My conversation with God is my lifeline on the journey. As the psalmist wrote all those years ago, Because He has inclined His ear to me, I will call upon Him as long as I live (Psalm 116). Our hope, our joy, our glory is lifting our voices to the One on Heaven’s throne. The One who hears, who responds, and whose heart is moved at the sound of our voices.
Available December 27
A fresh recording of My Little One, with Jon Thurlow and the sweet addition of a few new little voices. To mark the completion of our 40 Weeks of Prayer, we’re giving this as a gift to our email friends–sign up to receive this song in your inbox on December 27 and beyond.
He is the One, the only One, who can recall each of our memories with us—the good ones, and the painful ones. He knows the hard parts in life’s unfolding, both when we’ve done wrong, and when wrong has been done to us. And the Living Water He offers can wash away and make new. We all are that Samaritan woman—broken, torn, and sometimes bleeding within. And we are invited to sit with the Man at the well…read more
She was one spunky six-year-old, that short little gal with braids and a face full of personality. I’d just been assigned the role of being her tutor, and today was day one. I walked into her foster facility, checked in at the front desk, and went into the library to...read more
There was a season when the top edge of my bedsheet was stained with mascara—the leftover residue that washing my face had left behind, and then was cried onto my covers. Turns out, mascara isn’t the easiest stain to remove, and I honestly never really tried. So,...read more
Cold eyes stared into me, almost through me. He wore a scowl on his teenage face, stern and unbreakable. It was more than a look of passing anger. No, something had pierced his core, and now spilled out of his eyes. I looked back, not wincing, but with pained wonder....read more
I remember a day, looking on at a mother holding her crying child. This little girl was new to the home, new to the family. Strangers had become her parents. And the wounds of having lost those who had birthed her still bled out strong. She wasn’t an orphan anymore....read more
I met Joy Kinser this summer when she extended an invitation to lead the church community in her city in a time of prayer for her city's orphaned. Just minutes into our first conversation, I was struck with her sincerity and hunger for God. I wanted to hear what this...read more