Sanctification is a continuous process that will last until we die.

Shadows of the afternoon chase me down the wooden slats of my front porch.

Dear Grampa, I do not know how to begin.

The driveway daffodils are in bloom, and the magnolias are almost finished flowering. Monday’s cold front crept into town without warning and stole the sun for a week, leaving us to embrace the unrelenting high overcast and interspersed cloudbursts.

Lord, I wish I could tell you something important this morning, something that sounds significant. And yet, I confess that all I feel within me is nothingness.