What We Wish We Weren't

A friend of mine recently asked the question, 'What is a body?' and then proceeded to answer it in the most beautiful and poetic way imaginable. It caught my attention and I asked if I could share it with all of you, because it's a message that needs to be shared and contemplated. It rings with truth and purity; that's hard to find nowadays.

"What is a body? A literal reflection of our inner selves? A walking organ that functions based off of the whims of some unseen soul? A prison? We become so consumed with the outer appearance of a shell, of the case that protects the vibrant life that resides inside. We color it and paint it, putting on airs and dressing it up telling the world "this is me! Look at my clothes and my skin and my hair. Look at the way I walk and talk and move. This is me." Lies. This is a disguise. A clever trick of the world that allows us to present to our fellow beings exactly what we wish. But what is the point? Who are you trying to impress? They do not live inside your head, they do not spend everyday trapped within the confines of your mind, listening to the endless torrent of thoughts and emotions never ceasing, never letting you rest. We are forced to face ourselves everyday, and often we do not like what we see, because we see what is real. The true being behind the disguise. But what of the world? It cannot handle what resides behind my eyes. Luckily I need not let them see what hides inside. For I have been given a mannequin that I can dress and change to fit my whims. I can make it say what I like and do what I want while I hide within, playing a game with the outside world, waiting to see who will see the cracks in my disguise. My body has become a prison, I have trapped myself with the ideas of what I should be. But is that the function of a body? Is that it's role in the design of the world? To be a cage? I highly doubt it. Our bodies are what we present to the world, merely because we cannot show them what is inside. Therefore what we portray on our outer shell should be a reflection of the inside. Not of the pain and anger. And not of the joy and peace. But a mixture of both. Only then will we be fair to ourselves and say to the world "this is me. Broken and fragile. Sin filled and prideful. But still beautiful." It's time to turn this prison into a home, to build and fix it because it is our residence, to love it because it is a gift, a dwelling to house who we really are, even if only for a short time. It's time to set the captive free and stop hiding away in fear of what we wish we weren't." ~ Caresse N. Hassoldt

Challenge yourself today, dear Reader, wherever you are and whatever your story may be to discover, What is your body? Is it your prison? Complicated machinery? What are you doing with it? Is it meant to impress, is it meant to hide? How can you set yourself free and live the full life? 

 "It's time to set the captive free and stop hiding away in fear of what we wish we weren't."

The Jigsaw People of this Puzzle World

Life is a puzzle and we are all jigsaw pieces, trying to make something of the world.

Each of us have our own little life-puzzle that we have to fit together every day. A child's is simple and has fewer pieces to deal with. It makes more sense to put together because there is a surplus of youthful innocence and eagerness to work with the few pieces they have.  The colors are bright, the picture is appealing, the edges are smooth and straight, and they enjoy everything about them in their little puzzle world.

But as we get older and begin to have more doubts and loves and fears, responsibilities, chaos, and joy, the picture starts to change. What was once clear and defined becomes more confusing, since it has a lot more pieces that need a place, and the edges are rough; there are no more straight lines.  The colors darken with our deeper understanding of a messed up, scary world, and the picture no longer makes any sense. No matter how you tilt your head, you can't see what the picture is, but you still have to add pieces and pieces to the jumbled pile, hoping that something beautiful will turn out.

As we struggle valiantly to make sense of it all, little do we realize that right next door, or across the street, there's another person with a puzzle of their own.  Everywhere you look, each person has a life that needs to be sorted out, put together, and built up, one piece at a time.  Some of us have lives that are bright and cheery, the colors on the jigsaw tiles are bold and beautiful, even tough there's still not a complete picture. Others are shunned because of their puzzle.  Their puzzle-life is so dark and obscure that they feel that their whole world is an abyss without a trace of color, no picture, no beauty, no light, love, or passion. Their's is a puzzle far darker than yours, and the edges are rougher than a jagged cliff where it seems that no beauty can ever penetrate.

But what if we were to put all the pieces together?  All the pieces from everyone's puzzle, could we combine our rough edges with a smooth one, and connect them so that they all fit?  The world is made up of individuals, with individual stories or puzzles. But in reality, if you step back and let it all shrink into proportion, we are all one piece of a greater picture. Each piece in our story that seems so huge or monumental is a tiny drop of color in one sea of paint.

When we combine our puzzles with someone else's, we see the formation of a picture, more clear and interesting than our isolated one. The colors blend and the chaos doesn't seem so glaring. As more and more individuals come together all the bleak pasts and hopeful futures merge into a larger, brighter story. There are dark spots, but they line up and blend beautifully with another colorful life.  The woman down the street who was abused, with dark, ugly colors in her puzzle, found a woman with gentle hands to help her, whose own puzzle has a dark streak, but learned to find the color in the world.

We need each other, we humans. Life would look so drab and impossible without them. Of course, some people can't fit together like others. It will take a lifetime of rearranging, turning, and moving to find a place where we fit beautifully with another soul. That's what families are meant for; even in the searching and scrambling to fit in, there should always be a place to call home and know that you belong.

And we all belong. No piece is not meant to fit in the puzzle of life. Jigsaw tiles will forever be added to the edges, increasing the size and picture. The old ones will fade and lose their color over time, but they're no less important after they are dead, because they're still part of the bigger picture. While we are living, breathing, jigsaw tiles, we should never give up or give in, because just when all things seem utterly desperate and impossible, we'll be ushered into a place where we fit with other souls who know our pain, with souls who can heal and help us, and other jigsaw pieces that fill our empty spots. We are never useless, because if we live the full life, we'll find that even though we need help, we help others too, because no jigsaw in this life is cut with all holes, but with circles or squares to fill another person up.

Life is a puzzle, a mystery, and an awful mess sometimes, but we are the pieces that make a great picture. We're the jigsaw people of this puzzle world, and we create a story of passion, beauty, sorrow, and ultimately, the greatest picture that this world can know.  We fit together, despite our wounds, despite our colors, despite our differences to paint the perfect picture of the Maker's love. We see it on a small scale when we step back and enjoy the view, but every day, every circumstance adds another piece to our lives and another's until the end of time when we will finally have a bird's eye view of the place we called home. The puzzle will be completed and we'll take a sigh and shed a few tears; all the work, good and bad, has led to the moment when we are enveloped, wholly and holy in the love of the Maker, who created the ultimate picture, who hand made every piece, and even when we kicked and screamed, pushed us into the places we best belong.

Dracula ~ A Book Review

Dracula

Book By Bram Stoker

Review by Janelle A. Spiers

“Never did tombs look so ghastly white. Never did cypress, or yew, or juniper so seem the embodiment of funeral gloom. Never did tree or grass wave or rustle so ominously. Never did bough creak so mysteriously, and never did the far-away howling of dogs send such a woeful presage through the night.”

~ Bram Stoker, Dracula

“There are darknesses in life and there are lights, and you are one of the lights, the light of all lights.”
   ~ Bram Stoker, Dracula

WARNING:  Please be aware that if you continue reading this Book Review, you may be subject to reading spoilers and or secrets of the original book.  However, all attempts shall be made to hide the crucial points, in the event that this review encourages you to read this book.  Any information divulged will be deemed by the author of this review necessary to the review, or, not capable of ruining any major surprise. 

Bram Stoker wrote Dracula in 1897 and changed the fictional realm of horror forever.  Stoker’s haunting story of death, love, and fantasized monsters brings both inspiration and chills to the reader, thrusting them into a tale mixed to the brim with modern life and early European folklore.  Dracula has made such an impact in the literary world that Bram Stoker’s ideas have been used in many stories since that time.

Despite the grim circumstances and breath-taking drama, Dracula is a powerful story about good vs. evil.  The light of goodness, truth, and holiness are starkly and beautifully contrasted with the darkness of evil, lies, and horror.  Stoker wove a powerful, golden thread of redemption throughout his dark tapestry, so that no matter how dark the night or how desperate the character, there is always some hope left on which they can cling.  The idea of love being more powerful than fear is also present.  Each of the characters are challenged to decide how far they are willing to go for love for each other, and for life itself.

The unforgettable story begins with a man named Jonathan Harker travelling across the Carpathian Mountains to the castle of Count Dracula, where he will be helping with a legal affair.  After the frightening experience of trying to get to the secluded, mysterious castle, Jonathan finds himself the guest of an equally mysterious master.  As time passes, suspicion and fear begin to build, and Jonathan realizes that he is no longer a guest, but a prisoner; Dracula has locked him in the old castle.  A series of harrowing events plague Jonathan and he barely escapes with his life back to England where his fiancé awaits him.

But a long, arduous life has just begun for the heroes of this tale.  A shipwreck on the coast brings with it strange and deadly results and a young woman with sleepwalking issues suddenly begins to look more pale than usual.  With the help of two brilliant doctors and two other stout gentlemen, Harker and his newlywed wife, Mina, are faced with the fact that there is a mythical creature in their midst, and if they do not stop the threat, Dracula will destroy the world they know and love.

Jonathan Harker is a very steadfast, cool-headed man, but his encounter with Dracula and his eerie home leaves a great strain on him, especially when he thinks his life is at stake.  He spends the rest of the story with a burning passion to defeat the monster, but at the same time, he can lapse into a very weak and fearful state, typically more for his bride than himself.

Mina Harker is the faithful, “guiding star” for the men of this tale.  Her loyalty and compassion to her husband is equally, yet properly, shared with the other gentlemen who bond together to destroy Dracula.  When Mina is attacked by Dracula and her life takes a terrible turn, she longs to stay with those she loves, but she is willing to sacrifice herself in order to keep her friends safe.

Dr. Seward is a major piece of the puzzle and he is necessary to the destruction of Dracula.  He specializes in helping the insane and mentally disabled, and when one such man is found to be working for the Count, Seward manages to pry information from the man to help them in their conquest.

Perhaps the greatest protagonist is Abraham Van Helsing, a Dutch doctor and former teacher of Dr. Seward.  Van Helsing is the first one to discover what Dracula is and how he can be stopped, and despite the fact that no one believes him, he manages to prove Dracula’s true identity and the means to ending him.  Van Helsing is a quiet, thoughtful man with much faith and brain that ultimately result in the demise of Dracula.

Dracula himself is a creature of much discretion and sinister intent.  As a vampire, he is neither dead nor living, and is called “un-dead” as a result.  He preys on anyone and everyone but with so much secrecy that it is almost impossible to detect.  One of the most remarkable traits that Count Dracula possesses is that he is very patient and slow; with no fear of dying from old age, he has hundreds upon hundreds of years on his hands, and so every movement he makes is bold, but in no rush.

The writing style of Dracula is very unique.  Instead of constant narration, the entire book is split up into journal entries written by the main characters, gatherings of newspaper clippings, letters, telegrams, etc.  In addition, the ways the words are written or constructed vary, depending on which character is writing or recording.  However, on an overall note, the understandability of the story can be difficult, due to the older way of speaking and writing, also, based on the long, winding plot line and information that comes with it.

Abraham Stoker was born on November 8, 1847, in Dublin, Ireland, the third of seven children.  Stoker was bedridden for the first several years of his life from an unknown disease or illness, but by age seven, he was completely recovered and able to attend a private school; he never suffered from any major illness again.  In his early adulthood, Stoker married Florence Balcombe, who had been previously courted by his friend, Oscar Wilde.  The Stokers moved to London, where their only child was born, and Stoker became the theater manager for Henry Irving, a famous actor.  There he was introduced to notable people, such as Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and on traveling to America, president Theodore Roosevelt, William McKinley, and Walt Whitman.  Dracula was written in 1897, but never attracted much popularity until after his death on April 20, 1912.

Though the story and its characters are fascinating and enjoyable, some of the content may be unsuitable for young or sensitive readers.  There are a few instances of swearing, but they are mild and not used flippantly.  There is some romance between two couples without the book, but nothing intimate is ever recorded or hinted.  Several of the female vampires that appear in the story are described as intensely lovely and they act rather seductively in hopes of luring in prey, but the characters shun such creatures.

            The intensity of the story can be overwhelming.  Several beloved characters die, and one, who died a as a vampire, must be mutilated after death to keep her from attacking innocent children, which she had been doing.  Blood is a central theme and gory idea that fuels the story along, so it may be unpleasant to read.  There is also a mentally insane man who eats flies, spiders, birds, and wants to eat cats, as well, and his death may be distressing.

            The progression of Dracula’s stunning plot line is neat, concise and has left very little room for argumentation, barring the fact that vampires are works of fictitious imagination. All the characters, from gentle and graceful Mina to the intelligent and thoughtful Van Helsing are almost like living creatures that grow and live within the tale.  Bram Stoker has painted a breathing portrait of a world about to be undone by the un-dead.

            Dracula was not the first story about vampires, but by it, a path was forged through the uncharted territory of fiction that still progresses today.  One of Bram Stoker’s characters once said, “I want you to believe...to believe in things that you cannot.” Stoker tried to create a piece of far-fetched fiction into a tale that would seem so real it could bite you, and that is exactly what he did.   Dracula is an amazing, thrilling, haunting tale about the search for light in the darkest places, love in the most hopeless times, and peace from the dreaded monster, Count Dracula.  

(Based on a rating system entirely made up of pros and cons, I judge by different categories to ensure that the reader of this review can aptly choose if this book is an appropriate for themselves or others.)

Theme ~ Positive! (For excellent topics that are inspiring and applicable to life.)

Plot Line ~ Positive! (For a gripping, unmatched storyline)

Characters ~ Positive! (Very memorable and extremely consistent)

Writing Quality ~ Negative! (For difficult, archaic writing style)

Mature Content ~ Negative! (Intense and graphic sequences, more suitable for an older audience.)

Congruency ~ Positive! (For extreme consistency in plot, characters, and quality)

The total score for Dracula by Bram Stoker is 4 out of a possible 6 positive points.

How Deep the Father's Love For Us

This is an Easter post that I wrote a couple years ago and read at our church service. I don't remember how I got the inspiration, but I have always liked the idea of supernatural warfare. I pray that you remember this morning how much He loves you, and how deep His love will go. Happy Easter, and He Is Risen! 

How Deep the Father’s Love For Us

Janelle Spiers

March 2013

Icouldn’t look.  I had to turn my face, because I knew if I saw him, I would move.  If I moved, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself, for I would have given into the temptation that tortured me.  If I had given into temptation, I would have ruined the plan, the plan that would bring salvation to the world.

            I didn’t think it could go like this.  I was sure something had gone wrong.  How could God intend this to happen?  But he didn’t give the word.  He didn’t unleash the angelic army waiting by his side to rescue the suffering Prince.  He just watched.

            I felt that I should have done something.  My Prince was down there, suffering for all humanity, but I couldn’t go.  I was obeying the High King of Kings, the Emperor of All, and so I did nothing.  But when I heard the cry of pain that escaped his lips, betraying the utter agony and torment he endured, it made me angry.

            I had been sorry to see him leave.  Thirty-three years before that cruel day he had entered the world called Earth.  I was overjoyed when I welcomed him, singing, “Glory in the highest, Peace on Earth, Goodwill towards men.”  I watched him carefully as my Lord was trapped inside the little body of a human child.  I watched him longingly as he grew, waiting for him to become a man.   I cringed when he was scorned and mocked, and I smiled when he was accepted and loved.                    

             They had come for him in the night.  The soldiers had arrested him, giving him a trial while the sky was dark, because they were cowards.  They couldn’t face a crowd that might have saved my Prince the pain he was enduring.  They found a guiltless man guilty, though they themselves were guilty of breaking the laws ordained by God.  The darkness hid more than the sun, it hid the demons lurking, back and forth, pacing the room where they testified against him, jumping gleefully when they led him away to the governor’s house, and darting quickly through the gathering crowd.

             I was furious that they treated him so.  I fingered my sword, but stopped, knowing that if my Prince wouldn’t fight back, neither would I.  I knew that my Lord could see the beings; he could see their beautiful faces, their scarlet robes, and their shining wings.  I knew he could see us, too.  Our beautiful faces, our jade robes, and our shining wings, but our faces had a different expression.  Instead of happiness, scorn, and mockery, there was pain, determination, and anxiety. 

            We were anxious to go, anxious to do something as he stood silently before the man called Pilate.  Why wasn’t God doing anything to save his son?  Was he not paying attention to what was happening on the earth he had created?  I had glanced at him, during our long vigil that night, breaking into the terrible day.  He sat high on his throne and he watched.  He was fully aware of what was taking place, but he did nothing.

            Then they took him to a courtyard where blood from human men was spattered across the walls.  And then, as they flogged him with a cruel, heavy whip, human blood flew, but it was mixed with something greater, far more powerful than the life source for humans.  It was the blood of Jesus. 

            He was brought out and placed along side a murderer and the crowd chanted.  The demons shouted with them, whispering to the undecided, changing the minds of the ones who had called him their king days before.  And the cold-blooded killer was released, set loose to continue his gory deeds.  And they took the guiltless man, at the crowds affirmations, to be crucified.

            I wanted to scream when they drove a crude circlet of heavy thorns into his head.  Blood streamed down his face and I wept to see my Prince treated like a criminal, when he had done nothing but good.  They gave him a purple robe, and hailed him as their king, but the empty lies they taunted him with were their own demise.  They hit the King of the Universe and laughed.  But the King of the Universe said nothing.  Though he knew that all of heaven would have swept down and stopped the unbearable pain, he said nothing.  He endured it.

            And so they led him to the hill stained with the blood of sinful men.  But as they nailed him to the splintered, rough wood and placed him upright for all to see, innocent, pure blood poured from his body onto the accursed ground. 

            And so I stood in heaven in our battle lines, waiting..but he never called us.  When the sun was at its highest, God blotted it out.  He took hold of the corners of the earth and shook it, calling the people of the world to their knees, but though they fell, few fell to repent.

            And then the hardest part of all came.  After six hours of bleeding, suffering, and suffocating, God closed the curtain of Heaven to its Prince.  The curtain fell, forsaking the dying man on the cross.  He cried out in a loud voice, but we could hear nothing.  The demons screamed with laughter as the Father abandoned his Son. The sins of the world had fallen onto the Prince, and the King turned his back.  But as he gave up his spirit, the curtain tore. 

            The curtain between God and Earth was ripped like the skin on my Lord’s back, and the curtain in the temple separating Earth from God was cut in two.  Jesus Christ took on the sins of the world, and flung them as far as the east is from the west. 

            For three days the demons celebrated their triumph.  They laughed and screamed with glee, for they thought their battle was won.  But on the third day, the earth shuddered, the universe groaned, and the heavens shook.  For out of the earth where they laid him, my Prince came out. 

            He was no longer confined to the body of a man.  My Lord was himself, the God of Heaven, the God of Earth, and the God of Life.  The demons shrieked and fled in terror as Jesus proved to the world, that no power, not even death, could defeat the Son of God.

            I watched with joy as my Prince appeared to his friends and followers, because I finally understood.  It had been so hard for God to watch his Son suffer, but it was his plan.  His humans were sinful and they needed a savior, so Jesus paid the price.  He gave up his life as a ransom for many.

            The sacrifice was immeasurable, the pain was unimaginable, the separation was unfathomable, but the results were unsurpassable.  The Prince loved his people so much; he was willing to take up their sin, and to carry it.  He carried the weight of the world upon his shoulder, and as it was washed by his perfect blood, it dissolved like snow.

How deep the Father's love for us,

How vast beyond all measure

That He should give His only Son

To make a wretch His treasure

How great the pain of searing loss,

The Father turns His face away

As wounds which mar the chosen One,

Bring many sons to glory

Behold the Man upon a cross,

My sin upon His shoulders

Ashamed I hear my mocking voice,

Call out among the scoffers

It was my sin that left Him there

Until it was accomplished

His dying breath has brought me life

I know that it is finished

I will not boast in anything

No gifts, no power, no wisdom

But I will boast in Jesus Christ

His death and resurrection

Why should I gain from His reward?

I cannot give an answer

But this I know with all my heart

His wounds have paid my ransom

Fruit of the Spirit: Love

Every Tuesday night, a group of six happy teenagers and one beautiful mamma sit together studying their underlined, well-loved Bibles, eating small goodies, and laughing as loud as a hurricane.  I can't help but sharing some of the ideas I've heard and written down; such youthful wisdom and genuine interest in the passage makes for a wonderful swirl of prose.

God's love should be enjoyed...

The Fruit of the Spirit Study: Love

~ God's love is so big

"He is jealous for me/ He loves like a hurricane, I am a sea/ Bending beneath the weight of His wind and mercy..." How He Loves, John Mark McMillan 

His love eclipses the entire world, and is so large that He sweeps us away in His might and glory.  However, He bends down to hold our hands, draws us close, and let's us breathe deeply in His magnificent splendor. 

~ Love can be small acts of kindness

There is a story shared about a kind uncle, who always takes the time to make a birthday special and enjoyable. With little presentations of thoughtfulness and affection, he takes the time to shower a little love out into the world. 

~ Human love is thin and easily broken, but God's love holds fast

The idea of love being necessary for every human. It is desired by all; the crux of human desire.  But when we try to share such love, it becomes selfish. We are like eggshell lovers; thin and brittle, easily broken, small and impossible. God's love is the solid rock on which we need to stand; firm and solid, impossible to break, large and so possible.  And, then if God is Love, then God is what we need the most.

~ Sacrificial love does not mean death

Another story is shared of a young girl, dying and sick. The doctor needed blood from a relative to help her, but in that particular country, to give blood was to give life. The healthy family refused to save the girl by giving blood, instead they offered a sick, old woman, whose life was nearly faded, anyway.  The doctor, with compassionate fury, ordered the nurse to draw his own blood, in order to save the child. He gave his "life" to save the girl; love means giving life for another, but not necessarily to the extent of death.

~ Love is putting others first

Like the little things and the sacrifices, love is to put everyone else above yourself. If we love ourselves above other people, then we are the selfish lovers, with thin and cracking love. If we dedicate ourselves to the other people around us, then we are helping to pick up the stones of God's love and pass them about, making our own hearts and love all the stronger. 

~ Love is the bond between friends

"A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for adversity." ~ Proverbs 17:17

A friend is one with a strong heart and a brother (or sister) is one who will help through any adversity. Who are your loved ones today? Have you loved them at all times possible, and been there for all adversities?

~ We can enjoy God's love

Love one another, as if they were God we were serving. How amazing is that? To love a person, it to love God.  Hate should be avoided at all cost. Also said by a wonderful girl, God's love should be enjoyed. Think of the food we eat and how much enjoyment we have in consuming it; God created this fascination.  It's a product of His love, and we can enjoy it fully.

All This For Love

The world is a broken place.

Can you imagine a time when life was perfectly beautiful? We walked about barefoot in the grass, knowing that no stone would hurt us. We danced about in the rain, never getting cold or tired. And we could love with our whole soul, not one part left for ourselves.

But then it was shattered by the atomic bomb of sin and we were chained as slaves to such evil.  The world rocked, the largest earthquake of them all, and buildings collapsed, dreams were crushed, and souls were stained. And it's been like this for millenniums; broken people in a broken world. There is so much destruction, death, decay, and debris; as we try to walk amongst it, we are constantly hurt and cut by the shreds, dragging our heavy chains.

The world is a broken place...

For some, such excruciating pain means to fall to your knees, clutching at your bleeding wounds, cursing the ground you've walked on, cursing whoever made you. Some of those men and women will get up, determined to fight back and lash out in anger and hatred, like the painful cord of a whip. These are the hurting people; with no balm for the pain, they will fight angrily against it.

But others, they won't get up out of the rubble. They'll prostrate themselves in the dust and glass and make no effort to get up again. The ruin and desolation will bury them as they die slowly of their wounds; away from light, life and love. There is no light when you're squeezing your eyes shut, or trapped under the rubble. Where is life when you expect and hope for every day to be your last? And there is no love when you selfishly close the lid of your own coffin, leaving those who cared for you behind to mourn. These are the hopeless people; without hope or care for anything, even themselves.

After all this, there are also those who fall to their knees, crying out to God, "Why, Lord? Why? How could all this happen?"As their wounds bleed and sprains swell, they listen quietly for that still, small voice, but when they are answered, they begin to tremble.

"For Love," it says in the silence, "All this for Love."

And with that, a decision is made, a switch is flipped, and the heart begins to beat again, palpitating with a furious rush. Some rise up from their knees, determined to fight back and lash out in anger and hatred, like the painful cord of a whip, hurting that the God who made them would let such pain hurt them. Some will prostrate themselves in the dust and glass, thinking pitifully, if this pain is love, then why should we live? What choice is there but to die?

But there is another kind of people. There are those that get up off their knees and bind their wounds, set their bones, and stop the bleeding. They push on through the broken world, covered in scars, but filled with hope. There they find light and life and love.  They see light as they look up to the heavens in silent, wide-eyed prayers. They find life as they tell their bodies to keep going, don't give up. And love has been found in the suffering; though they bleed and hurt they do it for love. These are the hopeful; with hope enough for all the world.

How can suffering be a lovely thing? How is all of this for Love? In our broken, sinful souls, we find longing for the love that only God can give us. We all desire to have love, and the Lord is Love in full. Thus, we long for the only true love, but sin has made it painful to overcome. We are trapped by pain, scars, and sin.

When trials come, they will either make or break us. If we are buried or overcome by such pain, we lash out away from the one thing we need most.  But if we turn to the Light of Life, Love will reach down and touch our burdened hearts, lifting off that painful scar of sin. But it will only work if we can muster our courage, strength, and humility to kneel before the Lord, offer up our stained and dirty clothes, and let Him clothe us in His love, unlock our chains, and lift us out of the mud.  Life may not be easier, but we know that we have found our light, life, and love.

"For Love," He says in the silence of our hearts, "All this sorrow, for you to find My Love."