God is Love – A Lectio Divina Journey on Psalm 103:1-22

[PREPARATIO – Basic Silence]

I come to a quiet and safe place. Alone. Still. Present.

Yesterday lingers: my heart restless, my mind chasing news from Korea, my soul unsettled by heavy rains. My eyes blurred, my memory faltered, my spirit wandered.

Two movements stir within me: to recall the past, or to rest in God’s presence now. I choose the present— to seek God here, not cling to yesterday’s shadows.

I pray with Sundar Singh:

“The world is so vast, yet it cannot satisfy the tiny human heart. Only in the Infinite God is peace found. As water is restless until it reaches its level, so the soul finds rest only in God.”

I lift my heart with George Matheson:

“Make me a captive, Lord, and then I shall be free. Imprison me within Your arms, and strong shall be my hand.”

[LECTIO – Reading the Word]

I breathe deeply. I open the Word: Psalm 103.

The words fall gently upon my soul:

“Let my whole being bless the Lord! Let everything inside me bless His holy name!”

“He forgives your sins—every one. He heals your diseases—every one. He redeems your life from the pit. He crowns you with love and mercy.”

“As far as east is from west, so far has He removed our sins from us.”

“As tender as a father with his children, so the Lord has compassion for those who fear Him.”

“All God’s creatures, bless the Lord! Everywhere, throughout His kingdom, let my whole being bless the Lord!”

The words echo: “Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not a single blessing.”

[MEDITATIO – Reflecting on the Word]

I let the words sink deeper. David’s psalm is both praise and memory— a festival song, a hymn for all creation.

God’s love is not distant. It is active, tender, unending. He forgives. He heals. He redeems. He crowns. He renews.

How easily I dredge up the past— old wounds, old sins. But God wipes the record clean.

To follow Him, I must forgive as He forgives— fully, freely, forgetting the sin.

We are fragile like grass, but His mercy endures forever.

St. Augustine reminds me:

“If we do not recognize our sins, we cannot receive grace.”

Yet in God’s mercy, even weakness is gathered up, transformed by compassion.

[ORATIO – Praying the Word]

So I pray:

Lord, let Your Word not only enter my ears, but my soul.

Your anger is not vengeance— it is justice tempered by mercy. Only the Cross reveals Your eternal love.

You know my weakness, my hidden impatience, my restless heart. And still, You embrace me.

All creation sings with joy— the wind, the trees, the stars.

Jonathan Edwards once said:

“The whole world rejoices and sings, embracing one another in love.”

So may I, too, rejoice in You.

[CONTEMPLATIO – Resting in the Word]

I enter silence. No words. No images. Just being with God.

Two pictures arise within me:

(1) A frame hangs on the wall— inside it, a painting of nature. When I step back, the frame becomes part of the landscape.

(2) I sit quietly with my two dogs. Simple. Peaceful. Loved.

I do not force meaning. I simply rest.

There is work to do— lawns to trim, gutters to clean, choir to prepare for.

But in this moment, I have peace. I have a home. I have God.

[INCARNATIO – Living the Word]

I open my eyes. I breathe again—slowly, deeply.

I lift my heart with the hymn:

“Draw me nearer, blessed Lord, to the cross where You have died. Draw me nearer to Your bleeding side, where love flows without end.”

Yes— God is Love. And in His love, I live today.

© TaeHun Yoon, August 16, 2025

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“가을의 기도, 이 생명의 찬양을” – 목사관 서신 (분꽃 이야기, 다섯번째) 2001, 윤 완희

이 가을, 내 영혼 한 마리의 새가 되어 산야를 날아봅니다. 하나님의 솜씨 어찌 그리 아름다운지요! 산의 능선과 들녘, 강줄기따라 흘러 넘치는 오색 축복의 잔치, 기쁨의 빛으로, 평화의 물결로, 사랑의 폭죽으로 불타고 있나이다. 수려한 산등성이와 바닷가 갈대 숲을 걸으시는 주님의 옷자락 스치는 소리, 찬양하는 갈잎들과 갈대의 노래, 들국화 춤의 향연이 골짜기마다 물결을 이루며 거룩하다! 거룩하다! 주님의 솜씨 거룩하다!” 하며 기뻐하고 있나이다.

주여! 보시옵소서! 피조물들의 경배를 … …. 아침과 낮, 저녁과 밤을 통하여 주께서 일년 내내 베푸신 햇살의 풍성함과 단비의 촉촉함과 청명한 이슬과 천둥 번개로 무르익은 향기로운 단맛의 과실들이, 가지마다 휘청하게 매달리어 찬미의 합창을 부르고 있나이다. 한 입에 물씬 깨물리는 붉게 물든 단감과 탐스러운 포도송이의 단물 속에서 당신의 속삭이시는 사랑의 고백을 듣나이다. 인간이 무엇이기에, 사람이 무엇이기에 당신의 성실하시고 지극하신 사랑, 그토록 진하고 향기로우며 달콤하옵니까?

아름다우신 주여! 요즈음엔 어디를 가든지 당신의 모습뿐입니다. 찬서리 내린 이른 아침에 유유히 물위를 헤엄쳐 가는 백조의 모습 속에 당신의 우아함을 뵈오며, 코스모스 가는 허리 높이 펴고 방긋거리는 해말간 웃음, 속에 당신의 순결하심을 뵈옵나이다. 낙엽쌓인 숲속을 장난질치며 질주하는 다람쥐들의 빠른 걸음 속에 당신의 쾌활하심을 뵈오며, 저 높고 높은 하늘의 뭉게구름 떠오름 속에 당신의 인자를 뵈옵나이다. 들녘, 농부의 손길을 기다리고 있는 노오란 옥수수 단에서 당신의 풍요를 뵈오며, 우수수 흩어져 내리는 낙엽을 흔드는 바람 속에 당신의 손길을 뵈옵나이다.

전능하신 내 주여! 이젠 뉘엿뉘엿 서산에 넘어가는 붉은 노을을 바라보면서도 슬프지 않은 것은, 당신이 그 어느 때보다 가까이 와 계심 입니다. 주룩주룩 내리는 가을 빗속을 옷이 젖도록 걷고 걸어도 외롭지 않은 것은 당신의 관용이 온몸에 가득함입니다.

나의 왕, 나의 주님이시여! 떨어지는 낙엽을 밟으면 언제나 흐르는 뜨거운 눈물이 있사오니, 못다한 날들과의 이별과 회한의 눈물이 결코 아니옵니다. 그 눈물은 위대한 당신의 언약 앞에 이 연약한 인간이 두 팔을 벌리고 감격하는 환희의 눈물입니다.

주여! 지난날의 게으름과 용기없음과 덧없는 허무에 사로잡혀 귀한 세월 허송하였음을 용서 구하기도 전에, 당신은 어느덧 나를 용서하시고 받아 주시옵기에 염치없는 얼굴로, 눈물을 닦으며 다시금 당신께 향하곤 하옵니다.

나의 하나님, 나의 아버지시여! 이 산야에 오색으로 타오르는 불덩이 속에 호렙산 가시불 앞에 선 모세를 생각하며 떨리는 가슴으로 하늘을 우러러봅니다. 당신은 언제나 불이시며 빛이시옵니다.

소멸의 불이 아니요, 생명의 불로 오시는 이여! 말씀하소서. 이 가을엔 당신의 감추인 비밀을 내게 말씀하옵소서. 이 작고 무지한 생명이 감당하기엔 너무나 엄청난 주님의 뜨거운 가슴을 안고 무릎 꿇었사오
니 말씀하소서!

팔씀이 육신이 되어 생명의 빛으로 오신 이예! 영접하오니 나의 가장 깊고 깊은 곳으로 오시옵소서, 나의 냉기어린 빈 땅에 오시옵소서,

오늘도 사람을 위해 베풀어 주신 당신의 사랑은 창고마다 가득할진대, 정작 마땅히 베풀어야만 했을 나의 사랑은 변변치 못하였음을 어찌하오리까? 당신의 가슴은 지금도 자식과 남편을 잃은 르완다 여인과 함께 빨갛게 타들어가고 있으며, 굶주린 독수리 한 마리 광아에서 죽어가듯, 죽어가는 소말리아의 어린것들과 함께 노오랗게 굶주려 가고 있건만, 내 가슴은 아직도 설익어 퍼렇기만 함을 이 가을날 고백하
옵나이다.

앞뜰과 뒤뜰, 산골짜기마다 쌓여가는 낙엽조차도 그냥 내버려두시지 않으시고, 흩으시며 모으기도 하시며 흙으로 돌아가는 날까지 돌보시며 거두시는 주여! 높고 높은 빈 나뭇가지 꼭대기에 덩그러이 남게 될 새들의 둥지를 지키시고, 벌거벗은 산짐승들을 먹이시며, 상한 갈대를 꺾지 않으심같이, 내 수치와 자애 (자신 만을 사랑 함) 조차도 결코 꺾지 않으시고 무르익기를 기다리시옵니다.

주여! 한 해 동안의 시련과 고난을 넉넉히 이겨 나갈 수 있는 은총을 허락하시고, 생명의 처소에 쏟아지는 별빛으로 내 영혼의 어둠 밝히시며 열매마다 미래를 심으셨사오니 감사하옵나이다.

이 가을! 내려덮이는 낙옆 속에 내 영혼의 겹겹이 쌓인 껍질들을 미련없이 벗어놓습니다. 그리고 벗은 몸으로 또 하나의 거룩한 약속을 위하여 묵묵히 겨울로 떠나가는 나무를 닮고 싶습니다.

나의 주님이시여! 이 가을, 주님이 지으신 산야의 성소가 가슴 뭉클 하도록 참으로 곱고 아름답게 물들었습니다. 인간에게 당신의 가장 아름다운 것으로, 가장 풍성한 것으로, 가장 소중한 것으로 주시기를 즐겨 원하시는 주여! 이 생명의 찬양 받아주시옵소서! 아멘.

Create a painting inspired by the text "Autumn Prayer, This Praise of Life". Depict a serene autumn landscape with vibrant colors, rolling hills, and a flowing river. Include a radiant sunset, a swan gliding on a lake, and a tree shedding its golden leaves. Add a figure kneeling in prayer, surrounded by the beauty of nature.
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“Autumn Prayer, This Praise of Life”

Parsonage Letter (Four O’Clock Flower Story, Part Five)

© Wanhee Yoon, 2001

This autumn, my soul becomes a bird,
Soaring across mountains and fields.
How marvelous are the works of God!
Ridges and meadows, rivers and valleys
overflow with the feast of blessings—
a festival of radiant colors,
waves of peace, and firebursts of love.

I hear the rustling hem of the Lord’s robe
brushing over ridges and reeds by the sea.
The reed leaves sing in praise,
wild chrysanthemums dance in fragrant delight,
and every valley resounds:
“Holy! Holy! Holy is the work of the Lord!”

O Lord, behold!
Through morning, noon, evening, and night
all creation bows before You.
The fruits You have ripened all year long—
by sunshine, gentle rain,
pure dew, thunder, and lightning—
now hang heavy on branches,
singing a chorus of thanksgiving.
In the crisp sweetness of a ripe persimmon,
in the bursting juice of the grape,
I hear Your whispered confession of love.
What is man, O Lord,
that You crown him with such steadfast,
tender, fragrant love?

Beautiful Lord, these days I see only You.
In the swan gliding over frosted waters at dawn,
I glimpse Your grace.
In the bright smile of cosmos flowers,
I behold Your purity.
In the scampering steps of squirrels
through fallen leaves,
I find Your cheerfulness.
In towering clouds rising in the sky,
I perceive Your mercy.
In golden ears of corn awaiting harvest,
I sense Your abundance.
And in the wind scattering leaves,
I feel Your hand.

Almighty Lord,
even as the sun sinks in crimson glow,
I am not sad—
for You are nearer than ever.
Even walking through drenching autumn rain,
I am not lonely—
for Your grace fills me wholly.

My King, my Lord!
When tears fall upon fallen leaves,
they are not tears of regret for days lost,
but tears of awe and joy
before Your covenant.
In weakness, I stretch out my arms
and weep with gladness.

Lord, though I wasted time in laziness,
fear, and vanity,
before I could even ask forgiveness,
You forgave me,
and welcomed me back.
Ashamed, I wipe my tears,
yet again I turn toward You.

My God, my Father!
Amid the flaming colors of autumn hills,
I recall Moses at the burning bush.
You are always fire,
always light.
Not a fire that consumes,
but a fire that gives life.
Speak, Lord!
Reveal to me the secret of Your heart this autumn.
This frail soul bows trembling
before Your burning love.

Word made flesh,
Light of life—
come into the deepest place within me.
Come into the barren, cold ground of my heart.
Though Your storehouses overflow with love,
my own love remains so small, so unripe.
Even now, Your heart burns
with a grieving mother in Rwanda,
with the hungry children of Somalia.
But my heart is still pale and immature.
Forgive me, Lord, I confess.

O Lord, You do not leave even fallen leaves
to decay unseen.
You scatter and gather them,
tending them until they return to earth.
You guard the lonely nests in high bare branches,
You feed the wild beasts,
and like a reed You will not break,
You bear patiently even my pride and weakness
until they ripen in Your mercy.

Lord, grant me grace
to endure the trials of this year.
Shine upon my darkness
with the starlight of life,
and let every fruit bear the seed of the future.
I thank You.

This autumn, under falling leaves,
I lay down the many shells of my soul.
Stripped bare,
I long to resemble the silent tree
that enters winter faithfully
for the sake of another holy promise.

O my Lord!
This autumn sanctuary of hills and fields
is clothed with unspeakable beauty.
You, who delight in giving
the most beautiful, the most abundant,
the most precious things to humankind—
receive this hymn of life!
Amen.

Create a painting inspired by the text "Autumn Prayer, This Praise of Life". Depict a serene autumn landscape with vibrant colors, rolling hills, and a flowing river. Include a radiant sunset, a swan gliding on a lake, and a tree shedding its golden leaves. Add a figure kneeling in prayer, surrounded by the beauty of nature.
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“Winter Rain”

Even rain—
when it falls in winter—
is fickle.

It lifts the snow
from the shoulders of trees,
leaving them naked
the whole day through.

Beyond the window’s frame,
sometimes it whirls like madness,
tugging at the fragile strings of the heart.

When will it end?

Still—
the one I wait for
remains the same,
enduring,
never ceasing.

[Before Series – One]

© TaeHun Yoon, 1970

Painting for Imagery of "winter Rain"
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“겨울 비”

비라도 겨울비는
늘 변덕스럽다.

나무 어깨에 덮인 눈을 벗겨
온종일 알몸으로 세운다.

창틀 너머에서
때로는 미친 듯 춤추며
애간장을 찢어 놓는다.

언제 멈출까?

그러나
그 사람 기다리는 마음만은
변함도 없고
멈춤도 없다.

[Before Series – One]

© 윤 태헌, 1970

Painting for Imagery of "winter Rain"
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“A Lost Day”

Yesterday, I leapt
from the hollow of a vanished “now.”
I danced upon a birch,
a totem coiled like a serpent in one hand,
a legend clutched in the other.

I grew smaller
as the mirror swelled.
I died, and rose again.
I died, and rose again.

Today—
I am no longer yesterday’s self.
I see, I resemble,
yet I leave the house
and shoulder a bundle into the cave,
seeking tomorrow.

Not the lost tomorrow,
but the discarded one—
not torn between peaks,
but crawling quietly
into the unseen bundle on my back.

The road stretches like the totem,
my dance turns wholly mine,
and the song spills free.

Where the bluebird vanished,
names gather like forgotten days.
Even departing,
I cannot cast myself away.

My soul stays,
building its cave,
leaping beyond the future.

On a spinning top,
my legend is born.
The wind—
the day—
was lost.

[Before Series – 2]

© TaeHun Yoon, 1971

Painting for Poem "The Lost Day"
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“잃어버린 하루”

나는 어제,
사라진 “지금”의 구멍에서 뛰쳐나왔다.

박달나무 위에서 춤을 추며,
오른손엔 뱀처럼 휘는 솟대를,
왼손엔 전설 같은 이야기를 움켜쥐었다.

나는 작아지고,
거울은 부풀어 오르기 시작했다.
나는 죽고, 다시 나로 태어났다.
나는 죽고, 다시 나로 태어났다.

지금—
나는 어제의 내가 아니다.
나를 보고, 나를 닮았으나,
집을 떠나 동굴 속으로,
내버려진 내일을 찾아
봇짐을 멘다.

잃어버린 내일이 아니라,
내버려진 내일—
봉우리와 봉우리 사이에 찢겨진 것이 아니라,
등에 업힌 보이지 않는 봇짐 속으로
가만가만 기어드는 내일.

그리하여 길은 솟대처럼 길어지고,
춤은 나의 춤이 되고,
노래는 흘러내린다.

파랑새가 날아간 자리에,
어제처럼 사라진 이름들이 쌓인다.
내가 떠나도,
나는 나를 보내지 못한다.

내 영혼은 동굴을 지으며 머물고,
미래 너머로 성큼 뛰어,
팽이 위에서 나를 낳은 전설을 돌린다.

바람은—
하루는—
잃혀졌다.

[Before Series – 2]

© TaeHun Yoon, 1971

Painting for Poem "The Lost Day"
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1969.9.9.

Beneath the tall stone embankment
by the elementary school beside my home,
the sound of murky water trickling—
the black, stagnant water
seeping from every corner
of the city of Present where I live.

Deep in the mountain valley,
where ancient trees and rocks keep watch,
water falls upon small pebbles—
a stream that belongs
to my imprisoned self.

Yes—
the human fate:
the sudden nightfall (within),
forcing Present to turn
far back upon itself,
grows ever deeper.

Television, knitting, magazines,
boiling stew, gossip,
mass-produced cars,
the endless rotation of screws,
air regulated indoors,
machines that serve our convenience—
all make human dwelling
seem vast and expansive.

Yet under the bed
lies the desert’s fire,
its sharp tentacles
waiting for the days to come.

The accelerating rush,
the stilled car,
already—
even the face
etched with the count
of a full moon’s cycles
upon the axe’s blade
has become forgetfulness.

The form beneath a single veil,
the crippled beauty
of an endless aria,
grows larger.

From Karl Marx’s Second Story,
from George Orwell’s 1984,
the brave new world has rolled away;
both Nausea and I
have disappeared.

No trace remains—
so bury your time,
your heavy thoughts,
in the grave!

The only thing needed—
is the wind
filling the heavens and the earth,
the wind everyone knows,
but only the wind
that I can breathe.

(Note: The piece I was honored to present—without title, yet full of memory—earned me the privilege of delivering the very first recitation in our Philosophy class and at the school’s anniversary event, Confession of Poetry and Music, held at Seoul Methodist Theological University.

It spoke of the autumn of 1969, when the sky was high and piercingly blue, casting something deep and unshakable into my heart. Though unnamed, the poem carried the weight of that season’s silence and longing, and it became my voice before a gathering of minds and spirits.)

[Beginning Series – Part 1]

© TaeHun Yoon, 9.9.1969

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1969.9.9

“숨 쉴 수 있는 바람만이”

우리 집 옆 초등학교 높은 석축 아래, 탁한 물이 졸졸 흐른다— 검고 정체된 물, 도시의 구석구석에서 스며드는 ‘현재’라는 도시 속 나의 삶.

산골 골짜기 깊은 곳, 오랜 나무와 바위가 지키는 그곳에서 작은 조약돌 위로 떨어지는 물— 그 물줄기는 갇힌 나의 자아에 속해 있다.

그래— 인간의 운명은 문득 다가오는 내면의 밤, ‘현재’를 되돌아보게 하며 점점 더 깊어져 간다.

텔레비전, 뜨개질, 잡지, 끓는 찌개, 소문, 대량 생산된 자동차, 끝없이 회전하는 나사들, 조절된 실내 공기, 편리함을 제공하는 기계들— 인간의 거처는 넓고 거대한 듯 보인다.

하지만 침대 아래에는 사막의 불, 날카로운 촉들이 다가올 날을 기다리고 있다.

가속되는 질주, 멈춘 자동차, 이미— 도끼날 위에 보름달의 윤곽으로 각인된 그 얼굴도 잊혀졌다.

하나의 베일 아래 있는 형상, 불완전한 아름다움— 끝없이 이어지는 아리아는 점점 더 커져 간다.

칼 마르크스의 ‘두번째 이야기’에서, 조지 오웰의 『1984』에서, ‘멋진 신세계’는 사라졌고; 『구토』와 나도 사라졌다.

흔적은 없다— 그러니 당신의 시간, 당신의 무거운 생각을 묻어라, 무덤 속에!

유일하게 필요한 것은— 하늘과 땅을 채우는 바람, 모두가 아는 바람이지만, 내가 숨 쉴 수 있는 오직 그 바람뿐이다.

(주: 이글은, 서울 감리교 신학 대학, 철학사 시간과 개교기념 행사, Confession of Poetry and Music,에서 첫 낭송의 영예를 얻었었다.)

[Beginning Series – Part 1]

© 윤 태헌, 9.9.1969

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“Encounter Jesus—deeply and surely” – Letter from the Parsonage (Four O’Clock Flower Story, Part Four) 2001, WanHee Yoon

Some time ago, a church member asked me this question:

“They say you must meet Jesus, but can’t I just believe without meeting Him? Honestly, I do believe in Jesus, but I’m afraid to meet Him!”

“Are you afraid?” I asked in return.

“It’s not so much that we find Jesus,” I replied, “but that He is always seeking us!”

I could understand her heart. Before I met Jesus myself, I too thought that meeting Him would somehow make my life less free. But when I finally met the Lord, I experienced the coming of springtime into my life.

Just a few weeks ago, I watched as a certain deaconess met the Lord and began living a new life. It reminded me once again that meeting Jesus in one’s lifetime is the most urgent and important matter—something that should never be postponed until tomorrow.

This woman, in her 30s, is the mother of three young boys aged two, three, and four, and serves as the accompanist for the church choir. Though she was always bright and cheerful, it was no easy task to care for her three small children, her mother-in-law, and still take the lead in accompanying worship on Sundays, Wednesdays, and at dawn prayer meetings. Not a single moment in her day allowed her to rest her mind.

Deep inside, though she appeared peaceful outwardly, her heart was splitting into a thousand pieces. She even began to suffer from worsening depression without realizing it. She secretly carried resentment toward her mother-in-law, often thinking, “If only she would go live with one of the other children…”

Her pastor, who had long been concerned for her weary soul and body, encouraged her—though knowing it would be a stretch—to attend a spiritual retreat. She hesitated greatly, worried about the children, but after much inner struggle, she decided to go. Just two days before the retreat, however, her mother-in-law slipped, injured her arm severely, and required surgery. To make matters worse, her non-believing mother called to strongly oppose her going, warning her with the words of a fortune-teller: “If you leave home and go far away, you’ll die.”

Though she had tried to share the gospel with her mother for years, every New Year her mother would visit a fortune-teller and share her predictions. Sometimes they were so accurate that the deaconess, without realizing it, began to rely on them. Now, fear gripped her: What will happen to my children if I die?

After much hesitation, prayer, and tears, she made a firm decision: “Even if I die, let me die in the Lord.” She entrusted her three children to a devout elder woman, arranged for her sister-in-law to care for her mother-in-law for three days, and went to the retreat.

There, God showed that even in situations beyond human control, He meets those who seek Him without giving up. The deaconess met Jesus and awoke from a deep spiritual sleep. With her soul filled with the Holy Spirit, the world appeared entirely different. She confessed:

“Every morning used to be a battle. I would scream to wake up my two older children still deep in sleep, sometimes hitting them, sometimes sending them off crying, and then spending the rest of the day miserable about it. But now I start my day with prayer, asking God to bless and protect each child. When I hug them and pray over them, they wake up happily—no struggle at all.

And something amazing happened: every word from my mother-in-law, which used to sound like nagging, now feels like precious advice I need. I realized she is the source of blessing in our home, and I began to see her as an angel.

That’s not all. In the evenings, my husband now spends time reading the Bible instead of hiding away in his room. I used to unload all my frustrations—about the kids not listening, the stress from my mother-in-law, and my feelings of being unappreciated—onto him. But now I see him as precious and admirable.

I also realized I was wrong to pressure my mother into believing in Jesus by arguing with her when she tried to stop me from going to church. As the Bible says, ‘The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love’ (Galatians 5:6). I learned that I must love and accept her with the love of Christ.”

Seeing her transformation, I prayed, “Lord, such a miracle can only come from You. Thank You! Thank You! You plow up a barren life and make it rich soil, bringing forth a bountiful harvest. Like the life-giving energy of spring breaking through the frozen ground, let streams of green hope and joy always flow into our thistle-covered lives. Keep us from settling in our present state, and help us always rise to seek new life. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”

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