The effects of the Fall are reflected in the way people sin or show the ‘curse’ in their lives. This is reflected in at least three ways (cf. Genesis 3): You shall surely die.
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Frederick Buechner writes: “Faith is the direction your feet start walking when you discover that you are loved.”
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Who would have thought that such quick and steep descent into raw evil could have happened, as it has happned in Kenya just a few years ago during a national election.
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When, in Isaiah 6, in ancient Israel in that dramatic year that King Uzziah died, the prophet was given to see the awe-full revelation of a greater King, Isaiah thought he was a dead man.
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Turkey left-overs, cold potatoes and squash, tiny mince tarts, a glass of cranberry cocktail . . . a brief but pretty snow flurry - whispy cotton, gentle on the neighbour's recently new fence . .
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I suppose one of my most vivid pre-school memories was of summer afternoon naps on a prickly picnic-blanket, under a spreading elm in our backyard in Burlington, under the sometime watchful eye and
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I rebuke myself, well sometimes, at the many times in which I am not mostly nor fully present. The picture here shows Jane looking out to the isle of Mull from Holy Island, Iona, in Scotland.
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There's something that happens, that deepens us, when we suffer.
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Life is measured by moments and we should make the most of them. And from time to time, something happens: we are arrested by something unusual, something, someone that gets our attention.
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I am still enormously in debt to Dr. Francis Schaeffer, the founder of the L'Abri movement and at one time a co-pastor in St.
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Robert Barber married Harriet Oakes (nee Oakes) in Guelph, Ontario, in 1836. He helped to carve what would become the Royal City of Guelph out of the forest, working for a time for Mr.
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One of my hobbies is Genealogy: the pursuit of data related to my family tree.
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I love this picture by Arthur J. Eisley, 1860-1952 (as I love all paintings that tell a story, that suggest and probe); not sure why. Perhaps the early snowfall that year made me think of it.
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The seasons come 'round as promised following the Flood. Hope spring fresh from the garden of new life . . .
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This display at a Fall Fair reminded me, contrary to the similarities of mass production, of the uniqueness of each one of us, fashioned by the Creator who not only knew us but loved us, uniquely -
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So, there is this little line or squiggle between the birth and death dates on many tombstones. Life is what happens along the squiggle.
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Important to keep our moorings in changing times . . .
The harbour at Oban, Scotland.
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This clock belonged to my great aunt, Mary Willoughby Potter, who lived with her husband Jim at Freeman’s Corners (now part of Burlington, Ontario) early in the last century.
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As a girl, Beatrix Potter used to visit her grandparents at Camfield Place, often staying there over the summer.
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We must be careful in our love/or hate of the Church (a lover's quarrel?) and see to it that we love the brothers and sisters, whatever may be their faults - and not take on the task of accus
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Too soon the Summer goes and then the bright Autumn, fading into the cold and snow of Winter. I love the Seasons - but it's all going far too quickly 'round.
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Thought I might comment on my last name - BARBER . . .
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There is a new way of creating orchards and producing good fruit. The old orchards had trees that were taller, difficult to harvest. So, newer, dwarf varieties were tried.
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I love the Autumn and hate to see it go.
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I wonder if there's a similarly of thought to ponder if one exchanges the word 'country' (in the following quote) for 'Kingdom.' Consider then the words of Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens), as he
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We all need such a place: what author Madeline L’Engle meant in the book of that name, Circle of Quiet.
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Some folk are interesting – exciting even, to know – but they’re not fun to walk with . . .
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St. Patrick and his peers brought Christianity to the Celts of Ireland around 400 AD, at a time when all Christians were still "Orthodox."
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Virgil was likely the greatest Roman poet. That's what they thought in his day and most scholars today concur. His poem, the Aeneid, told of Rome’s legendary founder.
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The lyrics for Hurt a song written by Trent Reznor and first released on Nine Inch Nails in 1994, come with all of the hurt, pain, and crying-out-loud hone
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We all need such a place for spiritual retreat and restoration, a place of contemplation and peace . . .
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