A Shadow of Remembrance is Hidden, but Not from God
Sweat dripped profusely after two hours of weeding my flower gardens. I left nothing hidden, not a shadow of remembrance from those despicable weeds. Nothing. I wiped my brow with a cold cloth and plopped onto my porch swing. A gentle breeze passed by. A glass of ice-cold water quenched my thirst.
But my body wasn’t the only thing thirsty. So was my spirit. It had been a long while since I had lapped with abandon at the river of Living Water.
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