We wait and believe along with the faithful heroes in Hebrews 11, even to this day. This is Advent waiting. This is hope.
Its fall, when leaves wither on the vine and our lives begin to wither at the prospect of winter. It only makes sense if we remember Spring will come again.
It’s always about this time every year that I grow wholly grateful for life in ways I wish would stick with me through the year. October is my birth month—a birth so many moons ago I begin to lose track. But October also is my death month. At least that’s the story I thought I was living nine years ago.
I’ve been struggling for a few weeks now to get a handle on some rather annoying personality quirks in myself. If I’m honest, I might even call them sins. I jump to conclusions, I become easily offended, I take everything so personally, and I complain when I don’t get my way.
Last week, we took a vacation to Montana to visit my brother and his family. Steve, the boys, and I flew from Indianapolis to Denver, then Denver to Bozeman, where we picked up a rental van for the week. In our short time there, we visited museums and lakes, we saw Old Faithful …