The End(s) of Discipline

"This is not good."

That's the thought that was running through my head this past Monday morning at around 8:30am. It was President's Day, and my brother and I have this running annual tradition of winter hiking/mountaineering Mount Washington on President's Day. Each year we set out to give our best attempt at reaching the summit, taking the Lion Head trail around the north edge of Tuckerman Ravine. Landing on conditions that make for a successful, complete ascent is never guaranteed; on Washington in February, wind and snow are pretty much the two things one can bank on. When they combine in the right way - which they often do - visibility above the tree line can drop to under a few feet, making any sustained effort at the summit unsafe and untenable. In the past three years, we have had to turn around below Lion Head - well below the summit - for various conditional reasons, twice. And that's all part of the experience: knowing when the conditions are right, and knowing when they're just not. This past Monday, though, conditions were good: sunny and clear, highs in the twenties, and not enough fresh powder for the winds to blind you with. It was a beautiful day for a climb.

That is to say, the WEATHER conditions were good. My own condition, on the other hand, was a bit wanting.

Around 8:30am, about an hour into our (eight hour) climb, I already knew I was in for a rough day. While I would consider myself an outdoorsman of a limited sort - camping, fishing, hunting are all things I enjoy, and spend a good deal of time doing - hiking mountains is not something I've been in the regular habit of since high school. In case you haven't noticed, for those of us north of 30 years old, high school is surprisingly well into the rear-view mirror, more and more so every year. So, while my brother and I do have this annual tradition of tackling Washington in February, this past Monday officially marked the one year anniversary of the last time I had strapped on hiking boots. Suffice it to say, that doesn't really constitute much of a conditioning regime. Additionally, while I would say I was in pretty good physical condition a few years back, that was a 'high water mark' of fitness for me. Over these past 2 or 3 years, the 'tide' has retreated considerably, while  - funny enough - those numbers on the scale have advanced by 25 pounds or so.  On top of that, it had become clear the night before that the Bannon family February cough and cold, that the kids had been trading back and forth for the past month, had finally decided to grace my respiratory system. So there I was, an hour into a full day of more or less continuous, reasonably strenuous physical activity, breathing hard, beginning to sweat under my layers of clothing, and feeling the weight of my pack bearing down on shoulders and legs that were already beginning to complain. We were nowhere near the challenging part of this hike. This was not good.

As tends to happen, it was in that moment that I was suddenly struck by a renewed appreciation for physical conditioning. While much of our daily motivation for bodily discipline and physical training, to what degree it exists at all, tends to gravitate towards greater or lesser degrees of vanity - the number of notches available on our belt, or how the torso above that belt is going to look when we find ourselves shirtless at the beach this coming summer - there are actually much better reasons for good management and stewardship of our bodies. Namely, that they will be prepared and able to DO things that we may want or need them to do when the time comes. To hike a mountain, run alongside our children, lift an object, to build or plant or carry, or simply to live a life to the fullest extent possible, unfettered by unnecessary illness or injury; our bodies have been given to us in order that we might live and DO, and to the extent that we fail to care for and train our bodies, we limit their ability to fulfill that end. As I set my feet upon the path to Washington's summit, I quickly knew that these past couple years, absent of physical discipline, were coming home to roost.

There's a pretty easy spiritual-journey parallel at work here, but it took me a couple more hours into the hike - and a good deal more exhaustion - to arrive at that epiphany. We'll get there momentarily.

We made our way up the wide, groomed trail from Pinkham Notch - struggling more than we ought to have been  - to the point where the Lion Head winter trail breaks off, and we stopped to put on crampons and get out the mountaineering axes. For the next half mile or so our path would consist of steep mixed climbing, up snow, rock and ice. Still below the tree line and out of the wind; the fresh snow clinging to the stunted alpine evergreens, the brilliant blue sky and sun, and the breathtaking panoramic views that improved with each carefully chosen step, were enough to remind one why this was a worthwhile endeavor. It was the kind of joy-inspiring beauty that mutes the challenge and the experience of physical strain. It was slow-going, but in the sort of surroundings that encourage you to take your time, anyway.

Emerging from the tree line some distance below Lion Head, you encounter for the first time what the second half of this journey will be like: the terrain is rocky and slow, and there will be no more shelter from the wind. Suddenly, I was reminded how tired I was. Buffeted by the arctic winds, gusting anywhere from 50 to over 85mph that day, just keeping our feet became a task requiring concerted focus and effort. In spite of this, visibility remained excellent. Which, among other things, meant that the conditions were right for summiting; the only thing that could stand between us and our stated goal that day were our own limitations. In the end, I think, it was that realization that pressed me onward. In the two years previous, we had been forced to turn around by conditions beyond our control. As such, on both those occasions I could happily say that I'd given it my best shot, but that it just wasn't the right day to summit. And that was fine. But on this day, I knew that if I was going to turn around it was going to be because I was admitting that I just didn't have it in me, and that was going to be a tough pill to swallow. So, onward we went.

We stopped to rest and eat something against some large rocks at the base of Lion Head around 10 or 10:30 that morning, getting out of the wind as best as we were able. It felt good to get off my feet, but I could feel the circulation slow and the cold begin to creep into my fingers almost instantly. We couldn't stop moving for very long. From here forward, though, every step was taken with the distinct impression that the next step remained a very much open question. Would I open my mouth to verbalize the message that my body was speaking to me? Would I concede defeat, there on the mountainside, turn and descend? Two more hours would pass while this debate raged internally; in the meantime, one step followed another, carefully and deliberately, as I could not find the will to stop or speak that word of defeat.

We crested Lion Head and made our way across the plateau of the Alpine Garden, with Tuckerman Ravine gaping majestically just off to our left. In the spaces between gales of wind, the February sun was almost warm. Incomparable views greeted us in every direction, and once again the beauty of our surroundings was such that the struggle of the moment was nearly forgotten. What grace, and what a privilege it was, to be two people immersed in the glory of the Creator in that place on that day! Exhausted as I was, I could not help but smile as I breathed deeply in that moment; I gave thanks to God for the richness of His blessings. And that is significant, because it was right about that time that this excursion would shift to become a distinctly more spiritual affair. God was about to draw back the internal curtain and put on a show.

There on the Alpine Garden, my already limited physical abilities took a turn for the worse; the hours of anaerobic strain suddenly reached a threshold, and my legs began to cramp. Every step became shaky and questioning. Gritting my teeth in discomfort and frustration, I began to realize that this could very well spell the end of our ascent. With more than a mile of steep, rocky terrain still ahead of us, I just didn't know how I could possibly continue if my own legs turned traitor to the cause. And so I stood there, stretching and massaging my quadriceps, while staring down the path ahead of us. From there on that rocky plateau, the steep and imposing Snow Field rose up directly ahead of us. Beyond that, our trail would merge with the Tuckerman Ravine trail to make for the summit via Split Rock; appropriately named, and 50% steeper, still. From where I stood, the ever-distant summit appeared as a mountain upon a mountain. As far as we had come, and as much energy as we had spent, there was still a mountain - steep, jagged and imposing - between us and our goal. And in that moment, I realized that I just couldn't do it. I was not in any way equal to the path, and I could look nowhere else but to my own weakness and personal limitations for the reason. Others were suited to the task that day - guides with clients, experienced winter hikers - but I was not. They were prepared for the challenge before them, though personal conditioning and an intentionality of experience, whereas by contrast I was merely a cavalier tourist on this mountain, aiming for a prize that my preparation simply did not merit. This was a humbling and illuminating realization.

Maybe it was just exhaustion, or maybe it was a spiritual epiphany, but in that moment the impossible height before me suddenly came to represent our present journey of life and church in a pretty profound way. As a newly 'minted' church planter, I know that the journey of church planting is, in the very best case, a five year journey toward sustainable vitality. Thinking of our fledgling community, The Commons, it came home to me the degree to which we stand just before the trailhead of this path that Jesus is calling us to undertake. There is a mountain standing before us; it cannot be avoided. It is, in fact, the very essence of the call itself. But standing there, more than a mile below the summit of Washington and having already spent every ounce of energy, I came to the stark realization that I was not remotely prepared for the demands of this journey of faith that lies ahead, any more than I was conditioned to take on New England's highest peak in February. Even as I have striven to be faithful in hearing and responding to this call, I know that I have often failed to prepare myself for the journey itself. Even now, standing at the trailhead, I can feel the limits of my own wisdom, competency and piety stretched to the point of breaking by the demands of the path. And I am afraid. Afraid of being betrayed by own weakness, stranded somewhere along that height, far short of the goal. And I long for a heart and mind disciplined and honed so as to be fit for the task before me. I resonate with the words of Paul to the Corinthian church as he reflects on his own need for discipline, both physical and spiritual:

"Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one receives the prize? So run that you may obtain it. Every athlete exercises self-control in all things. They do it to receive a perishable wreath, but we an imperishable. So I do not run aimlessly; I do not box as one beating the air. But I discipline my body and keep it under control, lest after preaching to others I myself should be disqualified." (1 Cor. 9:24-27, ESV)

In the end, our only hope is the grace of God, embodied and given to us in and through Jesus Christ. I know that no amount of will, wisdom, strength or personal piety could ever make me fit for the task ahead. I know that, unless God himself does this work and builds this house, all our labor and sacrifice will have been in vain. And so, I cast myself upon the grace of Christ, confessing my weakness and sin, and thanking him that his love is such that he inclines to our weakness in order to lend his own strength. This is Grace, and it is the only rightful foundation of our hope and work.

That said, the temptation is to cheapen the gift of grace; mistaking the freedom with which it is offered for a lack of cost in both the giving and receiving. The paradox of the grace of Christ is that it is a totally free, undeserved gift, that also costs us everything. We cannot receive the gift of Christ without simultaneously giving ourselves to him; we cannot accept his embrace without surrendering ourselves to his arms. And so, while we rejoice that on this journey ahead will never need to rely upon our own strength, we also know that the Savior who meets and calls and inclines to us in our places of weakness simultaneously begins a transforming work, in order to lead us from that weakness to a place of fitness and life. We engage in spiritual disciplines (rhythms of prayer, scripture reading, sabbath, and the like) , then, not in order to merit the favor of God, or to establish his Church on the basis of our own strength, but in order to know the joy and fulness of that life of Christ himself as it is birthed within us and begins to bear fruit for his Kingdom.

As I consider the path and challenge before us, I am convicted by the thought that I might, through lack of discipline, risk a life of stunted fruitfulness by presuming to cheapen the grace of Christ, rather than surrendering to it. I fear that, through laziness or presumption, I might miss the richness of fruitfulness and life that Jesus has purchased for me. I long so much that I (and we) would not merely stumble through life, half asleep, and miss the unspeakable abundance that Christ so longs to place in our hands! The vistas are far too beautiful to not risk the climb. And so my heart cries out with the Apostle Paul:

 "Not that I have already obtained this or am already perfect, but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own. Brothers, I do not consider that I have made it my own. But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus."

In the end, we did manage to make it to the summit of Washington that day. I'm not really sure how. Surely, pure stubbornness and force of will were really all we had left to go on, humanly and physically speaking, so I'm willing to admit that God probably just took pity on us. By the time we reached the summit the wind, the cold, and the climb had sapped us of any residual vitality. Our victory was an empty, humorless one, endearing only in hindsight. We rounded the corner into an arctic gale, sat for one scowling moment at the top of the world, then began our descent. I would like to imagine that I might finish this race of life in somewhat better form.

All told, it was driven home for me in a profound way that, inasmuch as to discipline ourselves physically is not a matter of mere vanity but of preparation for the journey ahead, so too for our souls. Too often we are cavalier tourists within this community of Jesus, stricken with laziness and presumption. In the end, we will merely undermine our own Kingdom fruitfulness and joy. So as we prepare to enter the season of Lent I would exhort us all, beginning with myself, to take this opportunity to (re)discover the blessings of a rhythm of spiritual discipline and preparation, in whatever form that might take for you. There is a journey ahead of us, and the horizon is eternity itself; along the way, we will certainly find ourselves grateful for the improved fitness.

It Takes a Church...

"Then Eliashib the high priest rose up with his brothers the priests, and they built the Sheep Gate. They consecrated it and set its doors. They consecrated it as far as the Tower of the Hundred, as far as the Tower of Hananel. 2 And next to him the men of Jericho built. And next to them Zaccur the son of Imri built.

3 The sons of Hassenaah built the Fish Gate. They laid its beams and set its doors, its bolts, and its bars. 4 And next to them Meremoth the son of Uriah, son of Hakkoz repaired. And next to them Meshullam the son of Berechiah, son of Meshezabel repaired. And next to them Zadok the son of Baana repaired. 5 And next to them the Tekoites repaired, but their nobles would not stoop to serve their Lord.

6 Joiada the son of Paseah and Meshullam the son of Besodeiah repaired the Gate of Yeshanah. They laid its beams and set its doors, its bolts, and its bars. 7 And next to them repaired Melatiah the Gibeonite and Jadon the Meronothite, the men of Gibeon and of Mizpah, the seat of the governor of the province Beyond the River.8 Next to them Uzziel the son of Harhaiah, goldsmiths, repaired. Next to him Hananiah, one of the perfumers, repaired, and they restored Jerusalem as far as the Broad Wall. 9 Next to them Rephaiah the son of Hur, ruler of half the district of Jerusalem, repaired. 10 Next to them Jedaiah the son of Harumaph repaired opposite his house. And next to him Hattush the son of Hashabneiah repaired. 11 Malchijah the son of Harim and Hasshub the son of Pahath-moab repaired another section and the Tower of the Ovens. 12 Next to him Shallum the son of Hallohesh, ruler of half the district of Jerusalem, repaired, he and his daughters.

13 Hanun and the inhabitants of Zanoah repaired the Valley Gate. They rebuilt it and set its doors, its bolts, and its bars, and repaired a thousand cubits of the wall, as far as the Dung Gate.
14 Malchijah the son of Rechab, ruler of the district of Beth-haccherem, repaired the Dung Gate. He rebuilt it and set its doors, its bolts, and its bars.
15 And Shallum the son of Col-hozeh, ruler of the district of Mizpah, repaired the Fountain Gate. He rebuilt it and covered it andset its doors, its bolts, and its bars. And he built the wall of the Pool of Shelah of the king's garden, as far as the stairs that go down from the city of David. 16 After him Nehemiah the son of Azbuk, ruler of half the district of Beth-zur, repaired to a point opposite the tombs of David, as far as the artificial pool, and as far as the house of the mighty men.17 After him the Levites repaired: Rehum the son of Bani. Next to him Hashabiah, ruler of half the district of Keilah, repaired for his district.18 After him their brothers repaired: Bavvai the son of Henadad, ruler of half the district of Keilah. 19 Next to him Ezer the son of Jeshua, ruler of Mizpah, repaired another section opposite the ascent to the armory at the buttress. 20 After him Baruch the son of Zabbai repaired another section from the buttress to the door of the house of Eliashib the high priest. 21 After him Meremoth the son of Uriah, son of Hakkoz repaired another section from the door of the house of Eliashib to the end of the house of Eliashib. 22 After him the priests, the men of the surrounding area, repaired. 23 After them Benjamin and Hasshub repaired opposite their house. After them Azariah the son of Maaseiah, son of Ananiah repaired beside his own house. 24 After him Binnui the son of Henadad repaired another section, from the house of Azariah to the buttress 25 and to the corner. Palal the son of Uzai repaired opposite the buttress and the tower projecting from the upper house of the king at the court of the guard. After him Pedaiah the son of Parosh 26 and the temple servants living on Ophel repaired to a point opposite the Water Gate on the east and the projecting tower. 27 After him the Tekoites repaired another section opposite the great projecting tower as far as the wall of Ophel.

28 Above the Horse Gate the priests repaired, each one opposite his own house. 29 After them Zadok the son of Immer repaired opposite his own house. After him Shemaiah the son of Shecaniah, the keeper of the East Gate, repaired. 30 After him Hananiah the son of Shelemiah and Hanun the sixth son of Zalaph repaired another section. After him Meshullam the son of Berechiah repaired opposite his chamber.31 After him Malchijah, one of the goldsmiths, repaired as far as the house of the temple servants and of the merchants, opposite the Muster Gate, and to the upper chamber of the corner. 32 And between the upper chamber of the corner and the Sheep Gate the goldsmiths and the merchants repaired. "

(Nehemiah 3, ESV)

That's a lot of names. A lot of archaic, difficult-to-pronounce names. But for all the challenges, this is a passage with a very timely message.

Back in 1996, then-First Lady Hillary Clinton published a book entitled “It Takes a Village: and other lessons children teach us”; a title inspired by a conglomerate African proverb along the lines of, “It takes a village to raise a child.” Hillary’s socio-political ideology aside - and not even to open the conversation about whether or not you or I happen to agree with the sentiment of the proverb in question - it’s this proverb that came to mind as I was thinking about Nehemiah 3 this past week.

I don’t know if it takes a village to raise a child. But as I was reading Nehemiah I was struck by the conviction that it takes a Church to raise a City. And I think this has some pretty significant implications for us here at The Commons, as we come together and figure out what it means to build a church.

To vastly understate the situation, Jerusalem in the time of Nehemiah had seen much better days. Once a beacon and witness to the Creator God and his mission to reveal himself to the world in and through the people of Israel, it was the city of kings, and the city of the Temple where the name of the one true God dwelled in a special way. It was a city where the nations would be drawn to experience and come to know the name and nature of that God. But Israel’s faithlessness and infidelity towards this God - who had called them and sustained them and nurtured them as a people precious to himself - had led them into decline, defeat, and ultimately total desolation. Crushed by Babylon, and now overrun by Persia, Jerusalem was a joke, a byword; with it’s walls torn down and temple laid waste, it was warning to anyone who would consider standing up to the powers of the day.

This a parallel to our own world in many ways. Our world is a beautiful, broken, place, and our communities are beautiful, broken places made up of beautiful, but broken, people. Our world is a place where the memory and the essence of that abundantly good creation that God handed to us to steward and develop into the fullness of it’s potential still clings and cries out. But it is a world wracked and broken by our sin, our faithlessness, our rebellion against life itself. Over and against all that inherent beauty and potential, there is obviously much in our world that simply ought not be; ugly things, broken things, many things too terrible to mention.

The goodness of God is such, however – and the Good News of Jesus Christ is such – that in His great redeeming, rescuing, restoring love, God was not content to simply abandon this people - this world and creation that He had established as a place for His name and His glory to dwell – to remain trapped in death and hopelessness. But that in Jesus our rebellion and brokenness and death were met head on (on the cross) and defeated (in the resurrection), and that hope and life and redemption and restoration have been made possible. And Jesus, subsequently, establishes His Church to be the expression and outworking of this new reality in the world, until that day when he comes again to bring this new creation work fully to bear.

Nehemiah 3 is great passage, as awkward as it is to read. It’s beautiful, because it’s a picture of a church, shoulder to shoulder, rebuilding a broken city, against the odds, for the sake of bringing honor to their God. Every awkward, archaic name in list is powerful, because each name represents a person, as real as you and I. And that’s when it struck me: It takes a Church to raise a City. And I think this is true for any city, any community, but it really comes home when I think about the call it seems that God is placing on us for the Rochester area. Because our city is a city with some scars. Our city is a city that is searching for hope, searching for it’s identity, trying to find vision for it’s future. And I’m convinced that Jesus has something to say to our city. I’m convinced that Jesus is the hope and the that our friends and neighbors are desperately searching for, whether they can name that search or not. Our vision, here at The Commons, is that we might be a hope-embodying, city-building community of Jesus here, in this place.

And I love how practical this story is, too. Because rebuilding a broken city, never mind restoring a broken world, is an overwhelming, daunting task. Where do you start? So much rubble, so much to overcome, so much work to do… It’s too much, to be honest. What would Jesus have us do? I believe He would simply have us be faithful to begin with that which he puts in front of our face. It stands out to me that in Nehemiah 3 there are five specific mentions of individuals or groups who focused on the repairs that were needed in immediate proximity to their own homes. It seems to me that being a people of hope and restoration begins in our own living rooms. It spills out onto the streets where we live. It will come to define our presence at work, in school; in whatever spaces we occupy as friends, neighbors, and citizens. We’re going to be a people who are serious about engaging the brokenness of our world that we find at the end of our own driveways, asking Jesus to give us the wisdom and resources to build a city that honors Him: one brick, one person, one family, and one neighborhood at a time. It takes a Church to raise a City.

Our vision is to be a people who are: Journeying with God to see a world renewed, neighborhoods transformed, and people brought to life by the Good News of Jesus Christ. I'm excited to be on this journey with you all.

More than We can Handle.

(A *First Ever* guest post, from the charming, lovely and wise Rebecca Bannon. I trust you will find it a blessing. )

Have you ever heard someone say, “God doesn’t give us more than we can handle”?  I seem to be running into this idea a lot lately.  Someone will mention something difficult they are facing and then try to encourage themselves by saying, “Well, God doesn’t give us more than we can handle, right?”  Or, to paraphrase the opening to a song on the radio, “God must think I’m pretty strong to give me all this junk to deal with.”  I’m usually pretty skeptical about theological ideas that fit on a bumper sticker, and this one in particular has been bugging me lately because I think it’s off the mark from Scripture.

I think the concept of “God won’t give me more than I can handle” comes largely from Philippians 4:13, “I can do all thinks through him who strengthens me.”  This is everyone’s favorite Bible verse, right?  Everyone wants to be told, “You can do anything!”  And if we can find it written in a Bible verse, all the better!  But I think our problem is that, short as this verse is, we only read half of it. 

Let’s look at the verse in some context.  Paul writes, “I rejoice in the Lord greatly that now at length you have revived your concern for me. You were indeed concerned for me, but you had no opportunity.  Not that I am speaking of being in need, for I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content.  I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound. In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need.  I can do all things through him who strengthens me” (Philippians 4:10-13).  Contentment is a different posture than buckling down to tough something out because you are strong.  Contentment in difficult circumstances is a posture of rest, trusting that God is working to accomplish His purposes and ultimately to glorify Himself.  

Paul says he can be content in every circumstance because God enables him to be content.  The danger of the “I can do all things” attitude is that at the end of the day, we still rely on our own strength.  We want God to give us the inner fortitude, but we still plan on doing the heavy lifting.  It’s a way for us to retain control.  But Paul can be content because he knows he is not the one in control.  Paul submits himself to the will of God, no matter what the circumstances, knowing that God will provide him with whatever is necessary.

  

I think we like the idea that God must think we’re strong if he’s willing to give us so much junk to deal with.  But thinking, “Wow, this weight I’m carrying must mean God really likes me!” is totally the antithesis of “Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you” (1 Peter 5:7).  Jesus said, “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light” (Matthew 11:28-30).  The Gospel is that, actually, you aren’t strong enough, and you can never be strong enough. God is strong enough.  You are released from the responsibility of having to be strong.  You are released from the responsibility of figuring out a way to handle all of your mess on your own.  On the cross and through his resurrection, Jesus defeated everything that is wrong with this world.  So our responsibility is to look to the One who provides.  We lay the brokenness of our lives and the brokenness of our world at his feet.  We ask for forgiveness for ways we have contributed to brokenness and we ask Jesus to be Lord over our lives. 

Another verse comes to mind because it contains the phrase, “beyond what you can bear.”  In 1 Corinthians 10:13, Paul writes, “No temptation has overtaken you except what is common to mankind.  And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear.  But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can endure it.”  Paul has been warning his readers to stand firm against sin.  He reminds them that they are not unique in being tempted, that all people face similar temptations, and that God will provide them a way out of every temptation.  So once again we are reminded that God will fill up what we lack.  God provides the strength to endure temptation and make wise decisions.

I think when we are honest, we know that life is more than we can handle.  No matter how many times we repeat the words, “I can do all things through him who strengthens me,” many of us deal with things on a regular basis that are more than we can take.  Some of us continue to put one foot in front of the other, but we aren’t really living.  But a recurring theme throughout Scripture is that God is our provider.  Time and again, God stepped in to provide deliverance from enemies, food in famine, guidance for the lost, and healing for bodies, minds, and spirits.  Not only these, but He promises the constant presence of the God Who Sees (see Genesis 16).  Jesus died on the cross to redeem what is broken in our world.  We need to look to him as the only one who can supply what we need.  We need to cultivate our relationship with him so that we learn to trust his goodness and his sovereignty.  And when life is more than we can handle, we can stand confidently and rest contentedly in the care of the God who is our provision.  

I hear the Savior say, “Thy strength indeed is small.

Child of weakness, watch and pray; find in Me thine all in all.”

- Elvina M. Hall, “Jesus Paid it All”