Saturday, August 17, 2019

Old Bicycle

The first Mother’s Day occurred in 1908, founded by Anna Jarvis, who later recanted the holiday because it had become too commercial and lost its focus.  It looks like Hallmark won that battle.  It wasn’t until nearly 60 years later that Lyndon B. Johnson decided to create the official Father’s Day holiday. 

Thanks, President Johnson…but honestly…60 years later feels a little like an afterthought.
Let’s be honest…it is.  How many last minute Father’s Day cards or Father’s Day ties does one man really need? 

I think that my father has perhaps been the most overlooked man in the history of Father’s Day.  Well, at least by me.  Sorry Dad.  Technology has not helped fathers to receive meaningful gifts on Father’s Day.  Now, dads of all ages can receive a quick text, “Happy Fathers Day…can I borrow the car?” There…check that off the “to do” list.

Perhaps it boils down to a lack of resources.  As a child I didn’t have the resources to either compile or purchase a gift for Dad.  However, now that I am older and have children of my own, I find that I still have neither money, nor resources to express my appreciation to my father…so I text him, “Happy Father’s Day…I don’t have the $50 I owe you.” Maybe I could afford it…but I am afraid that the lessons of frugality that my dad has passed down to me has come back to bite him.

During those early Father’s Days, when I had nothing to offer, I would make him breakfast in bed.  I would toast up some bread and let it cool while I poured cereal and milk into a bowl.  While the milk was soaking into the cereal, I would make him a nice cup of cold instant coffee using regular ground coffee beans.  While the coffee was warming to room temperature, I would attempt to spread hard butter over cold toast.  As a final touch, I would hide the toast under a layer of cinnamon and sugar thick enough to vertically support a homemade Father’s Day card.  It was a breakfast that could take down a rhino.  Oddly, he barely touched his breakfast.

I would then go into our old barn and drag out an old bicycle, covered in pigeon poop.  I would wash it up…add air to the tires…oil the chain…adjust the brakes…and “quickly” present it to dad as a heartfelt Father’s Day gift…before the tires lost air pressure again.

Overall, I had nothing to offer.

But that didn’t…nor has it…changed our relationship.  He is still my loving father and I am still his loving son.  There is a short…but amazing passage of Scripture, found in each of the Synoptic Gospels, (Matthew, Mark & Luke).  Mark 10:13-16, gives us the picture of children coming to Jesus.  As they come, the disciples rebuke them and tell them to go away and leave Jesus alone. We read how Jesus gets upset with his disciples and says the “Kingdom of God is for such as these…let them come.”

I believe that in our efforts to be accepted by Jesus we often default to works…deeds…things that I must do in order for Jesus to like me.  I think we often believe that we somehow have to earn our way into the presence of Jesus.  When we approach him, I think we often try to mentally bring something that we may have to offer.  We perhaps try to bolster some form of our own righteousness to make ourselves feel worthy to be accepted by him. 

What is really striking is that Jesus did not accept these children because they were innocent.  I believe that Jesus accepted these children, because they had nothing.  They came to him empty handed…with nothing to offer.  Even if these children had had something to offer…it would have been, as in the paraphrased words of the Apostle Paul, “nothing but rubbish compared to the overwhelming riches of the amazing grace of Jesus Christ.” 

So may you find yourself approaching Jesus with empty hands today.  It is much easier to accept a free gift with empty hands…than hands full of self righteousness.

Saturday, August 10, 2019

The Pothole

Earlier this summer, our family traveled to Orlando.  I had a week long conference and my family had a need for some time poolside.  There is nothing like Orlando in the Summer.  Actually…perhaps there is…Orlando in the summer is like going for a walk on the sun, while having boiling water dumped over your head.  It’s so hot!…but at least it’s a wet heat.

After my conference meetings were finished, we decided to spend a day searching for Mickey Mouse…we didn’t find him…we even spent an hour in line at Space Mountain and saw no sign of him.  The next day, we decided to give up on Mickey and drive to the Atlantic coast.  I had been to Cocoa beach twice before, once with a group of 16 teenagers and once with just my wife and I.  It was a place that we wanted to share with our children. 

We arrived at the beach and found a FREE place to park (thanks to my especially frugal spouse).  We walked down to the magnificent expanse of the Atlantic horizon.  The hot salty air was already causing the sand to stick to our feet, ankles, knees, neck, shoulders, earlobes, eye lashes, nostrils, fingernails, and teeth.  The kids helped us throw everything on the beach in wad so as to help ensure our enjoyment of sandy infiltrations would continue for the next week or more.  It was all quite wonderful. 

My son was blessed with an epiphany of an idea.  He began to dig a hole in the sand…about 20 feet into the ocean, where his feet were covered by 6 inches of water.  He dug…and he dug…and he dug…until he had generated a hole as deep as his mid thighs.  It was a deep hole…entirely covered by the surface of the ocean.  Totally invisible…totally deep…and totally dangerous.  Once his hole was complete…he invited his sisters to come and check it out.  “Hannah! Come here quick!”
Then he watched as his unsuspecting sister walked along the shallow water until she fell into his newly created pothole.  “Ughhh…gurgle gurgle gurgle…Isaac, that wasn’t very nice…you didn’t tell me you dug a pothole.”

“Because, then you wouldn’t have ‘fallen’ for it!”


It is a funny word.

It kind of makes you wonder where it originated from.  I think that the natural conclusion would be that some 1960’s hippie cut a hole in his bedroom wall to hide his drug paraphernalia from his if the smoke didn’t give him away.

It is more likely that the word comes from ancient roads that were often packed with clay.  It is said that nearby pottery workers would go and remove big wads of clay from the roads, thus leaving a hole…caused by a potter...a “pothole.” True?...Maybe?

In either case there is a fabulous story in the book of Jeremiah.  In Chapter 18, God says to Jeremiah, "Go down to the Potter’s house I want to show you something.”  When Jeremiah goes and sees what the potter is doing…how he is working the clay…shaping it…molding it…creating it, God says something like, "Jeremiah…Can I not do to you…and to Israel…what this potter is doing to the clay?  The Potter decides what to make.  The Potter decides what each pot is going to be…NOT THE POT...Likewise…I get to decide what you will be Jeremiah…I get to decide how I have created you…and I get to decide what purpose that you are to serve.” 

We often find ourselves uncomfortable with this line of thinking.  After all, no one has the right to tell me who I am but me…right?


There is actually only one person who ever has had the right to decide what it is that has been created…and that is the Creator.

Know this however.  You have been created…by a creator…for a purpose.  That purpose is His choosing, and not our own.  But…It is a GOOD purpose. 

Let the Creator shape you…not as you WANT…but rather…submit to Him and allow Him to transform you into what HE wants.

I am still being shaped.  I can tell, because I feel his hands pushing and pulling and trimming.  Sometimes I don’t like it.  But I am learning to trust Him to do that which only he can do…to transform my heart of stone…into a heart of flesh.

Lord…may I be clay in Your hands…and if You would…help me to not step into any potholes.

Saturday, July 20, 2019

Spilled Milk

My son loves cereal.  He always has.  He comes by it honestly…because in this capacity, he is just like his mother.  I like cereal fine…however, cereal in my eyes, always seems to lead to messes and spills...I can tolerate messes to a degree…but I do not tolerate spills well, and messy spills are the worst!

When my wife was pregnant with our 4th child, she was appeasing one of her prenatal cravings by making herself some late night oatmeal.  This was a nice change to some of her other cravings, as it was not uncommon that I would find myself making a midnight run to Perkins to pick up some mozzarella sticks and a chocolate shake to satiate her appetite.  On one particularly snowy December night, I drove through town in a blizzard to get her a Subway sandwich…only to find the restaurant had closed due to the inclement weather.

Oatmeal…even late at night…meant that I did not have to slip on my winter boots and head out! As she picked up her hot bowl of oatmeal and began walking into the family room…ready to settle in and enjoy her hot cereal and watch a late night episode of Martha Bakes on PBS…the bowl burned her hand and she threw the bowl onto the floor, splattering the oatmeal everywhere!  I would have preferred to go get some mozzarella sticks in -20° temperatures, yet I bit my tongue.  I have not always been so silent at the moment of the messy messes, but this was one of my better moments.
They say there is no use crying over spilt milk.  Really? I cry over spilt milk all the time…I mean like ALL THE TIME!!!  My poor children are well aware of my aversion to spills and when spills take place I can see their whole bodies tense up… “Oh No!...I spilled!...What is Dad going to say?...he is going to be so mad!” 

Sadly…they are correct.  I take no pride as to how I react to spilled milk.  I am sorry family…but I am trying to grow in this way.  My son probably spills more milk than anyone in the house.  It is likely because he is always eating cereal…and is about as reckless as a squirrel on a jet ski and has about as much laser focus as a teenager driving while texting.

I remember on one occasion, as he was pouring a brand new gallon of milk over his cereal, the heavy jug slipped out of his hand landing sideways and began pouring all over the table and the floor.  His shoulders slumped and his chin sagged as he knew that I would not be happy.  But what was worse for me…was watching him…just sit there…watching all of the milk continue to pour out of the jug!

“Pick it up! Pick it up!” I cried.  See…there is a use to crying over spilled milk.

In actuality…what can you do?  You grab a towel and you begin to sop it up.  There is no way to salvage any part of it.  It’s not like dropping an Oreo cookie that you can quickly snatch back up…claiming the 5 second rule and pop it back into your mouth.  Licking the floor looks weird and has been known to be unsanitary.

What can you do?  Nothing.  You can clean it up and move on.  You can continue to live your life…and learn to not get so riled up about spilled milk.

In Daniel 12:5-13 we find God giving Daniel some final words of counsel.  Daniel is late in life and has had visions of a future that has left his armpits sweaty and his heart deeply troubled.  He wants to know some answers to questions like,“When is all this going to happen?”… “Who will this man of lawlessness be?”  God doesn’t necessarily give him the answers that he is looking for.  Rather the answer is more along the lines of…“It is not for you to know.”

So what IS for Daniel to know? Simply put, God tells Daniel to “Go your way.” God calls Daniel to live his life for Him…to continue to serve Him…even if he does not know all of the answers.

Sometimes God calls us to move forward…to follow Him…to trust Him…even without knowing all of the answers. There are some things that we just won’t fully know.  There are some things that we cannot do anything about.  It’s kind of like spilled milk…I can sit and cry over it…or I can understand that it is done and I can move on.  Daniel knew the future…he worried about it…he wanted to understand it…yet, it was not for him to know or do anything about…he needed to move on. 

Maybe it’s time for me to stop crying over the spilled milk and just, “Go my way”…perhaps after I have sopped it up…off of the floor with a towel…and tried wringing as much as I can back into the container.   

Saturday, July 13, 2019

The Card

A couple of weeks ago, I officiated a wedding.  I had known the bride for years, and had worked extensively with the couple, as we prepared for their marriage and the ceremony.  Upon the completion of the service, the pronouncing of the couple and the signing of the marriage license, I watched the wedding party board the bus and head off to rejoice with their friends as they celebrated their new marriage.  Eventually they would make it to the reception, where I would once again be needed.  But, as for now…I spent the next hour cleaning and tidying up the church before the next day’s service.

By the time I got home, my wife and I found that we only had about 30 minutes or so before we had to turn around and leave again to make it to the reception in time.  It is remarkable how quickly time can get away from us.  My wife had the gift wrapped and ready to go, but the card had not yet been signed.  She slid the card in front of me and said…“You are the one who knows the couple…sign this for them so I can put it with the gift.”

“Sure thing.”

I spent some time and wrote a very sincere and heartfelt message to the couple. I expressed how much I enjoyed participating in their special day and encouraged them in their new lives together.  We then drove to the reception where we forgot the card and gift in the truck.  We didn’t want to look stupid, and turn around to go back and get the card as soon as we stepped into the reception hall…so we decided to mingle and eat first.  Before departing we made the special trip back to the truck, walking 4 blocks one way…and then 4 blocks back…uphill…both ways…in sweltering heat…wearing dress shoes…just to retrieve the gift and the card.  We walked into the reception hall once again…dropped the gift into the gift box and turned around and headed for home. 

The following Wednesday afternoon (4 days later), my wife called me at the office.  “Hello dear.”

“Well, hello Honey.” 

“I was just curious if you read the wedding card that you signed for the wedding last Saturday.”

“Honestly…No I did not…I wrote a nice message on the card…but no, I did not read it. In fact, who cares what the card said…a wedding card is a wedding card.” I said.

 “That’s just it.” She replied.

“What’s just it?”

“I bought two cards that day…and I just found a wedding card.”

“Fine…we used one and we have one on hand for the next wedding.”

“No, you don’t understand…I bought two cards that day…a wedding card and a sympathy card…and I just found the wedding card!”

“Oh my goodness!!!...that is super awkward!”

Well…it is not uncommon to find the marriage announcements right next to the obituaries…so…maybe it’s one in the same?

In times like this, I can’t help but wonder…what will these people think of me? What do we do? How do we fix this? Eeeek!...why did we have to remember to go back and get the gift from the truck? I wish we had just left it!

In Daniel chapter 11 we see Daniel receive a vision which causes him to be aware of what is prophesied to come in the days ahead.  Jesus even tells us to “watch” as we look toward the future…to be aware of what is going on around us.  I should have been more aware of what I was signing.  In Daniel chapter 12, we essentially see Daniel nervously asking God… “What now?...What do I do?  How do I deal with thisl?”.  God’s response is to challenge Daniel with a call to continue to live for God…to “…go your way…” even if we don’t know what the next day holds.  We are to keep on living for him.

We will always make mistakes…but keep on…continue…keep following…even if we are afraid…worried…anxious…burdened.  Go your way.  Please God, not mankind…and always read your wedding cards.

Saturday, July 6, 2019


In 1998 I went to Six Flags amusement park in Chicago, Illinois.  I was working at a church in the western suburbs and three of us…all youth ministry workers from the church…decided to go on a “scouting” field trip to Six Flags.  It is only reasonable, that if we were ever going to bring students on an excursion to Six Flags…it was paramount that we know ahead of time; the layout of the park, the best attractions to ride, which are the cleanest restrooms and where the nearest garbage cans can be found in the event of vomiting.  This was strictly a professional and an entirely business minded trip…and I can attest…that very little entertainment occurred on my part.

We explored rides like Batman, The Joker, The Viper, and The Demon…yes…the Demon…three youth pastors stepping into the un-treaded waters of The Demon…and yes…I do see the irony of it all.  Overall, I do not care for roller coasters…in fact, I would describe them as something created by psychotic doctors as a way to induce vomiting…or by deranged psychiatrists to swarm up more business by making the average person’s sanity wane. 

I don’t understand these thrill seekers.  If you want to be a thrill seeker…try parenting.  There is nothing quite like trying to get a family of 6 ready for school, after having been up all night with a one month old new born.  This makes roller coasters look like nap-time. 

After we had ridden enough spinning rides to make a figure skater sick, I suggested we go look for a place to take it easy and where we could take turns spewing into the fly infested trash receptor.  This brought us near the local “Arcade” area.  There standing before us…was the king of all arcade amusement games…the infamous “Whack-A-Mole.” Upon spotting the mighty ring of Whack-A-Mole games…the oldest and most mature of the three of us stated….”I challenge you both to a game of Whack-A-Mole… Who’s in?”

We entered into the gaming area…each of us selecting one of the “Whack-A-Mole” games that formed a ring around an overly under-enthused high school student worker, standing on a platform in the middle of the circle.

He chirped away, in his non-expressive, monotone, Midwestern accent…“Step right up…try your hand at Whack-A-Mole…challenge your friends…high score wins…a winner every time…only 15 minutes until my shift is over…”

Despite my recently acquired dizzy spell…I was able to accurately take out my sickly aggression on the heads of the little plastic rodents.  One by one, the moles would pop up…and I would whack them back down.  Here a mole…whack!...there a mole…Whack…everywhere a mole whack!.  I don’t think I missed a single mole. 

“Congratulations…you win…here is a stuffed Wile E. Coyote that you can carry around the park for the rest of the day, while trying to act masculine…good luck with that…I am outta here,” announced the pimple faced pubescent carnival worker.

As we finished our day at the park, I learned he was right.  There is something that is just not right about buckling in a stuffed cartoon doll in the roller coaster seat next to you…while humming “My Buddy and Me…”

I couldn’t help the humming…it just popped into my head like a bad song that you just can’t forget.
I think it was Rick Warren who referred to life being like a Whack-A-Mole game. Sin rises up…we whack it down.  A problem arises…we whack it down.  In the same capacity, “World leaders are like the moles in a Whack-A-Mole game…they just keep popping up and God just keeps hammering them down.”  That resonates with me, perhaps because of my championship Whack-A-Mole run…or perhaps, because it sure seems to be the way that it is. 

In some capacities these world leaders look much the same…power hungry, greedy, ruthless, self-centered…caring only about doing whatever it is that they “want” to do.  Daniel chapter 11 has something to say about that.  We find in this passage, a great amount of detail that expands the visions that Daniel has already had in Chapters 7-9.  In fact the detail is absolutely astounding.  One of the noticeable elements that we find all throughout Daniel is the character of the leaders.  Here in these verses we find the leaders who are all about building themselves up…doing whatever it is that they desire…i.e. Dan. 11:36. We see it in Nebuchadnezzar, Belshazzar, the King of the North and the King of the south.  In fact, we see it in world leaders and rulers in modern history as well…in the likes of Stalin, or Hitler…and perhaps even more recently in some of our current world leaders. 

We tend to emulate those who we follow.  Who are you emulating? Who are you following? Don’t just be another “mole” that looks like all of the others, that God has to whack back down into place.  Perhaps it is time for us to start emulating someone who is unlike any other.  Perhaps it is time to emulate Jesus.

Saturday, June 29, 2019


There is really something quite astounding about mothers. It often appears that they possess supernatural powers. They can see things that the normal human eye cannot see…sense things that are about to happen before they occur…they can see right through the false statements of children and turn anything thing they can find in the pantry or refrigerator into a gourmet masterpiece.  Each mother may obtain any one or more of these super powers.  My wife possesses the super power of, “vomit radar.” She can tell that one of our children is about to hurl well before the bile appears.  “Ryan…go get a bucket and give it to Carissa.”

“What? Why?”

“Just do it…and you might want to hurry…you have 72 seconds…”

“What? Huh? Fine!...Ok…Here you go Carissa…what did you need a buc…”  BLAHHH! “Oh…I see.”

Despite their super powers…mothers need to get away from time to time. There have been a few times when Sarah has had the blessed opportunity of getting away from the home for a few days.  This has inevitably left me home to parent the children solo.  So far…so good…I began with 4 whole children and I still have 4 mostly whole children…perhaps a few less blood cells…or brain cells…but all in all…we got by.

When Sarah leaves town she will always write down a list of instructions.  This list will include items like: Feed the children, bathe children, change diapers, clothe children, pay bills, put the children to bed, repeat, etc…

On one given Sunday afternoon, when Sarah returned from her time away and I was just getting home from church with the children, she asked, “Well, how did it go while i was away?”

“Overall, it went pretty well…I was even able to get the girls to wear dresses this morning!” I said proudly.

“Good for you!...Did Erica go to church with her dress on like that?

“Yeah…why do you ask?

“It’s on backwards?”


Sarah’s lists are actually quite beneficial.  She will often give a day by day break down, giving specific instructions for each day that she will be gone.  Not only do her lists help me to function, but they also give the children a picture of what to expect while she is gone and a way to target her return.  Often, each day will have pieces of encouragement for the family that holds her heart, to spur us on until we are reunited with her. “Mommy loves you…only 3 days left!...Don’t hit your sister!...etc…”

I think God does something similar for His people in Daniel chapter 11.  The exile to Babylon is concluding…but there is still a great deal of trouble yet to come. In fact, the Jews are about to enter into what has become known as the “silent period”…the period of about 400 years between the Old Testament and the New Testament. What I find to be so striking is that God is giving them some very specific instructions…pictures…encouragements…to get them through the “silent” years.  The silent years are not about God abandoning his people…they are about how God has prepared them and encouraged them as they await the great plans that He has in store for them.

We know God is still at work in these silent years…He is doing everything that He promised that He would do…but his revelation has been stopped for the moment.  Now it is up to the Jews to read and remember what God has said…and eagerly wait for the coming of the Messiah, which has been promised through the prophet Daniel.  The Jews can read and know that God will not remain silent…He will be coming again…this time, in the flesh!

When we find ourselves in times of “silence,” may we remember the promises that God has given to us in his Scriptures.  He has more to come…He is coming again…He has given us His note…His instruction…His encouragement, for us to cling to, as we await His return.

Saturday, June 22, 2019


At least once a year, I have the unfortunate privilege, of driving across the state of Wisconsin.  I don’t intend to be degrading to Wisconsin…that would be unnecessary…the Packers take care of that for me. Yet, it is because, second only to a drive across the states of North Dakota, South Dakota, eastern Montana, or Texas…it is to me the longest and most mind numbing trip that I have ever encountered. It is inevitable, with my wife having been from Michigan, that we would traverse this territory once a year or more. The trip is only 4 or 5 hours from the southern border of the adjoining Illinois, to the Minnesota border near the Twin Cities…but WOW! Does it feel like 10 hours!  In fact, one return trip in January, our navigation was 10 strong hours long, while we endured a snow storm while driving through the entire state.  Maybe Wisconsin had to wait for Minnesota to finish their plowing and then rent out the Gopher State’s equipment.  Go Gophers!

It was a bit over two years ago, when we were making a return trip home after an early summer trip.  The day was hot and our air conditioning was not functioning…at all!!  The journey had already been long…after having been stuck in Chicago traffic for 2 hours in 94 degree weather…did I mention no air conditioning? When we hit Wisconsin, I actually felt relief to be through what I thought was the worst of it…but the traffic through Wisconsin was behaving oddly.  Like the rhythm of panting lungs, the traffic would accelerate up to cruising speed…70 mph…and then suddenly come to a complete stop!  Only to do it again…and again…and again.  This had been the pattern from Beloit to Black River Falls.

I had been recently passed by two Floridians. I remember these two Floridians because they had unique license plates…one said Mathews, and one said Solocam…and to the fact that I got a REALLY close look at them!.

I remember considering their plates, while cruising in the left lane at the posted 70 mph…never a mile per hour faster…5 miles per hour faster? Yes…but one mile per hour faster? No. I thought it odd that these two Floridian plates were so closely related, thus I pondered, “I wonder if they are for the Mathews company?...or perhaps they are a family of bow hunters?...or perhaps just a crazy coincidence? many questions…”

When very abruptly the Floridian license plates began getting very close to my windshield…very quickly!

I swiftly changed my thinking from “hunting” to…“Great SCOTT!...there is no way I am going to be able to stop!” And I was right…there was no physical way to stop the car before striking their customized plate…and it was going to be bad! I did the only thing that I could do…I briskly steered left onto the shoulder of the highway…praying to avoid finding a Solocam in my teeth.  I have never had braces and really did not want to start.

As soon as I hit the shoulder the tall grass swatted at my grill and the loose gravel was pushing me further to the ditch…and the DITCH was DEEP.  I am in the perfect position to roll this van!
I had some decisions to make and I needed to make them quick! Two options came to mind. First, I could take the nose of the minivan and steer it down into the ditch.  This would prevent rolling the vehicle…but there would be no way of recovering our journey and making it home that day.  It would take a tow truck with a ¼ mile winch cable to extract us…or more likely a helicopter would have to lift us out of the swampy bottom of the ditch.

My second option was to risk rolling and pray that we could hang to the shoulder.  I chose the second…or perhaps more accurately, I chose not to attempt the first.  After 500 yards of shredding ditch hay and the grace of God, the tires secured some traction and I found the van climbing back onto the highway…right behind the Solocam. 

There were imprints of my fingers left into the steering wheel from my white knuckle death grip…sweat pouring down my head and under arms…not just from the 94 degree heat. I am thinking, “That was intense!”

I hear Sarah say, “Wow! You are an amazing driver!”

Isaac saying, “wow! That was fun!”

Hannah saying, “I thought we were going to die!”

Carissa saying, “Dad! You made me lose my colored pencil”.

Erica, waking up, and saying, “What happened? I was sleeping…what is everyone talking about? Can we do it again?...that’s not fair!”

Solocam, raised their hands through their sunroof and applauded my efforts.  As much as I would like to take full credit for my inner Dale Earnhardt, I really feel that there were angels pushing the side of our van…keeping us out of the ditch and leading us back onto the road.

Some may mock and call me crazy...that’s fine…then you have to acknowledge that perhaps I should see if Richard Petty has an opening for a driver on his team. 

I think that sometimes we believe that the spiritual realm doesn’t really exist…or perhaps only existed in the stories that we find in the Bible, but not in REAL life.  I would argue…that perhaps the spiritual realm is more “REAL LIFE”…than the life we live.  We see but one realm…our own.  Yet, if a spiritual realm is there…and we don’t see it…which is more real.  That which we see? or that which is truly there?

In Daniel chapter 10, Daniel, is gifted a very real picture of the spiritual realm.  The veil is removed, that allows him to briefly see what is going on in the spiritual realm.  What he sees is astounding! He sees angels and demons and battles and warfare! It is incredible!

Perhaps we too need to take a few moments and consider the real realm that is around us, the realm that we cannot see.  If we “could” see what is going on…I think we would see angels and demons…battling it out…for our sake! Fighting for you…and for me!

May you come to see that there is a real…spiritual realm…where God is calling his angels to fight for you and your behalf!