My chubby little girl. 5 and a half months. I can't believe how big she's getting. She rolls over, but only when I'm not watching apparently. She has learned to squeal....loudly. She thinks Winston is seriously funny. She has the ability to make me do stupid things just for a laugh.....and she's growing up way too fast.
Certainly, I've expressed my aversion to hyper-spiritualized language before. It often feels contrived, lacking authenticity—a facade of piety. Perhaps it's projection. Maybe jealousy. Or it could stem from a sense of disillusionment with the Christian community. But every so often, amidst the noise, a truth resonates deeply. "There is a root and fruit connection between heart and behavior. People and situations do not determine our behavior; these things provide an occasion where our behavior reveals our hearts." - Instruments in the Redeemer's Hands I've been navigating through my anger, confronting myself in the mirror. What does this anger unveil about my own heart? Surely, they aren't as enraged with me. In fact, they probably don't spare me a second thought. If anything, they—as sincerely as they can muster—bemoan my status as an apostate. So pitiful. My fruit is anger. And too often, I'm tempted to point fingers elsewhere as the source of my...
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