name is Grant. Grant was born and raised on a small Ontario farm. In 1939, while he peered into a mirror and carefully scraped shaving soap and a few sparse whiskers from his young … Read more