The Lord’s provision doesn’t rest on the strength of our gratitude.
A Bit of Earth is about the garden, but it’s also about us—as we are made from dirt.
This is an excerpt from Broken Bonds: A Novel of the Reformation by Amy Mantravadi (1517 Publishing, 2024), pgs. 24-27

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God isn't satisfied when we turn our backs on Him. No, he takes the initiative and goes after us. In fact, he obsesses over us.
It wasn’t that I didn’t love. I loved deeply, but I was also aware of the much deeper reservoir of self-love that kept me from ever loving fully.
Contrary to what pop-psychology, social media memes, and your sweet grandmother told you, you are not fine just the way you are.
I don't remember a time not knowing I was a sinner. Seriously, I've always understood that Christ died for me.
Overcrowding on Mount Everest betrays what our culture worships. We bow down at the altar of the impossible to be seen as the conquerors, the champions.
My past, littered about this tiny island, resurrects itself when I draw near, but it never does so alone. It is always accompanied by the Savior.
The Church, having turned the Gospel into a moral performance, a judgemental system of do's and do-nots, must come to grips with the fact that the culture has moved on.
It is a strange irony, but in a world drunk on violence, it is only on the cross of violence that there is hope for peace in our world.
One area where my theology was completely backward was the Lord's Supper. Growing up I remember that it felt more like the Lord's Funeral.
The gelded Gospel is shiny and attractive and compelling, and we can perform the procedure in any number of ways.
These treasures show us that, no matter how well we think we know this poem, there’s always more layers to uncover.
Everything was perfectly teed up to move the needle on the baptism metric, but I just couldn’t do it. I told her she shouldn't get baptized.