When we first moved here, we were surrounded by twenty acres of woods on each side. We sat at the table and watched deer grazing at the edge of the woods while we ate breakfast. Our garden was pilfered by coons and possums that could ruin two dozen melons and decimate a forty foot row of corn overnight. We shot rattlesnakes and moccasins, and shooed armadillos out of the yard. At night we listened not only to whippoorwills singing and owls hooting, but also to bobcats screaming deep in the woods.
            Then one morning I walked out to the chicken pen to gather eggs. I stepped inside warily because the rooster had a habit of declaring his territory with an assault on whoever came through the gate, and as I watched for him over my shoulder, I realized that my subconscious count of the hens was off by one or two. So I scattered the feed and carefully counted them when they came running to eat—one, two, three, four…nine, ten, eleven. One was missing.
            I scoured the pen. No chickens hiding behind the coop or under a scrubby bush. I checked the old tub we used to water them just to make sure one had not fallen in, as had happened before. Nothing quite like finding a drowned chicken first thing in the morning, but no chicken in the tub. Then I left the pen and searched around it. On the far side lay a trail of feathers leading off to the woods, but Keith was away on business and there wasn’t much I could do. The next morning I counted only ten chickens and found yet another trail.
            We were fairly sure what was going on. So when he got back home that day, he parked the truck up by the house, pointed toward the chicken pen, and that night when the dogs started barking, he stepped outside in the dark, shotgun in hand, and flipped on the headlights. Nothing. Every night for a week, he was out with the first bark, and every night he saw nothing. But he never stopped going out to look. At least the noise and lights were saving the chickens we still had.
            Then one night, after over a week of losing sleep and expecting once again to find nothing, there it was—a bobcat standing outside the pen, seventy-five feet across the field. Keith is a very good shot, even by distant headlight.
            I still think of that trail of feathers sometimes and shiver. I couldn’t help hoping the hen was already dead when she was dragged off, that she wasn’t squawking in fear and pain in the mouth of a hungry predator.
            Sometimes it happens to the people of God. We usually think in terms of sheep and wolves, and the scriptures talk in many places of those sheep being “snatched” and “scattered.” It isn’t hard to imagine a trail of fleece and blood instead of feathers.         
            I think we need to imagine that scene more often and make it real in our minds, just as real as that trail of feathers was to me. Losing a soul is not some trivial matter. It is frightening; it is painful; it is bloody; it’s something worth losing a little sleep over. If we thought of it that way, maybe we would work harder to save a brother who is on the edge, maybe we would be more careful ourselves and not walk so close to the fence, flirting with the wolf on the other side.
            Look around you today and do a count. How many souls have been lost in the past year alone? Has anyone bothered to set up a trap for the wolf? Has anyone even acknowledged his existence? Clipped chickens, even as dumb as they are, do not fly over a six foot fence, but a bobcat can climb it in a flash and snatch the unwary in his jaws. Be on the lookout today.
 
I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep. He who is a hired hand and not a shepherd, who does not own the sheep, sees the wolf coming and leaves the sheep and flees, and the wolf snatches them and scatters them. He flees because he is a hired hand and cares nothing for the sheep. I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father; and I lay down my life for the sheep. (John 10:11-15)
 

​We heat with wood.  A thirty-six-year-old Ashley wood stove sits in the heart of our home—the kitchen and family room area.  Our boys grew up watching their father labor with a chainsaw, axe, and splitting maul, eventually helping him load the eighteen inch lengths of wood into the pickup bed and then onto the wood racks.  Every time a friend or neighbor lost a tree or several large limbs fell, the phone rang, and the three of them set off for a Saturday’s worth of work that kept us warm for a few days and the heating bill down where we could pay it.
            At first those small boys could only carry one log at a time, and a small one at that.  Wood is heavy if still unseasoned, and always rough and unwieldy.  By the time they were 10, an armful numbered two or three standard logs, even the lighter, seasoned ones.  They were 16 or older before they could come close to their father’s armload of over half a dozen logs, and grown men before they could match him log for log.  Even that is a small amount of wood.  In a damped woodstove, it might last half the night, but on an open fire barely an hour.
            So I laugh when I see pictures of an 8-10 year old Isaac carrying four or five “sticks” up Mt Moriah behind his father Abraham.  To carry the amount of wood necessary to burn a very wet animal sacrifice, Isaac had to have been grown, or nearly so, not less than 16 or 17, and probably older and more filled out.  In fact, in the very next chapter, Genesis 23, Isaac is 37 years old.  In chapter 21, his weaning, he is somewhere between 3 and 8, probably the older end, so all we can say for certain is he is between 3 and 37 at the time of his offering.  Our experience with wood carrying tells me that he was far older than most people envision.
            Do you realize what that means?  This may well have been a test of Abraham’s faith, but it also shows that Isaac’s faith was not far behind his father’s.  He could easily have over-powered his father, a man probably two decades north of 100, and gotten away.  He, too, trusted that God would provide, even as he lay himself down on that altar and watched his father raise his hand.
            How did he know?  Because he watched God provide everyday of his life.  He saw his father’s relationship with God, heard his prayers and watched his offerings, witnessed the decisions he made every day based solely on the belief in God’s promises, and his absolute obedience even when it hurt, like sending his brother Ishmael away (Gen 21:12-14). Isaac did not know a time when his family did not trust God, so he did too.  “God will provide” made perfect sense to him.
            When that young man carried that hefty load of wood up that mountain, he went with a purpose, based upon the example of his father’s faith and his Father’s faithfulness.  Would your children be willing to carry that wood?
 
The living, the living, he thanks you, as I do this day; the father makes known to the children your faithfulness. Isaiah 38:19
 
Dene Ward

​In the country the power can go out for no apparent reason.  You expect it in a storm.  Limbs break and fall on power lines.  Ground becomes saturated with rain and the trees uproot themselves and fall over, taking the lines underneath with them.  Lightning strikes sub-stations and transformers.  All of that is understandable.  What is not is an outage on a calm, sunny day, something that happens far more often in the country than in town.
            When you are not expecting an outage, it can cause problems.  I once put a sour cream pound cake in the oven only to have the power go out twenty minutes later.  (Yes, the sun was shining brightly.)  I needed another 40-60 minutes of 325 degree heat.  I was afraid to take the cake out, but unsure how the residual heat would affect the cooking time, nor how the reheat time would affect it when the power came back on.
            I decided to leave it in the oven, thinking that it was less likely to fall from that than from suddenly moving it from the oven heat to room temperature when it wasn’t even half-cooked.  Two hours later, the lights came on and the oven began reheating itself.  I compromised on the time and with the aid of a toothpick was able to find the moment when the cake was done but not over done.  It was a little more compact than usual, but it didn’t fall, and it tasted fine.
            When you live in the land of unexpected outages, you really appreciate the consistency of God’s power.  Eph 1:19 tells us it is immeasurable, which means it cannot be contained and is therefore infinite.  Romans 1:20 simply mentions “the eternal power” of God.  Whenever we need it, it is there for the asking and nothing can deplete it.  Every time I hear someone say, “There are so many others with bigger problems, I hate to bother God with mine,” I wonder if they really understand the “eternal” power of God.
            God’s power guards us (1 Pet 1:5); it strengthens us (Eph 6:10; Col 1:11); it preserves us (Psa 79:11); it supports us in our suffering (2 Tim 1:8); it redeems us (Neh 1:10).  Paul prayed that the Ephesian brethren would know that power, the same power that raised Christ from the dead (1:19,20) and the same power that can answer any request we might possibly think of (3:20).  And, he says, that same power works within us as well.
            When the storms of life rage around you, you will not have to worry about the power going out.  In fact, that power will be stronger the more you need it.  Paradoxically, we are never stronger than when we need God the most because we are letting Him take care of things.  Counting on yourself is the weakest you will ever be, and that usually happens on the sunny days, the days when life is easy.  On stormy days, the days when we finally give up and lay it all before God, the power at our disposal is awesome. 
            The Light never goes out, or even dims in a brownout, when run by the power of God.
 
Ascribe power to God, whose majesty is over Israel, and whose power is in the skies. Awesome is God from his sanctuary; the God of Israel--he is the one who gives power and strength to his people.  Blessed be God! Psa 68:34-35
 
Dene Ward

John does not mince his words.  If how a person behaves contradicts what he says, he is a liar.  To claim to know God and have fellowship with God while we walk in the darkness of disobedience is to lie (1 John 1:6; 2:4).  To claim to possess the Father while denying the deity of the Son is to lie (2:22-23).  To claim to love God while hating our brothers is also to lie.  There are the three black lies of the letter:  moral, doctrinal, and social.  We may insist that we are Christian, but habitual sin, denial of Christ or selfish hatred would expose us as liars.  Only holiness, faith and love can prove the truth of our claim to know, possess and love God.

​John Stott, The Letters of John

On July 14, 1993, six year old Alex Donley died from eating a hamburger contaminated with E.coli. at a family backyard barbecue. He suffered for four days with hemolytic uremic syndrome, a kidney disease that comes with the worst E.coli infections.  It shredded his intestines, liquefied portions of his brain and destroyed his hypothalamus.  His mother Nancy has chosen to fight for improvements to the safety of the US food system ever since, and I imagine every one of us has followed the rules that have come about from incidents like this tragic loss. 
            One time I opened the cooler and looked down into the plastic bin inside and saw a bloody mess.  Immediately my mind went into salvage mode.  We were camping, living out of a cooler for nine days, and couldn’t take any chances, even if it did cost us a week’s worth of meals.  As it turns out, the problem was easily solved.
            Whenever we camp, because space is short for that much food and eating out is not an option, I take all the meat for our evening meals frozen.  The frozen meat itself acts as ice in the cooler, keeping the temperature well down in the safe zone, and we use it as it thaws, replacing it with real ice.  I learned early on to re-package each item in a zipper freezer bag so that as it thaws the juices don’t drip out and contaminate the other food and the ice we use in our drinks.  We also put the meat in plastic tubs, away from things like butter, eggs, and condiments—just in case.  That’s what saved us this time.
            Somehow the plastic bag in which I had placed the steaks had developed a leak, but all those bloody red juices were safely contained in the white tub, and the other meats were still sealed.  I removed the bin from the cooler, put the steaks in a new bag, dumped the mess and cleaned the bin and the outside of the other meat bags, then returned the whole thing to the cooler, everything once again tidy and above all, safe.
            We all do the same things in our kitchens.  After handling raw meat, we wash our hands.  We use separate cutting boards for meat and vegetables meant to be eaten fresh.  And lately, they are even telling us not to wash poultry at all because it splashes bacteria all over the kitchen.
            We follow all these safety rules for our familys' health, then think nothing of cross-contaminating our souls.  What do you watch on TV?  What do you look at on the internet?  Where do you go for recreation?  No, we cannot get out of the world, but we can certainly keep it from dumping its garbage on the same countertops we use to prepare our families’ spiritual meals.  There is an “off” button.
            Maybe the problem is that these things are not as repulsive to us as they should be.  The Psalmist said, I have not sat with men of falsehood; Neither will I go in with dissemblers. I hate the assembly of evil-doers, And will not sit with the wicked. I will wash my hands in innocency: So will I compass your altar, O Jehovah; Psalms 26:4-6.  Can we say our hands are clean when we assemble to worship God after spending a week being titillated by the sins of others?
            Little Alex Donley is a horribly sad story, but maybe if we followed some basic spiritual safety rules as carefully as we do those for our physical health, maybe we would lose fewer to cross-contamination of the soul.
 
And have no fellowship with the unfruitful works of darkness, but rather even reprove them; for the things which are done by them in secret it is a shame even to speak of. Ephesians 5:11-12
 
Dene Ward

While the boys were still at home, we raised pigs and chickens.  The chickens we kept mainly for their eggs, but when one stopped producing well, it was time for chicken and dumplings.  The pigs were meant for meat from the time they were piglets.  We named the males Hamlet and the females Baconette to remind us.  You don’t want to get close to an animal destined for the dining table, but then adult pigs are so disgusting there isn’t much danger of that anyway.
            Slaughtering chickens is not quite as traumatic as slaughtering pigs.  They are birds instead of mammals, and they are small and don’t bleed as much.  We never shielded the boys from these things.  They needed to understand where our food came from.  I think there are some city people who must think meat is left in the meat markets in the night by elves the way they go on about the cruelty of ranchers and hunters.  When you understand where it comes from, you respect the animals and appreciate them much more than you would otherwise.  Both of our boys love animals and treat them kindly but they are strong-minded enough to understand necessity too.
            Lucas learned that respect in a more difficult way than we intended.  When it was time to put down a pig, Keith got up early, killed the animal and bled him as quickly as possible, and then loaded it on the trailer for the trip to the butcher.  Three hundred pounds of dead weight meant he needed help. 
            When Lucas was finally big enough to actually help load, he went out with his dad to the pigpen and soberly watched the proceedings.  Mindful of the effect it might have on him, Keith quickly poured sand on the blood.  Then he backed the truck and trailer over to the pigpen gate and Lucas crawled in on the other side to help load the pig—stepping right into that camouflaged pool of blood.  It rose around his ankles, warm and sticky.  After his dad left for the butcher, he came in to wash his feet, a little green around the gills and pale as a ghost.  He really understood the sacrifice that pig had made to feed our family.
            I suppose that is why the Lord intended for us to have a weekly reminder of the sacrifice he made for us, in all its gore.  Too often in asking forgiveness we are like the city folks buying meat at the grocery store, not really understanding all that made that purchase possible.  We need to come to grips with the fact that our actions caused a death, a particularly horrible death.  Even more than that, we are the reason for it yet again every time we sin.  The way we treat our failings as something to laugh about or shrug off as trivial, we probably need to stand beneath that cross and step ankle deep in the still warm blood of Jesus to jolt us back into reality. 
            Sin is just as horrible as slaughter.  In fact, it caused a slaughter which will prevent another one, but not if we don’t have enough appreciation for it to make ourselves do better.
 
He was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities; the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed. All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way; and Jehovah has laid on him the iniquity of us all. He was oppressed, yet when he was afflicted he opened not his mouth; as a lamb that is led to the slaughter, and as a sheep that before its shearers is dumb, so he opened not his mouth…Yet it pleased Jehovah to bruise him; he has put him to grief: when you shall make his soul an offering for sin, he shall see his seed, he shall prolong his days, and the pleasure of Jehovah shall prosper in his hand. Isa 53:5-7,10

Dene Ward
 

“Whew!” I always say when it’s over for another year.  Some of it is in the freezer—blueberries, strawberries, tomato sauce, corn, pole beans, white acre peas, blackeyes, and limas—but quite a bit sits on the shelves of the back pantry in those clear sturdy Mason jars: two kinds of cucumber pickles, squash pickles, okra pickles, pickled banana peppers, pickled jalapenos, tomatoes, salsa, tomato jam, muscadine juice, and muscadine jelly.
            The first time I ever canned I was scared to death.  First, the pressure canner scared me.  I had heard too many stories of blown up pots and collard greens on the ceiling like the hanging Gardens of Babylon, but once I had used it a few times without incident, and really understood how it worked, that fear left me.  I still follow the rules though, or it will blow up.  No amount of sincerity on my part will keep that from happening if I let the pressure get too high. 
            I also follow the sterilization rules and the rules about how much pressure for how long and how much acidity is required for steam canning.  Botulism, a food poisoning caused by foods that have been improperly canned, is a particularly dangerous disease.  Symptoms include severe abdominal pain, vomiting, blurred vision, muscle weakness and eventual paralysis.  You’d better believe I carefully follow all the rules for home canning.  I give away a lot of my pickles and jams.  Not only do I not want botulism, I certainly don’t want to give it to anyone else either.
            Some folks chafe at rules.  Maybe that’s why they don’t follow God’s rules.  They want to take the Bible and pick and choose what suits them.  “Authority?” they scoff.  “Overrated and totally unnecessary.”  Authority does matter and a lot of people in the Bible found out the hard way.  Whatever you do in word or in deed, do all in the name of {by the authority of} the Lord Jesus…Col 3:17.  You might pay special attention to the context of that verse too.
            God’s people were warned over and over to follow His rules, to, in fact, be careful to follow His rules, Deut 5:1.  I counted 31 times in the Pentateuch alone.  Not following those rules resulted in death for many and captivity for others.  When Ezra and Nehemiah brought the remnant back to Jerusalem, once again they were warned, at least five times in those two short books.  Maybe suffering the consequences of doing otherwise made the need for so much repetition a little less.
            David had a way of looking at God’s rules that we need to consider.  For I have kept the ways of the Lord, and have not wickedly departed from my God.  For all his rules were before me, and from his statutes I did not turn aside, 2 Sam 22:22,23. Many of David’s psalms talk about God’s rules, but the 119th mentions them 17 times.  David calls those rules good, helpful, comforting, righteous, praiseworthy, enduring, hope-inducing, true, and life-giving.  How can anyone chafe at something so wonderful?
            People simply don’t want rules, especially with God.  God is supposed to be loving and kind and accept me as I am.  No.  God knows that the way we are will only bring death.  We must follow the rules in order to live.  We must love the rules every bit as much as David did.  I will praise you with an upright heart when I learn your righteous rules…My soul is consumed with longing for your rules at all times…When I think of your rules from of old, I take comfort, O Lord…Great is your mercy O Lord, give me life according to your rules, 119:7, 20, 52, 156.
            I get out my canning guide and faithfully follow the rules every summer.  I never just guess at it; I never say, “That’s close enough.”  I know if I don’t follow those rules someone could die, maybe me or one of my good friends or one of my precious children or grandchildren.  I bet there is something in your life with rules just as important that you follow faithfully.  Why then, are we so careless with the most important rules we have ever been given?
 
For this is the love of God, that we keep his commandments. And his commandments are not burdensome, 1 John 5:3.
 

It was one of those recuperating days I have had so many of the past few years, so I sat in my lounger outside, the early morning autumn breeze ruffling my hair, a sweet little dog snuffling for a pat at my side, looking out over our domain, such as it is.  The east sun was filtering through the woods fifty yards in front of me, not yet high enough to cause me any trouble. 
            I had carried a pair of binoculars to do a little bird-watching, but saw on the northeast corner of the property what looked like a giant orange bloom.  So I lifted those heavy lenses and got a surprise.  The bloom did not really exist.  What I saw was the sun shining on a clump of dried out pine straw hanging on a low, dead limb.  I pulled down the binoculars and looked again.  I much preferred the big orange bloom.
            Then I started looking around and saw some more.  The dull green leaves near the top of the tree glinted like small mirrors in the few rays of sun that had pierced through to them.  Even the gray Spanish moss resembled icicles.  I knew in a few minutes the effect would all be gone.  The sun would have risen high enough not to perform these magic tricks.  Still, it reminded me of something important.
            All by myself I am nothing, I can do nothing, and I have nothing to hope for.  But the light of the gospel changes everything.  Through that light, we are able to see the glory of Christ and believe (2 Cor 4:3-6.)  When we are raised from the waters of baptism, God’s glory gives us the power to walk “in newness of life” (Rom 6:4).  We transform ourselves into the image of His Son by the renewing of our minds (Rom 12:2, 8:29).  When the glory of the Lord shines on us through our submission to his gospel, what looks plain and ordinary becomes beautiful, what looks dead and repulsive becomes glorious.  That’s us we’re talking about—you and me.  We can be beautiful.
            Look at your life today.  Would someone see a beautiful bloom, a sparkling mirror, a glittering icicle?  They only will if you have allowed that light inside you, if you have let it have its way, transforming you into the person God meant you to be from the beginning.  Some will not do this.  They fight it, and offer excuses of all sorts.  “I’m only human after all.”  “No one is perfect.”  “Someone has to have common sense around here and not be such an innocent babe!” “It’s my right after all.”  None of those will give anyone a beautiful view of a child of God.
            Peter reminds us, As obedient children, do not be conformed to the passions of your former ignorance, but as he who called you is holy, you also be holy in all your conduct, since it is written, "You shall be holy, for I am holy." 1 Peter 1:14-16.  If we are not submissive to his will, we will never be transformed to his image.  We will look like nothing but dried out pine straw on a dead limb, and all the excuses in the world will never change it. 
            “What would Jesus do?” may be an old denominational catch-phrase, but is it any different than, “Be ye holy as I am holy?”  God desires nothing more than for us to be exactly like Christ, “conformed to the image of his son” Rom 8:29, “that you might follow in his steps” 1 Pet 2:21.  If you find yourself looking through the world’s binoculars and seeing nothing but your old self, the light of the gospel has not reached your heart.
            Conform yourself today.  In every aspect of your life, in every action you take, and every word you speak, “be ye holy in all your conduct.”  You can do it, or God wouldn’t have asked it of you.
 
But we all, with unveiled face reflecting as a mirror the glory of the Lord, are transformed into the same image from glory to glory, even as from the Lord the Spirit. 2 Cor 3:18

I received this book as a gift and when I saw the author's name I was so excited that I read it immediately.  Brother Hall is a virtual legend and anything he writes is worth reading.
            First, recognize that this was written as a tribute to his late wife Caneta, "mother of five and wife of 69 years."  That makes everything in it that much more poignant.
            Second, I believe that this should be approached as a classbook.  Brother Hall has added discussion questions after each of the thirteen lessons (see? a teaching quarter) that could keep a class going far more than the requisite 45 minutes most allow and well into the hour that ladies' classes on weekdays usually allot. 
            Third, it is not just a young mothers' book.  Any mother or grandmother can gain from it, as well as others who serve as mentors and counselors for the women who approach them for advice.  We are all mothers our whole lives if we are willing to serve that way.
            The book also contains two appendices.  The first one, written by a teenager (I assume) about how she values her virginity, should be required reading for every teenage Christian, male or female.  Whoever and wherever this young woman is (brother Hall could not find her), she deserves our thanks for her frank and touching essay.
            As I first read through the table of contents on this book I was amazed.  I knew that we have a fair amount of material about Mary, including some logical inferences we can make, but I would have been hard-pressed to come up with 13 lessons.  Brother Hall in his vast experience and knowledge of the scriptures has done far more than I would have thought possible.
            Mary, Model of Motherhood was published by Mount Bethel Publishing.
 
Dene Ward

So you're hungry and decide to make yourself a quick sandwich.  Do you realize what a luxury that is?  A hundred years ago you had to either bake your own loaf of bread or go buy a whole loaf and then come home and slice it yourself.  Bakeries did not have a machine that could slice warm bread or even slice cold bread evenly.  A man named Otto Rohwedder fixed that problem. 
            Born in Des Moines, Iowa, he later moved to Davenport as a child, and eventually entered the Illinois College of Optometry.  After graduation he became a jeweler in St. Joseph, Missouri.  But he always had the dream of a machine that could slice warm bread.  Everyone told him he was crazy and no one took him seriously.  But he never let go of his dream, working at it in his spare time, even building a small factory.  One day his factory burned down, destroying both the prototype and the blueprints for his invention; his idea was put off yet again.  Finally, he came up with another prototype, a machine that would slice bread straight out of the oven without squashing it.  But no one would buy the machine.  They didn't believe it would work.
            Finally, Frank Bench, the owner of the Chillicothe Baking Company in Chillicothe, Missouri, ordered one of the machines.  He sold his first loaf of sliced bread on July 7, 1928.  His bread sales increased 1000% in just two weeks.  Word spread and orders came in from across the country for Rohwedder's machine.  He had changed bread baking.  In fact, in 1943, President Roosevelt tried to ration sliced bread.  A vocal rebellion among homemakers changed his plan.  In 1951, comedian Red Skelton coined the phrase, "The best thing since sliced bread," showing just how momentous this invention was—the phrase has stuck since then.
            Indeed, change can be momentous, especially a change in thinking.  In ancient times, most people did their best to stay out of the limelight, avoiding anything that might make the gods notice them.  Gods, to the pagans, were beings who had no love for mortals and played with them like a cat with a mouse—just before pouncing for the kill.  So no one wished to be noticed by the gods.  In fact, the best life you could hope for was not to be noticed by the gods. 
          Then along came people like the apostle Paul, teaching them about a God who actually cared about them.  A God who loved them and wanted to help them and even be with them forever.  A God who would send His Son to die so all of those things could happen.  Is it any wonder that they flocked to hear about Him?  A God who would do this for you, and who promised you would live with Him in glory for Eternity, was a God worth devoting yourself to, spending your life serving, and even dying for.  And many did, in some truly horrible ways.
            To the Jews He was presented as a God who kept His promises to their father Abraham, and who would bring a kingdom that lasted forever and which no earthly kingdom could destroy.  And His Son, the promised Messiah, also died for a covenant that meant no more Day of Atonement, no more daily sacrifices, no more Passover, because, "Your sins I will remember no more."  No more weight of guilt in your life—another momentous change.
            And our grandmothers thought sliced bread was great?  Sliced bread shouldn't even be mentioned in the same breath as our God.  He can change your life in ways you never thought possible, and loves you far more than you deserve.  …remember the former things of old; for I am God, and there is no other; I am God, and there is none like me (Isa 46:9).
 
For one will scarcely die for a righteous person—though perhaps for a good person one would dare even to die— but God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us (Rom 5:7-8).
 
Dene Ward