Nothing Hidden Leads to Holy Ground
Sweat dripped profusely after two hours of weeding my flower gardens. I left nothing hidden — no roots for those darn 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.Read More