🎶 I can’t see me lovin’ nobody but you

For all my life

When you’re with me, baby the skies’ll be blue

For all my life🎶

Oh, how I hated that song!

If it plays on your clock radio at four in the morning, you will understand.

I had a Dallas Morning News paper route in Garland, Tx, and, at four o’clock, every morning ( EVERY MORNING, RAIN OR SHINE, HOT OR COLD) that stupid clock radio would disturb this young boy’s treasured sleep.

I was in the ninth grade at Memorial Junior High in Garland, Texas. I had gotten this, my first real job, the previous summer. The truck would arrive from Dallas at Orchard Hills Shopping Center sometime between 4:00 and 5:00 most mornings, and, if you were one of the first paperboys there, Mr. Jack Roland, the district manager, would count out your papers first, you could get an early start, and, if things went well, crawl back in bed and grab a few winks before breakfast.

But, for me, getting up was the hard part. Once up and pedaling my bike to work, I always enjoyed the job.

That could probably be credited to my dad. He worked for Nabisco (did you know that stands for National Biscuit Company?) for over forty years as a route salesman, and I never knew him to miss a day of work, or grumble about his job. He used to take me to work with him occasionally in the summer time, and I saw how fast he worked, how he seemed to know everything to do, how businesses he called on liked him, respected him.

I wasn’t new to the paper business. My older brother, David, had had a Dallas Times Herald route a couple of years earlier, (Dallas’ afternoon paper back in those days) and my dad had put some saddle baskets on my red J.C. Higgins bicycle with chrome fenders so that I could help him sometimes. My brother had a heavy duty Schwinn that was made for stuff like carrying newspapers. It had a huge basket on front, and a rack on the back to keep the saddle bags from rubbing the wheels. I learned to fold the papers tight, triple fold, so they would fly true through the air and hit the porch, learned the classic side arm throw, and even learned to throw from a moving bicycle.

In the eighth grade, my best friend, David Hall, got a Garland Daily News route, and I would ride my bike home with him every day, help him roll the papers (roll, not fold. Garland was small back in those days) and deliver them in the neighborhood around his house. Afterward, we would play one on one basketball in his driveway. When basketball season at Memorial arrived, I talked him into trying out with me for the team. I had played in the Parks and Recreation Dept. League for a couple of years, but he had never played. I could see us playing side by side in our school uniforms, the crowd cheering our moves, our shots.

He made the team.

My name was not on the list.

I think I cried on the way home.

David’s mom asked me if I would take over the paper route while he was playing, so I did.

I made a little money doing that, for a couple of months, but, the thing is, I enjoyed having a job.

Now, as a paperboy, you only get paid once a month.

And you have to collect the money yourself.

On my Morning News paper route, toward the end of the month, Mr. Roland would give me a bill for the papers I was given every day, plus the box of rubber bands I used, and I would have to take my collection book in the late afternoons and evenings up to each of my customers’ homes and collect my 1.70 for 30 or 31 days of delivering their paper, every day, on time, to their front porch. (If I missed the porch with my throw, I would stop my bike, walk to the yard, or bushes and toss it onto the porch. I didn’t miss much, but I do remember breaking a milk bottle, or two. I didn’t stop then.)

Once, I knocked on a customer’s door on a Monday night, I could hear the TV on, laughing in the back of the house. I knocked and knocked and knocked. Finally, Dick Nalley (the sports guy for the Garland News) came to the door, tears in his eyes, paid me and said,”Don’t ever come here again on a Monday night during Laugh-In!”


I had about 100 papers every day to deliver, ( a few extra on Sunday, because we had a Sunday only subscription for .85.)

I hated the Sunday papers.

You cannot throw a Sunday paper.

Sunday papers are heavy.

I had taken over my brother’s heavy duty Schwinn, (he had a driver’s license, now), but on Sundays, it was really easy to lose your balance, fall, and dump all your carefully loaded papers on the street.

Anyway, after I finished collections, (I had a nifty bank bag with a zipper to keep my money in.) I would take the money to Mr. Roland’s office, pay my bill, and I would get to keep all the rest.

I made about 70.00 for the month.

I was rich! I remember occasions when my mom would ask me if they could borrow money from me until payday. I would go to my desk, pull out my nifty bank bag, and hand them 1.00 or 5.00 or whatever they needed to tide them over.

“For it is precept upon precept, precept upon precept, line upon line, line upon line, here a little, there a little.””

Isaiah 28:10 ESV

Now, the reason I am sharing this story is for what I see in our culture today. I am guilty as well.

We have become an instant society.

We want it quick, and we want it now.

If CNN is not given the chance to ask the president elect a question because of its record, the world is ending.

We forgot how to build relationships, restore trust.

Because it takes time.

It is easier to make enemies, keep enemies, find others who will share in your enemy making.

The things that are important, that build you into the man or woman of character, are those little things that you do over and over and over again, with little reward, or notice, but you just do them.

Because it is right.

I seldom was told that they appreciated my efforts to put the paper on the porch.

But, every once in a while, someone would thank me.

That feels good.

Occasionally, I even got a tip.

That feels good, too.





I know, I know…the Bible is not a science book.

What I wonder, though, do you think it is true?

I keep hearing that the earth is

2. something billion years old…the universe even older than that…

Yeah, God could have created everything, but not just thousands of years ago…billions. Science has proven…science tells us…even God could have used evolution which we have proven to be true.

Don’t be so literal, Randy.

The Bible is a book to teach you how to live. Who cares if it was billions of years or thousands?


I kinda care.

Here’s what I think. Granted, I have no more weight on my side than anyone else.

Shoot, I didn’t even finish college.

So…consider my opinion.

When God said (according to Genesis), “Let there be light,” that is (according to Genesis) the first time there was light. (oooh, time…interesting) A God who is Spirit doesn’t need light to see…but things he is going to create do need light. So, there it is.. Light…and it was good.

Then, He separates light from darkness, day from night…evening and morning, first day.

Then He separated waters above from waters below and made Heaven. (No, I can’t explain this yet) The second day.

So, the next step…separate dry land from waters, and then, cause vegetation and fruit trees to sprout on the land, all bearing seed so they would continue to spread over the earth. And each kind bore seed that would make the same kind. Evening, morning, third day.

Then, God made the sun, moon, and stars to divide the day from the night. (Wait a minute…how could there have been evening and morning without the sun? I’ve got a better question for you…how could there have been a sun, moon, and stars without light? Good thing God planned ahead.) Evening, morning, day Four.

Now, it gets busy…living creatures to fill the waters, some salt water, some fresh water…bam. Birds to fly in the sky, big ones, little ones…bam. All the birds and the creatures in the water were made to be fruitful to multiply. Good news for future hunters and fishermen. Evening and morning…fifth day.

Now, let’s get cracking…God makes animals for the land. So many kinds. Creeping animals, running animals , dogs, cats, livestock, turtles, elephants, sloths, platypus (what is plural for platypus?), unicorns (it’s in the Bible, kjv version), behemoths, leviathan, lions and tigers and bears, oh my, reptiles (dinosaurs? I think so.) And all of them were capable of reproducing according to their kind. But God wasn’t done yet. Caretakers needed. God made man, male and female, that, in small abilities, were kinda made in His image. Ability to think, reason, even figure out how to create stuff. Imagine that.

Then he made them in charge of this earth, giving them “dominion over all living things” (this has got to infuriate PETA. “Animals are people, too.”) But man could think, reason, figure things out, talk to God.

It was all very good!

Evening, morning, sixth day

Now, everything was created, light, waters, dry ground, stars, moons, planets, fish, birds, animals…and humans.

All in six days.

“And on the seventh day God finished his work that he had done, and he rested on the seventh day from all his work that he had done. So God blessed the seventh day and made it holy, because on it God rested from all his work that he had done in creation.”

Genesis 2:2-3 ESV

So…did God bless a day…or did God bless an epoch?

I think it was a day.

After all, you can’t have a sun if you don’t have light…right?



I’m tired of being lied to.

The trouble these days is that the lies continue to be told until they are believed. 

Believing something doesn’t make it true.

Just because someone is an authority, or has authority, doesn’t mean he, or she, can be expected to tell the truth.

Well, we can expect it, and we can accept it.

But, that doesn’t make it true.

When you are planning your life based on the advice and counsel of “authorities “, and you discover that the things the authorities have been

been telling you are not true, or based on anything other than an expectation of a hidden outcome, do you continue to listen to them?

If more and more sources are telling you the same thing, even after you discover that the original premise is false, when do you begin to question the veracity of what you are hearing?

How do you fight the onslaught of the untrue? 

With logic, reason, sarcasm, wit?

There has got to be a standard for truth: A plumb line to determine straight from crooked. 

To fight the lie, just speak the truth.

Maybe, if you tell the truth over and over and over, someone will change from believing the lie to believing the truth.


‘How happy is the man who does not follow the advice of the wicked or take the path of sinners or join a group of mockers! Instead, his delight is in the Lord ’s instruction, and he meditates on it day and night. ‘

Psalms 1:1-2



After Christmas brunch, my brother, Jeff, my wife, Wendy, and I were sitting in our sunroom, sharing the wonders and joy of finding a life fulfilled in Jesus.

Jeff said, “We don’t know who we are without God….”

Jeff’s wife of 30 plus years, Ann died two years ago on Christmas Day after several months of inoperable brain cancer.

Jeff was with her at the moment she passed into “the real world.”

Our daughter, Chelsey, died nineteen years ago in a traffic accident, as a passenger in our car.

We were all together in the moments before the collision when she passed into “the real world.”

In times of loss and the grief that follows, the plans that we had made for our futures are flipped on their heads. Everything changes. A new path of life opens, and we are forced into a decision of choosing between the possibilities.

So, who are we without God?

Rain falls on the righteous and the unrighteous.

“Bad things” happen to “good” people and “bad” people.

Our lives are shaped by many things, things that happen to us, our responses to these things, choices we make in our lives, and the consequences that follow.

Good and bad.

I have had people tell me that God must not be omniscient (all knowing) or omnipotent (all powerful) because He lets such bad things happen.

Or Maybe He just doesn’t care.

I have others tell me that they are Christians, but the possibility of certain bad things happening keeps them chained away from life in a cocoon of self-protection. (COVID, for example)

Wendy and I watched a really good movie last night at the suggestion of my friend, Tim.

“Greater.” (You can find it on NETFLIX)

I will not spoil it by telling any of the story.

But there was one line, the main character telling a football player, “While we are down here on this field, we only see and react to what is right in front of us. But, up there” he points to the coach in the press box, “they can see the whole field. You have to trust them.”

I can tell you, that trusting God with the control of your life, no matter what happens, NO MATTER WHAT HAPPENS, will lead you into an understanding of who you are.

Seeing the world around you through the gift of the vision that God will give to you will change you and your reactions to those trials that now seem to control your thoughts and your life.

Peace and Joy will come to those who find who they are, by trusting in the One they were created to love.

You don’t know who you are, without God. You only see what is right in front of you.

He sees the whole field.


“It is the glory of God to conceal a matter,

To search out a matter is the glory of kings.”

Proverbs 25:2



A young man of faith (around 30) is having trouble reconciling his belief in God with the timing of the deaths of two close family members.

The “Why” turns into doubt.

The doubt grows stronger, the faith grows weaker. The one you feed….

An atheist whose blog I read was asking the question of those that claim to “be spiritual”, “How do you define spiritual?”

I read some of the comments, a few from those who seem to have an understanding of things spiritual, many more from those who refute the few who made attempts to come up with a definition.

My first thought on reading the blog was, “Why do you spend so much energy talking about something that you consider total fantasy?”

We have covered this sort of question before, regarding proof of the existence of God.

My answer is always pretty much the same. It doesn’t matter what I tell you , if, ultimately, you don’t want to find Him. You can tell me that the Bible is a man-made compilation, that every act, teaching, miracle, birth, death, and resurrection attributed to Jesus has been claimed about countless others professed to be gods, that stories have been exaggerated and turn to mythological fables, and on and on and on.

But there is something that I can claim.

I used to be one way, unable to even imagine the things of God, the spiritual truths that come from Him, the Life that He has made me for. Unable to see, hear, or experience the depth of life that comes from Him, I lived a self satisfied life of seeking what I could find to satisfy my longings.

Until it didn’t satisfy.

Actually, it never did.

I used to be one way…and now I am completely different.

Same human, different spirit.

It was building over a long span of time.

But I changed in a moment.

I guess you could say that I became a “spiritual person” in that moment. The world that surrounded me, that I had been oblivious to, began to reveal itself.

A tiny seed of faith was placed in me, planted by The Sower, and it began to grow; tiny little roots, tiny little sprouts, tiny little leaves.

The fruit from this tiny plant was sweeter than anything I had ever “tasted” in the life before the seed was planted.

So, to my atheist friend I would say that spirituality is the ability to discern the effects of the invisible world around me. If you say there is no world of the spirit, then I guess I would say that you are not spiritual.

To my young friend who is engulfed in doubt, I would say, Feed the seed that was planted in you, water it, help it to grow. Seek advice from those who have survived trials, losses, pains, and troubles, and have grown stronger.

If you have received the Life from the Giver of Life, turn your eyes back to the Giver.

If you do not have the Son of God, you do not have Life.

Receive the Son.



Thoughts Wendy and I had about “The Chosen”

Imagine the disciples were a lot like we are, struggling through life, facing hardships, broken dreams, disappointments, failings of those who fail our expectations, failures of ourselves to be who we hoped we would be.

We are fighting our way through a life that is, at best, tolerable, at worst, cruel and unfair.

One step forward, seven steps back.

One day, some guy comes along, looks at me, and says, “Come. Follow me.”

You had just watched him speak a few words to someone’s hopeless situation, and watch as a life completely changes before your eyes.

He looks at you, speaks those challenging words, and you leave what you know and follow him.

There are others, a few, that have also responded to the challenge to follow, all coming from different backgrounds, responding to the new life they are entering much as they have responded to trials before.

But, now, they are following a man who, when facing a trial, a challenge, a disappointment, somehow rises to a different plain in his response.

The circumstances don’t control him. He doesn’t react…he responds.

He seems to understand “the why” behind the trial.

And he gently instructs, with a knowing encouraging nudge, pushing you toward a different response in a way that makes you want to be there.

You think, “How am I supposed to do that?”

He looks at you as if he hears your thoughts and whispers, ” You can do this.”

You struggle, you trip, you fall.

He reaches out a hand to help you back to your feet. “You’ll get there. Just follow me.”

You reach a point where you tell people, “Come and see.”

You can sense that he is changing you from within, and you want to be more like him.



lost…FOUND…seeking adventure

I think it was the fourth grade when we were required to bring an ink pen to school. What a big step that was! The writing drills, spelling tests had all been for a greater purpose.

So we could write with something that you could not erase. I was now required to think before writing.

Into my fourth grade cigar box of school supplies I proudly placed my new Sheaffer ball point pen.

I learned that an “ink eraser” didn’t really erase the mistakes.

Drawing a line through the mistake was frowned upon by the teacher.

Balls of wadded up paper were hurled at trash cans in the corner countless times.

The teacher also frowned on this practice.

When BIC came out with a 15 cent pen, well, now anyone can have a pen, can’t they? No more shelling out for those fine 1.29 Sheaffers or Parkers. And, if you lose a 15 cent pen, it’s not a big deal.

So, because I grew up with a BIC pen, I doubt that I ever paid more than five or six dollars for a nicer version. Someone gave me a Cross pen and pencil set for my high school graduation. I don’t know what it cost, but it was nice. Smooth.

All this is to tell you about my latest heartbreak.

On August 27th, Wendy took me into an antique shop in Mineola, Texas. This particular shop carried thes kind of stencil things that she is using in one of her craft deals. ( That is enough technical talk)

A man can only look at so many clear plastic stencils. “Which one of these four do you think are the best?” she would ask me.

They were all clear, no color, and my imagination just could not see the final product. “The sunflowers,” I said. “Or the lemons.”

I sneaked to the front of the store, pretending to be interested in something.

And then, I saw it!

The manliest pen I had ever seen. There, on the counter was a pen made from a 50 caliber shell.

“Now, that is a pen I would like to have,” I thought.

Then I saw the thirty dollar tag. The old, BIC owning fellow inside me put it down.

Wendy saw me looking at it. She could see my longing. “You should buy that,” she said.

And I did.

All week long, every invoice for work, every check, every deposit slip was written with this brave pen who had tasted the real life war time battle.

I showed him to everyone.

I loved this pen.

One week and one day later, my brother, Jeff came into town and we went to the cafe for lunch. When I signed the bill for lunch, I showed him my treasure.

“Man, don’t take that into an airport, they’ll throw you in jail,” he laughed.

I was so proud.

I put him back into my pocket, and Jeff drove me home.

The next day, I was getting dressed, and I couldn’t find my pen. WHERE IS MY PEN?

I texted Jeff and asked him if it had fallen out of my pocket into his truck.


I retraced all my steps from the day before.

It was gone.

My sadness was real. My heart was crying a little bit. It was gone.

Seven days later, Wendy said, “ You lost it? You should have let me engrave your name it!” (She had suggested that.) “Have you looked everywhere?” (Obviously, I hadn’t looked everywhere , or I would have it.) “Why don’t you call the cafe?”

I called the cafe.

The guy said, “Yes, it is in my desk drawer.”

“I will be there in five minutes!”

He brought the pen out to me. I gave him 10.00. “Give this to the one who found it and turned it in.” Now I had a 40 dollar pen.

I had him back. The world was good, and everything was fine now.

Wendy engraved my name and phone number one it. “ You should have let me do this when I suggested it in the first place.” (You’re right, Honey.)

The next morning I stuck him in my pocket to go to church.

Monday, I could not find him.

It’s been a week, now. I still feel an inner sadness.

But, to be fair, when he saw me approach him at the antique shop, a 5’6 1/2” white beard old man, he probably thought, “no, not him. I’ve seen war, carnage, fire, smoke.

He will probably just stick me in his pocket and show me to all his friends.”

And he escaped. Twice.

He didn’t realize that I, too, am fighting a battle, waging a war of faith and words, doing battle against an enemy that only wants to steal from me, kill and destroy me.

Someone once said, “The pen is mightier than the sword.”

He can come back and help me fight this war.

Because, now, he has my name.


I was bought before I even had a clue that I needed someone to rescue me.

I slipped out of His pocket for years, living the life that I chose for myself.

He felt a deep sadness, as I ran after my own ways.

Looking for that success, that excitement.

When he found me, He gave me the Life that I had been looking for, and I will never be lost again.

And now His name is engraved on me.



My brother, Jeff and I went to lunch. When we finished and were walking to the car, I commented on the heat.

He said, “Do you see how amazing it is that, no matter how hot or cold it is outside, our bodies keep a 98.6 temperature?”

We had already had a long conversation about God’s hand on us, God’s provision for us, God’s ordering our steps, God’s orchestrating our circumstances.

We find ourselves learning to trust Him, and not to trust our immediate understanding of the trials of life.

But, thinking about this comment, 98.6, I began to think of all the inter-workings of the different systems in my body that it takes to maintain the temperature.

The heart beats moving blood and oxygen. I don’t even have to think about it. It just beats.

The body pushes water out of our body to cool the skin when it is hot . I don’t even have to think about it.

And, I’m not the only one who has a 98.6 temperature. It is fairly universal among humans.

When an enemy in the form of a virus or bacteria enters my body, my body temperature rises, to make this virus or bacteria very uncomfortable, and to eventually overcome it.

I don’t have to think about it.

I was designed this way.

I have a tendency to find things to worry about, things that make me afraid.

But, if I don’t have the ability to make myself taller, or to will my heart to beat, or to keep my body from sweating, or to fix the world’s fixation on a virus, what can I do?

“Fear not! For I Am with you!

I know the plans I have for you.

I know the number of your days.

Trust in Me. Trust Me.

Commit your way to Me, and I will act.

Delight yourself in Me and I will give you the desires of your heart.

Be still before me.

Wait patiently for Me.

Do not fret over the man who carries out evil devices.

Do not fret! It leads only to evil.

If you delight in my way, I will establish your steps.

The salvation of the righteous is from Me.

I am your stronghold in times of trouble.

I will help you and deliver you and save you from the wicked.

Because, you take refuge in me.


(Excerpts from Psalm 37.)

Who am I to argue with that?



An atheist that I follow wrote a piece about how, to him, all religions look basically the same…blindly accepting their beliefs without any proof whatsoever. He said he just wants proof.

I began to read the comments. I was the only one responding that wasn’t in agreement with him.

Here is part of that exchange


Thespartanatheist: I keep hoping somewhere there is someone that reads my blog and goes “gee, I guess this thing I super believe in is just another fake religion in a sea of fake religions.

Nan: Don’t hold your breath…

Me: So, according to your comment, you really aren’t seeking the one true religion, you are just hoping to convince me that mine is fake.

Thespartanatheist: No, Randy. I keep hoping a religious person thinks.

Me: Then I guess I am not religious.

Thespartanatheist : Oh? You don’t have any beliefs in any god’s?

My answer:

You may have a bit of a point that I will concede.

I was brought up to believe in God.

Sunday School and church every Sunday. Every Sunday.

From the time I was in the fourth grader until after I graduated high school, I went to a week long church camp every summer. Every summer.

I was baptized in the fourth grade and became an actual member of the church.

And yet, with all this indoctrination, when I went to school, as I was taught the theory of evolution, the gradual processes of change stretched out over billions of years, I believed it, accepted it as fact, no questions asked.

I never once asked myself how this could be possible even though it completely contradicted everything the Bible taught.

Probably, because, I really didn’t know what the Bible taught.

When. I was twenty six, I had an experience that I call “an encounter with God.” (I know you don’t accept this as evidence, and that is fine. I’m not trying to convince you now. Just telling my story.)

In that moment, I began to believe God. Before, I believed he existed, but, since I had no stake in the claim, that was it.

I had believed what I was taught in school because the schoolbooks had the pictures, the theories, the examples right there in full color to “prove” the theory.

So, in that phase of my religious life, I did not think.

But, after my “encounter”, I began to desire more interactions with the God who had “intervened into my life.”

You might say that, when I was religious (believing in God) I wasn’t really thinking.

WhenI began to believe God, I began to think.

You think about things with the premise that there is no god.

At that point in my life, I began to think with the understanding that since God is real, how does the stuff I learned fit in with that?

The complexity of life, from the tiny cell to the interactivity of the entire universe screams about the Creator. I can’t deny it.

If a tiny cell is as complex as the electron microscope shows it to be, and each one of us is “knit together” with billions of such cells to become a sort of “universe of interactivity between all the different parts of our body”, how could anyone then say that chance and time was all it took to make all this happen.

I keep hoping that maybe I can get an “atheist person” to think.

Romans 12:1-2

“I appeal to you therefore, brothers, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship. Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect.”



I was at my first job of the day, cleaning windows. I was nearly finished when I came to a window with three red wasps on the bricks beside it.

I emptied the can of wasp spray that I had in my belt. I saw the hole in the bricks that was birthing three more wasps.

I ran back to my truck for another can.

I emptied the can at the new three and into the hole. A few crawled through the foam and died.

I went back for another can.

Three more were flying around the window refusing to land. They seemed angry.

Trying to conserve the spray, I shot short bursts, but they evaded my blasts. As they briefly left the area, I would shoot more into the hole. Four more lost the battle. Three more emerged.

I saw a man picking up sticks in the yard next door. I waved, shouting, “I’m doing battle against the demon hordes.”

“I can see that!” He replied. He had an African accent.

Fighting the hordes cost me a bit of time, but I finished the job, unstung.

End of story?

Three and a half hours earlier:

Our Thursday men’s group was small this morning. Six men. But the time is always powerful.

When we wrapped up, Mike leaned over and said, ” I want you to know, this morning I woke up at four, and I couldn’t go back to sleep. I was impressed to pray for you. You work sooo hard. And in this heat?”

I’m always glad when someone tells me that they have prayed for me. I thanked him for following through and for telling me.

Wendy called as I was driving to my first job, and I told her about Mike’s prayer.

“Oh, no! Please be careful! ” I knew she would say this. Three years ago, I received a text from a brother in the Lord, also named Mike, telling me that he had been impressed to pray for me that morning. If you like, you can read about that here. BEHIND THE SCENES

So I went to the job, and, about an hour and a half into it began the battle against the devil’s air force.

I know we don’t battle against flesh and blood, but these rascals can really get to my flesh.

And, they make my blood boil.

When I didn’t get stung, and I finished the job, I began to think about Mike’s prayer, and the way the wasps would circle but not attack.

I began to think back to Mike’s prayer. It wasn’t random, was it?

That still small voice of the Almighty whispered in his ear, “Tell him about your prayer.” He obeyed.

When Wendy called, that still small voice of the Almighty whispered in my ear, “Tell her about Mike’s prayer.” I did.

Listening to that Voice and following it opens our “eyes of understanding” to see the invisible world surrounding the one we see with our eyes.

I realized that I have been leaning on Psalm 91 for the last year and a half. When fear came on me in the early days of the pandemic, I read it. And I have read it again and again and again. I have told Wendy over and over that I believe that these words are intended for us, and with all the lies we have been told throughout the last few years, this book is telling us the truth.

Who you gonna believe?

Are you gonna be afraid for the rest of your life?

As for me and my house, we will continue to dwell in the secret place of the Most High God, and rest under the Shadow of the Almighty.

Psalm 91.

“This I declare about the Lord: He alone is my refuge, my place of safety; he is my God, and I trust him.

For he will rescue you from every trap and protect you from deadly disease.

He will cover you with his feathers.

He will shelter you with his wings.

His faithful promises are your armor and protection.

Do not be afraid of the terrors of the night, nor the arrow that flies in the day.

Do not dread the disease that stalks in darkness, nor the disaster that strikes at midday.”

Psalms 91:2-6 NLT