Last Wednesday, the 19th of October, I read a piece I had written to the Men’s Group that meets weekly in Alexandria, Indiana. I’ve been a part of this group for about seven or eight years, and on occasion I am privileged to bring a devotion, a testimony, or such, to the group. This time, I brought a story I had written about a month ago.

If you’re so inclined, go over to the AV Files page on this site, scroll down to the bottom of the page, and you will find the audio recording of Wednesday’s reading. And now, the story:

-oOo-

A
It’s not a big ship; it carries cargo and the occasional passenger or two from port to port across the lake, which is rather big. Today the ship would be considered old-fashioned, being strictly a sailing vessel. Not that I know much about such things; what I don’t know about sailing vessels would fill a, well, a sailing vessel.

The young man we’re concerned with at the moment is the First Mate. Mid-twenties, single, hard-working, on the verge of qualifying for a command of his own. On this day, the Captain signals that he’d like a word.

“I’ve been watching you all morning. You’ve been looking at the sky. I know you know the weather about as well as I do; what do those clouds tell you?” he asks.

“Storm coming,” says the First Mate. “Not terribly severe, probably won’t last all that long, but it’s time we started getting ready.”

“How soon?”

“Thirty minutes, maybe forty-five at the outside. Enough time, but none to spare.”

“Get your deck-hands together and see to it. I want you to prepare as if this were a hurricane. Put the men through their paces. And keep your eyes open. You watch them, and I’ll be watching you. When this thing blows itself out, I will submit a report to the head office. Some of the guys are due for promotion, so think of this as an evaluation.”

So First Mate calls the deck-hands together, tells them most of what the Captain has told him, and then begins giving instructions and assignments. There are doors to be closed and locks to be checked, equipment to be stowed, and below, there are crates to be secured; two or three men are sent down to assist the Cook in seeing to the galley and the food pantry.

I like boats, but I admit I’m no sailor. In that First Mate’s shoes, I’d probably hide in my cabin, just hoping we don’t sink. Storms at sea are the stuff of nightmares, for a land-lubber like me.

So I’ll ask him: “Aren’t you afraid? Don’t storms frighten you?”

He almost laughs at me. “Oh, there’s plenty to be concerned about, but that isn’t fear. Storms at sea, even a lake like this, can be powerful, but things to be respected, not feared. Truth is,” he says, “this is, by a wide margin, the least boring thing that’s come up in over a week. Sailing in good weather gets to a guy after a while. You can only watch the men cheat at Solitaire so long, you know.”

I supposed he was right. It could get monotonous, I reckoned.

I began to notice a kind of light in his eyes. He went on: “I’ve been, first a deck-hand, and now First Mate, for several years, and before that, there was a hitch in the Navy. I fell in love with the sea, and sailing ships in particular, but not with the Military. But I’ve been careful to study, take extra training, learn all I can, and then work hard, so that when my time comes, I’ll be ready for a ship of my own. Storms at sea are part of the package. This is what I’ve trained for. You might say, this is what I was born for. Today I earn my pay, and maybe even a promotion. Afraid? Anything but!”

Preparing for the storm is essential to being a sailor. Sailors aren’t fortune tellers; they know storms are inevitable, but unpredictable. Being prepared, and staying prepared, is wisdom.

B
That light in the eyes I’ve seen before. Sometimes it comes with what I would call the fire in the belly. In my all-too-active imagination, I’ve seen it in the eyes of another young man, this one not yet out of his teens. But that was long ago; I’ve only read about him. Feel like I know him, though.

He sits on a bit of rock, out in a wide green field; he watches sheep eat grass. As he watches, he makes up poems and songs in his head. Watching sheep eat grass is only marginally less boring than watching the grass grow without the sheep.

In the course of a normal day, there are two times that can be considered even mildly interesting. Early in the morning, our young shepherd opens the gate, to let the sheep out into the fields. As they go out, he counts them, and then checks the number with last night’s count, just to be sure. And of course, in the late afternoon, before it gets dark, he rounds them up and brings them back to the gate, and counts them again. Just to be sure. Except tonight. The count is off by one.

Today is no longer boring. Young David, the shepherd, knows the routine. He grew up in these fields, watching the ancestors of these same sheep, with his older brothers, and now, on his own. He takes his time, bedding down the sheep exactly like every other night, except this time, he must go back out, and soon, before the last of the light is gone.

He moves about the fields, looking in all the places a sheep might be lost or hiding, and he does so silently. When he finds the little adventurer, he doesn’t want to spook it into running farther off. As it happens, he doesn’t have far to look. Except that he is the second one to find the wayward sheep. Within seconds after recognizing the sheep in the gathering dusk, he sees something else as well: a young lion.

A lion in the hunt is the very definition of single-minded. This one is unaware of the shepherd. He has sheep in his nostrils, and that is now his whole world. Slowly and silently he begins to approach the oblivious sheep, as it continues to munch on the grass in the fading light.

We can ask the shepherd, as we asked the First Mate: “Aren’t you frightened? Even a little bit?” And there it is: that light in his eyes.

“I’ve been here before,” he says. “I know how to deal with predators.”

“So what’s your plan?” we ask. “Do you have a strategy?”

“Well,” he says, drawing a stone from his fanny pack; “first, I have to get his attention.”

Fitting the stone into his sling, he winds it up, and…Whop! Right in the ribs.

Already fingering the next stone, he moves swiftly around behind the lion, and prepares to fire a shot from the other side. The lion has trouble dividing his attention; he’s not ready to shift his attention from the…WHOP! That one hurt.

Suddenly, from the twilight, a hand reaches into the lion’s mane, pulling and twisting, forcing the lion to look away from the sheep. In his other hand, David has a stick, topped with a heavy, solid, knob. THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! And then the one that breaks the skull: CRACK! He feels that one all the way to his shoulder! His eyes are fairly glowing.

A couple more THUMPS, just to be sure. If the light were better, he could see blood and brain matter. He reaches down to feel the ribs, and confirms that there is no longer a heartbeat; his own heart, on the other hand…

He collects his wandering sheep, and back to the gate they go. This time the count balances.

Even young, strong shepherd boys need sleep, and in the morning a relief-shepherd comes to take the next shift.

“Go home and get something to eat, and go to bed. I’ve got this,” he says. Then noticing a smear of blood on David’s hand, he adds: “I saw that mess you left out in the field. Have some fun last night, did you?”

“A little,” replies David. “It was over too quickly. Bears are more fun; they take longer.” And he grins, sheepishly. [Sorry, couldn’t help myself.]

C
Not long after, David is called by his father, Jesse, and given an assignment. David has several older brothers, all of them soldiers in King Saul’s army, and they have had no news of the battle for some weeks. Jesse is sending David to the battlefield, with some provisions for his brothers, and to gather what information he can about the battle. As the youngest son, and still a teenager, this will be David’s first exposure to the battle, and he is excited to see for himself what he has only imagined until now.

Surprised, he approaches the camp where the King’s soldiers seem to be taking a day off. No sounds of fighting, not much sound of any kind. He can hear, off in the distance, the sound of some great annoyance bellowing over the vacant battlefield, but the words are garbled, and David can’t make out the words through the heavy Philistine accent.

For several hours, David moves around the camp, gathering what intelligence there is. His brothers, who are NOT pleased to see him, but glad of the provisions, point out the tent where the Prophet Samuel can be found, but advise him to go home before he gets himself killed. Not likely, thinks David. It’s not like there’s a war on.

The Philistines have put up a champion, some monstrosity named Goliath, obviously an antediluvian throw-back, probably no more than a third Human. Judging by his speech, his intellect is as impressive as his striking good looks, but he’s obviously powerful on the field, and his challenge has brought the battle to a halt.

I don’t want to leave the impression that Saul’s armies were cowering in fear. It isn’t the giant, but the challenge, that has them daunted. The giant, Goliath, has called for one champion from Israel’s armies, to face him in hand-to-hand combat, winner-take-all. If Israel’s champion defeats the giant, then the Philistines will surrender and become Israel’s servants, and if Goliath wins, Israel surrenders to the Philistines. I’m sure you see the problem.

This giant, somewhere in the neighborhood of nine feet tall, could easily defeat a half dozen of Saul’s best in a matter of moments; anyone, however brave or mighty he might have been, who steps up to accept this challenge, has just doomed Saul’s armies, and indeed the whole nation of Israel. The only move Israel can make at this point is to stall for time, and pray for a miracle.

As it happens, a miracle is just stooping down to replenish his store of pebbles from a brook. Shall we ask him?

“Are you crazy? Doesn’t that brute frighten you? How can you possibly expect to survive this?”

“Oh, don’t get your emotions in a knot. Don’t forget, I deal with predators for a living.”

“Alright, but how are you more qualified to tackle this monster than a trained and experienced warrior?”

“Oh, that’s a matter of attitude. Those soldiers are trained to fight, and defeat, other soldiers. Any fair fight between one of ours and one of theirs would likely end in a win for us; we’re that good. But this isn’t a fair fight between equals. I didn’t come to fight a seasoned warrior in a fair combat. I recognized him immediately for what he is: a predator. And I came prepared as no soldier could be; this is the opponent I was born to face, and destroy. It is my experience with predators, and my Covenant with the LORD of Sabaoth [Look it up!], that will put me over. After all, it’s His battle, not mine.”

“So, got your strategy figured out?”

“Same as before; first, I’ve got to get his attention.”

So far, the giant hasn’t taken notice of David at all. He’s waiting for a champion, and here’s a child wandering onto the battlefield. Who’s running things over there, anyway?

David’s already winding up his sling; the stone from his fanny pack is still damp from the brook.

WHOP! Right in the forehead!

The giant, more surprised than hurt, staggers, loses his balance, and lands flat on his back. And now he’s as helpless as a turtle. Huge and clumsy, wearing armor that weighs about twice David’s weight, he struggles to gain a little leverage, but there is nothing to hold on to. Probably a good thing David doesn’t speak Philistine!

As soon as Goliath hits the ground, David looks around for something to use as a club. Where did he leave that stick? Wait, here’s just the thing. The giant’s own sword! David pulls it from the scabbard, it’s bigger than he is, and drags it up to the giant’s shoulder. As he’s trying to lift the enormous weapon, gravity takes over, and it slips out of his grasp…and falls straight through Goliath’s neck. His head rolls down the hill.

What? I was robbed! This can’t be over, I’ve still got a load of adrenaline to burn off. Bring me a couple of bears!

And that, dear ones, is that. The lesson is this: If you fight, you cannot lose; if you don’t fight, you cannot win.

God bless you.

-oOo-

That’s it. Hope it means something to you.

David L Henderson

I had been out shopping in a neighboring city, about 45 minutes from my home town, and had finished for the time being. It was early afternoon, and I was out driving alone, and I didn’t feel like just going home; I like to drive, particularly alone, as it gives me a chance to think, to pray, to just enjoy the scenery, whatever. I decided to take a slightly longer way home, which, as it happened, would take me past the village where the old schoolhouse-turned-furniture store was. I was aware that the store was no longer there, but the building was there, so as I approached the village, I decided to stop and look at the old schoolhouse again.

Now, the original “burning bush” experience was still fresh in my mind; it pops up every now and again, but the last thing I expected on this day was any sort of repeat. You’ll recall that Part 1 took place nearly forty years ago, and I could make little sense of it then; now I’m an old man, and chasing burning bushes has a lot less appeal than it used to.

Ordinarily, I would probably have started this paragraph with: “A thought crossed my mind…”, but that’s not exactly what happened. The thought was a question, and it crossed my mind in the same way a Greyhound Bus might cross a squirrel’s mind. Which is to say, impossible to ignore.

“Father, what shall we do with this building?”

That was the question. It hung in the air, taking up all the space in the car. I knew that before many minutes had passed, I was going to have to ask the question, out loud, and that soon, there would be an answer. You can’t imagine how I wished I had taken the shorter way home.

I pulled up to the front of the schoolhouse, well remembering that the only time I had been inside I ‘felt’ the heart of the old school, grieving for its lost identity and purpose; it was a school that was existing against its will as a marketplace for furniture. Finally, I could hold out no longer. “Father,” I said, “what shall we do with this building?” And I began to weep. The tangible presence of the Lord does that to me.

Oh, I thought about many things that could be done with a building like that. The facility itself was in good shape; it had been built in 1930, through the front doors you can see that there is a gymnasium in the basement, and probably a kitchen/cafeteria as well. Any minister of the Gospel would love a headquarters like this; offices, studio space for recording podcasts or videos, lectures, seminars, etc. One thing was clear to me, though, based on my personal history: we must make this building happy again. And that means a school.

So what am I to do with the former wicker furniture store? No idea. Seriously.

What am I doing while waiting for clarity? Plenty. Much prayer (including praise and worship), talking to friends, ministers, looking for people like myself who can get a vision for this project, folks who can form a prayer team to support the idea, hold one another accountable, and stay alert. Our next step could show up at any moment; our ears must be open at all times.

Sound like fun? Roll up your sleeves. There’s work to be done.

David L Henderson,
2/12/2022

Of course, what really drew me to the Pier wasn’t hats, or mysterious Chinese tea bags, or any of the thousands of other esoteric odds and ends on offer. It was the smell of wicker. I’m not a great fan of wicker furniture, but wandering around a store like that, soaking up the atmosphere, enjoying my youth, I now find that the smell of wicker brings me back to my mid-20s.

In the mid ’80s, around ’84 or ’85, I was introduced to a little furniture store in a small town in Indiana, not far from where my (1st) wife and I were living. The store was in a schoolhouse that had been disused for years, and was now going under the name “The Schoolhouse of Educated Wicker”. A couple of friends thought we would enjoy seeing this local oddity, and they took us there. They were right, we thought a schoolhouse-turned-furniture store was worth seeing, but for me, it was almost a burning-bush experience.

Now, I’m not usually given to mystic experiences; that is to say, as a Pentecostal, I am no stranger to the voice of God, speaking in Tongues, etc., but generally, my experiences are not all that “out there”. This time, however, I confess I was in uncharted territory.

The moment I stepped into the wicker store, I was immediately aware of something like a dark cloud of sadness. It was almost visible. It seemed to stop my breath. I stood still for a few moments, knowing I was in the presence of something supernatural, although something I could find no precedent for, in Scripture or anywhere else. After a short pause, I began to understand the sadness. The building I was standing in was mourning its fate. It had been built and intended to be a school, it had fulfilled its purpose for a time; now it was doomed, for the time being at least, to exist as a market for wicker furniture.

Many things in the spiritual realm are far outside my comprehension, and I had no idea what to do with the thing I had just experienced, but there seemed to be nothing I could do about it, no-one I could even share the experience with. Who would understand, or even believe me? I decided to set it aside. The experience was real, I was convinced it was a manifestation from the Lord, but beyond that, the whole thing seemed to be something I had stumbled upon which was simply not my business. I let it go and as far as is possible, I forgot about it.

–oOo–

This is where I would like to say that God must have the patience of Job, but compared to God’s patience, Job’s is chickenfeed.

God planted a seed nearly forty years ago that today is showing distinct signs of sprouting. In the next installment, you’ll see the sequel to this tale. Please stay tuned. I promise you won’t have to wait forty years, or even forty days; further, I promise your curiosity will be either satisfied or heightened. You don’t want to miss this.

David L Henderson,
1/27/2022

So apparently, if I’m to be blessed, I must fear the Lord, and delight greatly in His commandments.

Hold on! What about all that Fear Not stuff? And what about those commandments? Aren’t we under grace, and not under the Law of Moses (Rom 6:14)? Does ‘perfect love cast out fear’ (1 John 4:18) or doesn’t it?

And yet, what about Proverbs?
“The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom…” (Prov 9:10)

We’ve heard all the sermons about fearing God, and every preacher/teacher/televangelist has his/her own take on the subject. Fortunately, you now have Me to straighten it all out for you.

Here it is, in a nutshell:
The fear of the Lord is about one thing, and one thing only: obedience.

That’s it. Feel better?

C’mon back, I’m not done. I have a little story to tell.

(I’m doing this from memory, but if you want to read the original story, it comes from Little Men, by Louisa Mae Alcott.)

Once there was a lonely little orphaned boy named Nat, who came to live with some kind people in a big house, who’s ministry it was to care for little boys in need of parents and love and friendship.

Little Nat flourished in such a happy atmosphere and soon looked upon the kind folks as his own Mama and Papa.

And then one day, disaster! Something happened, I forget what; one of the other boys did something they shouldn’t have done, and Nat, while not guilty himself, knew about it. When he was confronted by Papa, fear overcame him, and he lied, and said he didn’t know anything.

Of course, eventually it came out that Nat knew, and had lied about it. This grieved Papa’s heart very much, because he loved little Nat so much. He sent the other boys out of the room, and stood before the wretched little boy. He took a ruler from his desk, and handed it to Nat.

“I’m not going to punish you for this,” he said. “You are going to punish me. I want you to see how much your lie has wounded me. Take this ruler and strike my hand.”

The poor child, already in tears, made a half-hearted swat at Papa’s hand, and then cast the ruler away. He and the kindly Papa embraced, and wept, and nothing more was ever said about it.

The fear of the Lord is not about being afraid of His wrath, or His punishments. It is about His love for you, and your being so in love with Him that you fear to wound him with your disobedience.

And that, dear children, is the beginning of wisdom

Sleep Tight!

Sept 16, 2021
David L Henderson

ADDITIONAL NOTE: This article was used as part of a presentation I gave at Alexandria, IN, at the Tuesday Morning Men’s Group. You can find the recording of that presentation on the AV Files page. — dlh

Over on the AV Page I have posted two new MP3 files. They are called RT Stories and Pumpernickel. The two audio recordings more or less speak for themselves, but I will provide here a brief introduction.

I am now a retired Respiratory Therapist. I began training on-the-job in 1970, and I worked in a wide variety of healthcare facilities over the ensuing forty-eight years. RT Stories is a very small collection of incidents that I like to remember. They involve children who have had an impact on me, and believe me, I could have recorded hours more such stories.

Pumpernickel is another similar story, except that my association with him lasted ten years. He became for me a surrogate son. His story warrants a special place, and special treatment. One day, when I’m able, I will write in fuller detail, the Pumpernickel story.

You see, I received word that Pumpernickel has passed away at the age of 15, so his earthly journey, and my part in his story, is at an end. But the story as I have related it, needs to be told, so here it is.

If you’re easily offended, please know that there are one or two distasteful words here, but I could not, in good conscience, censor them. The piece stands, whole and unashamed, as do I.

In the old days, there were coffeehouses, where the hip crowd, called Beatnics, came to hang out with their friends, smoke, drink coffee, and listen to jazz. If you were really hip, if you knew what you were doing, you could score some weed or something stronger.

Eventually the beatnics became hippies, the jazz became folk/rock, and the coffeehouses became street corners or public parks. Instead of coffee, the hippies came together for sex, drugs, rock & roll; weed became heroin, cocaine, and LSD, etc.

Time passes. The coffee has moved uptown, and yuppies, the really hip ones, pay more for a cup than their predecessors had paid for the weed. Even at that they have to doctor their coffee up until you can’t taste the coffee. Nobody likes coffee now; we’re all addicted to frothy milk and a mermaid logo on the side of a paper sippy-cup.

The coffeehouses are now crackhouses, abandoned apartments in abandoned buildings, stinking of vomit and disease, and rats. Music is no longer available, and those who hang out there trade their bodies for drugs and alcohol. The really hip ones can, when necessity demands, score an audience with a friend of a friend who knows his way around a wire hanger. For about the price of a coffee. Uptown.

You make your way up the stairs, pausing a few times to locate the next step in the gathering darkness; dark within, dark without. A figure brushes past on the stairs, you couldn’t see her to recognize her, but something in her general appearance seems vaguely familiar; hell, she could be you.

And then the top floor, the open door, dim yellow light from a battery-powered lamp, and the friend of a friend with a half-smirk on his face. “Next,” he says.

“Whadja bring?”

“These. It’s all I got.” You hand him a half-dozen condoms, folded together and held in a rubber band. He peels one from the bundle and hands the rest back. “Here. You need these more than I do.” Unwraps it, puts it on and fucks you before he unwinds the hanger.

The condom was meant for irony. Neither of you have anything left to protect; you’re already pregnant, you’re both already HIV.

It’s full dark now. How you got down the stairs again is anybody’s guess. You wake up in the alley behind the apartment house, lying across a lumpy garbage bag. You feel something, blood probably, sliding down your inner thigh, and you suspect you might not see daylight. All you can remember of who or what you were consists of your mother’s accusing voice. In an alley in the dark, even “I told you so” would sound like “I love you” after you’ve flushed your baby, and likely your life, down the toilet.

It finishes here; there wasn’t any more.

In this life, there is only one thing that remains constant, and that is change.

People come and go, the stars turn in their courses, tides come in and go out, mountains, and governments, rise and fall; change has come to stay.

A few months ago I started this website with the firm intention of resuming the work I had begun several years ago. I wrote articles and posted them to that original site, but because of the inescapable realities of life, that site came to an abrupt end. Then, when I felt the time was right, I started up again, planning to do some more of the same. However, the old way is no longer workable. I cannot simply pick up where I left off.

For a number of weeks, I have tried to make sense of it all, to find the direction I am supposed to go with this site. In my heart, I believe that videos and audios will figure much more prominently than they did before, and to that end, I have begun setting up a production studio in which to produce the videos. And apart from some minor adjustments, the studio is nearly complete.

On Sunday evening, July 28, I preached at my local church, the Alexandria Church of the Nazarene. I recorded the message, and you will find the MP3 available on the AV Files page. If the message means something to you, I ask you to share it with your friends. Share a link of this page to Facebook or Twitter or wherever you hang out socially, and stay tuned. As I get direction, this site will, I am confident, develop into something that will, above all, bring honor to the cause of Jesus Christ.

Be blessed,
David L Henderson

Dear friends, It’s been some weeks since my last post, and for that I apologize.

On Tuesday mornings, I attend a Mens’ Group, a collection of Christian brothers who gather early in the morning to spend an hour in fellowship and love, praying with and for one another, singing songs, discussing Scripture, etc. From time to time, I take the podium to bring a word or a thought, a devotion, to the group, as do several of us in turn.

In April, 2017, just after Easter, it was my privilege to bring a message relative to the Easter season. The audio recording has been posted to the AV Files page, and you can listen to it there. I hope it means something to you. If so, feel free to put a comment below, Like or Share to Social Media, and tell your friends about this page. As I get my thoughts together, more files like this will be added.

Meantime, God Bless You All,

dlh

April 4, 2019

As times goes on, I’ll be adding more audio and video files to that page. As always, any feedback is appreciated, particularly Facebook or Twitter shares, as we are looking to expand our audience.

Thank you, and God bless you.

dlh

Indeed there is. When you read the Gospels, how do you see yourself? Are you a disciple, a follower, or somewhere in between? Surely not a scribe or a Pharisee, and most certainly not a Saddusee. Are we servants, friends, children of God, or something else? Here’s a truth, and I’m not going to dwell on it here, but let’s acknowledge it, and tuck it away to be dealt with later: no matter how God sees you, no matter what God desires for you, you will never rise higher than your own self-image. If you can only see yourself as a follower of Jesus, hoping to someday be worthy to be called a disciple, that is where you will remain, and no higher.

There is a price to pay for discipleship. Jesus spoke of laying aside family and friends, property, etc., in order to accomplish God’s will, which comes with rewards, both in this life and the next, which cannot compare with the sacrifice. Do we understand the price? Can we pay it? Do we hunger and thirst after righteousness, or do we hope and wish for it?

Jesus was indeed a Rabbi. Recognized as such, He brought together twelve men whom He then proceeded to teach and train. Train for what? Here’s the Professor, here are His students; what is He teaching them? What are they learning? What are they becoming? Jesus gives us the answer: A disciple is not above his teacher, nor a servant above his master. It is enough for a disciple that he be like his teacher, and a servant like his master. (Matthew 10:24, 25a; NKJV)

Do you see the implication of that? It is enough for the disciple to be like the teacher; if the disciple is not like the teacher, then it is not enough. Our goal, like that of the disciples in the Gospels, it to be, or to become, like the Master. Jesus, our Teacher, longs for trainees who will take His instructions seriously, who will hunger and thirst for His ways to be our ways, so that when graduation day comes, He can send us out, not as disciples, but as apostles, conformed at last to the image of God’s Son.

What price discipleship? What cross are we called upon to carry? If I may be so bold, I must just mention that crosses are not for carrying, they are for dying on. When we take up our cross and follow Him, He will lead us to our own personal Calvary. The degree to which we allow the cross to work in us determines our success or otherwise as disciples.

Again, what price discipleship? The word itself tells us: discipline. Getting saved does not make us perfect, it may not even make us better. We start with salvation, and then, step by step, we follow the Master, learning His lessons, watching and following His examples, doing what He does, with varying success, growing and maturing, becoming perfected (or developed) in His life. He will not do it for you, but He has given us the map to follow, and He has sent His own Spirit to guide and support us.

Discipline is a big subject, and I’m ending this series here. There will be more as we go along, you can count on that. Trust me, I am the last person on Earth to be writing such stuff; I am the least disciplined individual on the planet, I think. However, I know from experience that God often lays on my heart words to speak or write that I most need to hear. He’s funny that way.

Keep an eye on this site; I will be adding articles as often as I can. Most of them will be along spiritual lines, teaching or preaching, but I also have some lighter stuff to pass along. Be careful, you might find yourself being entertained!

Once again, Like, Share, Comment, and come back for more.
Cheers, and God Bless,
dlh