Welcome! My husband and I are in a phase of life where we get to travel around the US in our van home, exploring and delighting in God's creation. Join us on our journey through Facebook or Instagram, using the links above. Our motivating scripture is Romans 1:20, "Since the creation of the world, God’s invisible qualities—His eternal power and divine nature—have been clearly seen, being understood from what He has made, so that people are without excuse." You are also invited to click the button below to share in some of our favorite sources of inspiration! May God always protect and bless you, and draw you ever closer to Him. May you always be amazed by the incredible beauty around you! For RaineWolf_ and anyone else who wants to know how one disbeliever came to have no doubts, I am sharing my personal story, below. GOD-INCIDENCES God has finger-painted my life with His sweet indulgences, His outlandish sense of humor, His God-incidences. I must warn you, if you don’t know already, that some of His humor is not appropriate for sensitive readers. Nothing shocks Him. He made us in His image, didn’t He? *** By the time I was six, my parents had decided that God did not exist. They had an honest discussion with each other, both confessing that they only reason they were going to church was because they thought the other believed. I didn’t notice the change until Easter, when the big day came and went without a shopping trip. No church, to me, meant no Easter dress. Thanksgiving of my 12th year, we loaded our life into a U-Haul truck and moved 1000 miles from Colorado to California. By Christmas we were in a new house, and knew no one. I sat up in my bedroom window, looking out at the empty night, and prayed. It was my first prayer on my own, and it was heart-felt. God ignored my prayer for 35 years, but when He answered, His timing was perfect. I had been reading an old volume of short stories from my parents’ bookcase that had been passed down from a great aunt. One story always caught my eye, because it had a painting of two beautiful boys with long, blond, curly hair, trapped in the dungeon of the London Tower. They were princes of England whose father, the king, had died, and whose evil uncle had taken the throne and locked them up because they were the rightful heirs. He had food brought to them for years, but they were never allowed to see daylight. When the uncle’s power was secure, he stopped sending them food. Years later, their skeletons were found under the stairs in the tower. Their tragic story gripped my heart and I loved those boys. I would stare at the painting and read the story again hoping for a different ending. The night that I prayed, my adolescent heart cried out to God: If You really exist, would You show me these princes? Oh I knew they were long since dead, but if He was real, He could do that, right? Wasn’t my soul worth it? Hadn’t He been waiting years for me to finally pray? I expected to see them in the distance, and that was going to be enough. They would be in a crowd, and I would look across the crowds and see their blond curls and pale, young faces, and I would know. They didn’t need to be wearing royal robes or crowns. I was making this easy for God. Every day I scanned the anonymous crowds at my new school, at the mall, out the car window. Nothing. I was more than a little put-out. If God wouldn’t, or couldn’t, do that one small request, how could I know He existed? How could I count on Him for anything? *** 35 years and many changes later, I had moved 1000 miles across the desert to Texas with my own family, and my adolescent daughter Tessa was starting a new school. On the first day of class, parents were invited to come have coffee with the principal. The kids were ushered into an auditorium for a quick welcome, and the parents stood around quietly outside. They gathered in small groups, chatting about their summers, but I knew no one, so I sat on a bench alone. When the auditorium doors opened, the crowd of new freshman flooded out, tripping toward the school entrance. I looked through the crowd and there, 50 feet away, were two boys with long blond curly hair and beautiful, pale faces. One boy was a head taller than the other, the older brother. It had been decades since I had even thought of my childhood prayer, but I heard God so clearly: Here are your princes. I hooted out a laugh so loud that even with the noise of 400 teenagers all the parents turned to look. Tears spilled down my cheeks as I laughed and cried at God’s sweet, indulgent humor. *** The summer after I had asked God to show me the princes, my sister and I saw a sign stapled to a telephone pole: Backyard Bible School was being offered at a house a few blocks away for five days in June. Mom was busy transitioning from a 60’s housewife to a 70’s scientist, balancing another toddler with college calculus and biology. She was only too happy to have us safely occupied. We received a treat for memorizing and reciting a verse each night, made a craft each day, and on Friday we were individually, privately, asked if we wanted to invite Jesus into our hearts. We felt important, special, singled out. Each of us said yes, and prayed with one of the moms. Those verses dwindled down to two that stuck, but many years later when asked if I had accepted Christ, I had to confess, yes. I hadn’t seen my princes yet, but I was doing my part even if God was holding back. When junior high started up, I tried to pray again. Before every math test, and before every P.E. that involved running laps, I would open my heart locket and invite Jesus in again. I do realize now that this wasn’t the “right” way to pray, but I found it comforting. I also took comfort in my Holly Hobby shirt, covered with little tear-drop faces that smiled up at me reassuringly during the tests. By 8th grade, I had outgrown both Jesus and Holly Hobby. In high school, a neighbor girl invited me to church with her family. I hadn’t been since I was five, and remembered only putting stickers of Jesus in a coloring book, and singing I’ve got joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart! at the top of my lungs as the parents came out the church doors. This time, though, my mom was not happy that I was going, and warned me that they might say bad things about her for not taking me to church. They did not. When Sunday came, we went inside a big church, someone talked a long time, and we went home. I did not see the appeal. A few months later, a magazine showed up, addressed to me, a gift from the neighbor girl’s mom. It was called Campus Life, and was about college students. I was new to high school, and college was eons away. I could not relate to much in it, but felt grown up pretending to, and I read every page of every issue. There were stories of students faced with serious dilemmas, and they would ask the reader to think about how they would handle the situation. My solutions involved crying, getting mad, telling the teacher… then the story would tell what Jesus would do, and relate some story in the Bible that showed this. He would forgive the person who had been mean, be kind to them, help them, and love them. I would never have thought of responding like that. I liked the person of Jesus in these stories. I also memorized The Lord’s Prayer with a magnifying glass because it was printed really tiny on lockets and key rings for sale in the back section of every magazine, and it was called The Lord’s Prayer so I figured it must be important. When I look back over these events now, it seemed to me that God was indeed present throughout my unchurched childhood, even if He hadn’t proved it with princes. I took some crooked trails in high school, but managed to fall in love with a Christian young man when I finally did make it to college. When I asked him if he believed, he look at me a moment, then asked, How could there not be a God? Look around you… He is in everything, every unfolding flower, every wave crashing on the shore… I envied his faith, and a couple of years later I went through the motions to join his church. My thinking was along the lines of the mathematician Blaise Pascal’s wager: If there is no God, whether I believe or not makes no difference. If there is a God, then it seems much better to believe. Huge doubts, however, would open like an abyss and I would totter on the edge. I couldn’t lie to God, if He existed, so why should I lie to anyone? During my instruction to join the Catholic Church, our priest confided to me that he had doubts too, that everyone had doubts. That did not boost my faith, but it did make me feel less hopeless. My doubts remained another 25 years, but they are gone. I can now honestly say that not everyone has doubts about God’s existence. *** I promised you that God had a sense of humor and that it was not always appropriate. This is that part. After about 15 years of marriage I hit a crisis. I say I, not we, because my husband did not waiver. He was firmly grounded and always loving towards me. I floundered more. I was struggling to feel love, wanted that first-love, heart-fluttering, electric feeling again, and was at war with myself. I did not have an affair, but was mentally stepping out. I prayed for God to guide me, to not let me destroy my family, to make me feel love for my husband the way he deserved to be loved, the way he loved me. At precisely this time a mushroom began to sprout in our front yard. And it was not just any mushroom. If you have ever seen this particular mushroom, or smelled it, you know exactly what I am talking about. At the time I did not know what it was, but with the aid of the worldwide web I now know it to be a Phallus Impudicus, or Stinkhorn. Wikipedia tells us it is “recognizable for its foul odor and its phallic shape… tall and white with a slimy, dark olive-colored conical head.” It says this fungus grows in forests and mulched gardens, which does not describe my dried-clay front yard at all, but it was a recurring stench during this difficult time in my life. Any desire to have an affair was tied to this stinking mushroom, and shriveled. This was my first hint that God had a sense of humor. When I began to pay attention, God seemed to delight in showing us this humor. An example: My husband was driving toward our church, and took the exit as usual. A car cut across two lanes and cut him off, taking the exit in front of him. My husband muttered “Jerk” and immediately laughed as he realized two things simultaneously: first, Father Peter had just preached the week before about being more Christ-like in all we do, and had given the example of being gracious to other drivers, not calling them “Jerk” just because they cut you off. Second, it was Father Peter that had just cut him off. Another: We were looking for a van, and found an ad for the perfect one. When we called, they asked how we heard about it. I told them we saw the ad in the paper. They responded, “But the paper printed the wrong phone number!” We had dialed the wrong number and got the right phone. Both of us agreed that seemed like God, and we bought the car. *** In the days of the mushroom, someone had a printed card on their refrigerator that read Those who leave everything in God’s hands can more easily see God’s hand in everything. I was so taken by the message that they gave it to me, and it was posted on our kitchen wall until it became grease-splattered and dusty. I would hand up my struggles to God, take them back, and hand them up again in a tug-of-war with God. And I did begin to see God’s hand on my life. I realized that we say words like coincidence, serendipity, random or luck to describe this, His fingerprints. My husband Bill applied to teach English in Japan for a year. It seemed impossible at that point in our lives. I handed it all up: God, if you want this to happen, you have to move mountains! First, You need to let Bill have a one-year leave of absence from his job, which no one has done in his office. Second, You need to get us renters for our house to cover the mortgage and repairs, for exactly one year. Third, You need to show us that the four of us can live in Japan on the salary meant for a single person. And fourth, You need to show us how we are going to pay for the round trip tickets for the boys and I because they only cover Bill’s travel. Within one week, all those requests were supernaturally answered. First, Bill’s boss said she and another staff member had just been discussing taking a year off to do a program like teaching in Japan, but they had not made specific plans. He could do this program for one year as a trial run. That same day, I mentioned our impossible situation to a neighbor, and she said it was an answer to her prayer: they would rent our house for exactly those dates. She and her husband had been saving to buy a house, but with their current rent it had been slow. Our house would be the same rent, but they could sub-lease the “extra” room like we did (they actually kept our renter) and that extra income would be exactly what they needed to make a down payment on a house in one year. Third, a Japanese student that had been living with us just happened to have a huge book that listed all the prices for everything in Japan, by town! (This was 1993, just before internet.) Looking at it, we determined that we could afford rent, utilities, food and transportation on the salary they were offering, as long as we were not within a hundred miles of Tokyo. We sent this information to the Japanese consulate who would arrange our location, and they agreed. Fourth, we realized that we could sell our very-used cars, and it would exactly cover the round trip travel for the boys and I, returning one year later. Then God threw in an extra miracle: we came back with just enough money to replace our two cars. I saw this again when we moved to Texas and did our new budget, with the new salary and house payments. We were $500 per month short of breaking even, if we tithed, and we were finally aiming to tithe. I had been homeschooling our kids and taking care of my grandmother, but that phase of life had ended and I was free to “work,” meaning to work for money rather than “just” work for free. OK God, I prayed, show me how you want me to earn this money. I need $6000 per year to break even, and more if You want us to get out of debt sooner. As the next few weeks passed, I began to consider various job possibilities: freelance editing, bookkeeping, or perhaps working in a local shop to get to know neighbors. Then Bill came home from work with God’s answer: he had received a raise, out of the blue, just a few months into the new job, for exactly $6000 per year. God’s message was clear: don’t work for money. *** Well God, what do you want me to do all day? I want to be useful, to do something meaningful… I don’t want to just sit at home! A new-best-friend from church, Wendy, told me that somewhere in the Bible it said we are called to be clay in God’s hands, to be adaptable to whatever He has for us. For me, that seemed to change daily. God was the “light unto my path,” but He only ever shone that light on the next half-step. I had just joined a class at church when someone asked if I would be in charge of arranging help for class members in need. I said yes. One of them had recently been diagnosed with brain cancer, and she had to move that weekend. Could I arrange help? Yes. Could I help them move? Yes. Then a man in the class died suddenly. Could I arrange meals for his wife and kids, and yard care? Yes. Another call, from a friend of a friend: there is a woman, Nancy, with brain damage from a past abusive relationship. She is a little volatile, and is being evicted. Can you help her move today? Yes. And from Nancy a few weeks later: My new neighbors are always in my front yard. Can you help me build a fence? I posted the need on the church site, and got donated wood and two guys to help, so yes, we can build a fence. Can I teach a teen to drive, talk to a girl who is cutting herself, sit at the bedside of a woman who attempted suicide, pick up and shelter a woman escaping an abusive husband, raise a teen coming out of juvenile hall for the second time? No! but God can, so yes! Sometimes I did, and do, say no. I have learned to ask my family when helping someone involves their sacrifice too. But my greatest satisfactions, even joys, in the last decade of my life have come from saying yes to God, and being clay in His hands. *** Early in this phase of my life, the Austin Disaster Relief Network (ADRN) was just forming. This was a “download from God” to Daniel Geraci: train people in churches to be ready for disasters like Hurricane Katrina, which had swamped Austin with flood refugees. Wendy asked if I would go with her to training, to be prepared to help people in a may-never-happen disaster? Sure, easy. Then Oak Hill had a fire, and 27 homes burned a few miles from us. I had a new ADRN t-shirt and a badge. Can I walk alongside Lilly, whose house burned down with no insurance? No! but yes. God, do what I cannot! I was completely out of my depths, but I would do what I could. I walked with her through the ash-mud shell of her home, recovering smoke-greyed ceramic statues, smoke-reeking clothes, half-melted candles. I turned away sandal-footed, well-meaning passerbys wanting to help, and accepted the help of young workers from the local grocery store with their logo shirts, nametags and sturdy shoes. There seemed accountability with them. I had no idea what I was doing, but it was such a privilege to be there with her. People she knew, and their friends, and my new church class, and their friends… the circle of help grew. We boxed what she wanted to keep, and made piles for a yard sale. At every new task, people showed up who could do that. One person took her antique sewing machine and brought it back all cleaned and repaired. Another washed bags of clothes, towels and linens over and over until they smelled fresh. Another took her salvaged photo albums and pictures and scanned and cleaned and reprinted some of them, putting others into new albums, new frames. I kept a notebook with phone numbers in case anyone tried to steal her things, but everything came back. Someone paid for a huge dumpster, and someone for a salvage company to come educate the volunteers on recycling burned houses. With help from a couple of local churches, a team of people was established to demolish and rebuild using volunteers, donated materials, and donated money for the rest. Within a year she had so much more than a new house: Lilly had made lifelong friends. God used this tragedy to bless her, and to bless everyone who showed up to “help,” including, especially, me. God’s provision was everywhere, right when we needed it. In the last six years since we began training people, God has been allowing more fires, floods, hurricanes, tornados, and explosions in central Texas, and each time it is more than we can handle. And each time, God comes through in miraculous ways. I get the huge privilege of “debriefing” people, to prevent ongoing stress and anxiety from the disasters. I hear God stories every time: A young couple with a baby that is swept away in a flood but ends up “jumping” onto a neighbor’s roof from a fence that caught them, only to realize that the neighbors were trapped inside. The man climbed back down into the rushing flood to break their window, and “throw” each of them, including a toddler and a pregnant woman, onto the roof with one hand as he held onto their fence, and then jump back up himself. He is the first to tell you it is impossible, what he did. He knows it was God. Or the story of Viola, an elderly woman who was swept down her street into a stop sign and held on, singing the same praise song over and over, for what seemed like half an hour. She closed her eyes and prayed when cars, dead cows, trees and toolsheds floated toward her, sometimes pulling at her, tearing her clothing. When a helicopter finally came to rescue her, she asked what time it was, and realized that it had been over 5 hours. She has no doubt that it was God who saved her. And the stop sign that she held on to for five hours wasn’t supposed to be there. Her house was the only one on her street, and one car is not enough for the city to put in a stop sign. She had lobbied hard for it, and the city had said no repeatedly, but her persistence wore them down. They installed that stop sign one month before the flood, and it saved her life. Some see this all as coincidence, but can’t you see God’s hand? *** One of the tasks I said yes to, enthusiastically, was assisting a mid-wife to deliver a baby. At one of these births, God’s sense of humor was used for a miracle. I was asked by Wendy’s sister Rosa to help deliver her third child, at home. She didn’t want Wendy to be there, because Wendy had just received a dire diagnosis from her doctor and Rose did not want grief to color her birthing experience. She later relented, allowing Wendy to be in the house, but did not want her sister to be in the room when the baby was born. At 9:40 I received this text: Can you go to Home Depot to get a water pump and a large tarp for the birthing pool, then come ASAP? Home Depot closed at 10. I grabbed my purse, sped to Home Depot, found someone who could show me what pump I needed, found the tarps, and checked out shortly after closing. I drove straight to Rosa’s apartment, and they gratefully slid the tarp under the huge inflated pool and began to fill it with warm water. Rosa labored for several hours in and out of the pool, then wanted to try to sleep. At 1:30 am, I was sent to a couch in the office room and fell into a deep sleep. At 3 am I was woken: “Rosa wants you right now!” My mind cleared as I walked toward her bedroom, and I became aware that I had by far the worst breath I had ever had in my life. I detoured to the bathroom and rinsed. No improvement. I couldn’t bring myself to put one of their toothbrushes in my toxic mouth, so put toothpaste and my finger and rubbed, and rinsed again. Still poisonous. “Hurry! She wants you!” I stepped into her room determined to keep my mouth closed, breathe through my nose. She was dilated to 9, the baby would be coming soon. Could I rub her back, lift her leg? Then, could I talk her through her breathing? When I opened my mouth the vapors escaped. Rosa let out a little cry, “I’m sorry, you have to leave now. Get Wendy! I want my sister!” I was extremely embarrassed, but so happy for Wendy. I was demoted to towel-getter, and managed to find an old toothbrush in a bottom drawer to use, then threw it away. I slipped back into the room, keeping my distance, in time to see little Cooper’s birth. I shook my head at God, who I know was smiling. Really God? You just had to make me toxic to reconcile these two sisters? *** Wendy and I did a lot of praying together, before and after her diagnosis. This was new to me, but was her modus operendi. One of our early prayer sessions, we sat out on a deck overlooking the lake at Mozart’s Coffee Roasters, and she brought out a list of prayer requests from five people. We prayed for the first one: “Lord, You are sovereign and all things are possible with You. Please let Marian’s house sell, quickly and favorably, so that she can pay off her medical bills and downsize…” Then we began to pray for the second person. “Lord, Keep Your hand on Susan and guide her in finding a job, just the right job Lord, that will use her gifts and passions and provide insurance for her family…” The phone rang. It was Marian, calling to say that she had just had an offer on her house, and it was more than she was asking for. Wow! How sweet of God! We prayed for the third person, and the phone rang again. It was Susan, and she had just been offered the most amazing job… Wyndy’s son Luke and his friend joined us on the deck, and heard about the prayers and calls. They prayed with us for the fourth and fifth requests, all of us filled with knowing that God could indeed do all things, and that the miracle was in His timing as much as it was in the house selling and job offer. Before we left Mozart’s deck the phone rang again, with good news of our fourth prayer being answered. *** Many of God’s incidences of humor and sweet indulgence the last few years have involved my friend Wendy, Wendy’s son Luke, and my daughter Tessa. We had met Wendy’s family our first day at church, right after moving to Texas, and within a few months we were fast friends. Her three sons began hanging out at our house every Sunday, bringing their friends, and many days we had 10-15 teens coming over for burritos and instigating ever-changing games. Crowds were good, because they kept my three teens from their otherwise-constant arguing. One of the many things that would set my sons on edge was Tessa’s laugh, which her brothers described as a shriek. We were at the point where I would cringe when she let out one of these shrieks, waiting for the anger-spike from her brothers. I hope she didn’t know this, as I know I shouldn’t have felt that way, but I did. One Sunday, when the house was full of teens, Wendy’s son Luke was sitting at the table with me, and Tessa was upstairs in the loft room with some of the kids. She let out a shriek, and I stiffened. Luke turned to me with a baffled look on his face and said, “Why is it that every time Tessa laughs, everyone in the room feels so happy?” I let that settle over me. In the months that followed I heard her laugh as the joyful sound it was, and always felt warmth and happiness. And it’s a funny thing, but her brothers stopped complaining and began to laugh with her more. And from that moment on, I appreciated Luke. A year or so later, God used Luke again to show His humor. I received a text from him that was not meant for me. Twice. His family lived out in the country, and Luke, who was 15 and didn’t yet drive, had to be in town near us until late one Saturday night, so I suggested to his mom that he spend the night at our house and she could just meet him at church the next morning. After everyone had gone to bed, my husband and I brought our sleeping bags up and camped out on the floor between all the bedrooms, just as a precaution, but no one came out, and we had packed them up by morning. Luke’s text came a week later: “If I were your mom, I wouldn’t have let me stay over.” Ah! So much between those words! Clearly the text was meant for Tessa, then 14. Why it came to me I can’t explain, other than God, but it did. Luke had been texting her daily (I realized this later, when I discovered I had access to our phone records online), but he hardly ever texted me. I thought about many ways I could respond, but decided that he would realize what he had done and be sufficiently mortified without me grinding it in. The next morning, however, the same text came again. It felt like a gentle kick in the rear from God. I had to respond. Tessa was furious at him for both implying what he was implying, and for sending it to me (though the latter was clearly not intentional). I let him know that we had slept on the floor, but that I had perhaps trusted him more than he trusted himself, and I would not be making that mistake again. He assured me that he was trustworthy, but God had made sure I knew to keep boundaries for them. Their frequent texting over the next two years was often arguing, hammering each other into someone they could actually date. They saw each other at church, and Sunday burritos at our house, and both often volunteered with me to help kids with special needs. During this time, I was not allowed to mention Luke’s name in any context that included Tessa, or my beloved daughter would be mad at me. She would come downstairs when a group of teens were hanging out, look around, and ask me, “Where is everybody?” I knew who she meant, but could only smile, list off who was standing in the room with us, and ask who she was hoping to see. Luke’s mom, Wendy, and I had many coded conversations about their texting relationship. I would text her a number, and she would know it was the number of texts they had sent to each other so far that month: 2047, 53, 3970. We monitored the ups and down: Seven from him with no responses. She must be angry. Seven from her with no responses… and so on. A poem Luke wrote for Tessa was left on the computer screen: fair game for a mother to read. I printed it out. When Wendy came by for a glass of wine, we went into my room and closed the door, delighting in our girlish secrecy. I showed her the poem. She scrawled “God is indulgent!” on the back. I filed that away where only I would see it. Wendy and I would delight in the thought that they might navigate these precarious waters and we would be related, or they might alienate each other entirely and our family get-togethers might have to end. At one point, when Wendy and I were working on a project together, it occurred to me: we could be competition. Christmas gatherings, grandchildren attention, marriage advice... When I told her my fears, she laughed: After several years of relationship, God had just given her the same thought. When Luke was 18 and Tessa 17, he came and asked permission to date her, for the purpose of seeing if they were compatible for marriage. My husband responded that she had to finish high school and college first, and they agreed. After 3 years of denial, I could now mention Luke and get a sheepish smile! A short time later, God showed us His sweet indulgent humor through these young people again. Tessa was volunteering to watch a girl with special needs, Briley. She was a handful, very strong-willed, so I came to help Tessa. Briley was refusing to stay in her class, intentionally disrupting the lesson, so we took her to an empty classroom. Nothing there caught her interest until she walked over to the books. Briley wasn’t one to sit still, but we were out of options. I looked at the picture books and saw one called Tessa’s Treasures, so handed it to Tessa to read to Briley. To our amazement, Briley settled down to listen. As Tessa turned the pages and read, we both choked up. The book was about a little girl named Tessa, and her childhood friend Luke. They didn’t like the same things, but he gave her gifts like a dirty feather and a dirt clod shaped like a frog. She didn’t like those gifts, but she put them in her treasure box to make him happy. Later, when she looked in her box, she realized that those gifts, and his friendship, meant the most to her. God is so sweet! I found the book online and gave it to her, and she tucked it into Luke’s car later when he moved away to Colorado for a year. Wendy’s dire diagnosis came in the middle of their relationship, after I realized she could be competition with my grandchildren. The prognosis was that she would be paralyzed in six months to two years, and would likely die within ten years. We prayed against it from the beginning, but it was a very rough year. She had constant pain, sometimes excruciating, limited ability to walk, and struggled to keep sight of hope. Being with her was hard for me, as she had been a mentor and a friend, and I wanted our faith to be enough. I had already learned the lesson that even with faith God is sovereign. He does not answer every prayer, and everyone dies at some point. Some die before we think they should. There is no guarantee of health or prosperity, and in fact the Bible promises struggle. But God did heal Wendy. Doctors saw the MRI’s, and can’t explain it. She has now had several good years and gone months without any pain at all. And now she and I are, indulgently, miraculously, helping plan Luke and Tessa’s wedding for next summer. The glimpse of princes, the phallic mushrooms, bad breath, the impossible miracles… Do you see the finger-painting of God, the weaving, the indulgences, the poke-you-in-the-ribs, tip-your-world-on-its-head humor? Do you see, in a world where someone being swept away in a flood can throw a pregnant woman and her toddler onto a roof with one hand, the presence of the power that created us, our world, and everything in it? How can there not be a God? He created you for a unique purpose, and he walks with you and rejoices when you seek Him. The Bible tells us, “But if from there you seek the LORD your God, you will find him if you seek him with all your heart and with all your soul” (Deuteronomy 4:29). If you want to know God more, and hear His voice guiding you, and let Him show you his wonderful humor and provision in your life, right where you are now, “you should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to you. But when you ask, you must believe and not doubt” (James 1:5-6). In addition to praying (talking to God), reading the Bible is a great way to seek God. It is online (blueletterbible.org is an amazing site, and if you click on “tools” and read the original wording and what the words meant, the “aha’s” will never end), but read it in print too. Mark the passages that God uses to speak to you each time you read. Eventually, it will all be marked up, as different passages resonate with us at different times. And join a Bible study. Bible Study Fellowship (BSFinternational.org) is offered in most cities and open to anyone of any belief. It helps with the context and biblical meaning of words that may mean something different today, without telling you what to think or which church to join. We limit God is we say He is in some churches and not others. God is in all individuals who invite Him in and obey His teaching. No ceremony is required, no payments, no location to visit. And while we are closer to “the end” than ever before, we are also closer to our own end than ever before. Now is a great time to get to know your creator, and invite Him to be sovereign in your life. He gives us the power to avoid temptation to do the self-destructive things we do, and brings us freedom from bondage to sin. “You, my brothers and sisters, were called to be free. But do not use your freedom to indulge the flesh; rather, serve one another humbly in love” (Galatians 5 13-14). It all boils down to this: Jesus tells us the greatest commandment is to “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.’ The second is this: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no commandment greater than these” (Mark 12:30-31). It is that simple.