Maxioms by George Macdonald
EPIPHANY Do you think you love your children better than He who made them? Is not your love what read more
EPIPHANY Do you think you love your children better than He who made them? Is not your love what it is because He put it into your heart first? Have you not often been cross with them? Sometimes unjust to them? Whence came the returning love that rose from unknown depths in your being, and swept away the anger and the injustice? You did not create that love. Probably you were not good enough to send for it by prayer. But it came. God sent it. He makes you love your children.
The whole trouble is that we won't let God help us.
The whole trouble is that we won't let God help us.
As no scripture is of private interpretation, so is there no feeling in a human heart which exists in that read more
As no scripture is of private interpretation, so is there no feeling in a human heart which exists in that heart alone -- which is not, in some form or degree, in every human heart.
Feast of Simon & Jude, Apostles Continuing a short series on prayer: Hunger may drive the runaway child read more
Feast of Simon & Jude, Apostles Continuing a short series on prayer: Hunger may drive the runaway child home, and he may or may not be fed at home; but he needs his mother more than his dinner. Communion with God is the one need of the soul beyond all other need: prayer is the beginning of that communion, and some need is the motive of that prayer... So begins a communion, a talking with God, a coming-to-one with Him, which is the sole end of prayer, yea, of existence itself in its infinite phases. We must ask that we may receive; but that we should receive what we ask in respect of our lower needs, is not God's end in making us pray, for He could give us everything without that: to bring His child to His knee, God withholds that man may ask.
Commemoration of Samuel Seabury, First Anglican Bishop in North America, 1796 Gather my broken fragments to a whole, read more
Commemoration of Samuel Seabury, First Anglican Bishop in North America, 1796 Gather my broken fragments to a whole, As these four quarters make a shining day. Into thy basket, for my golden bowl, Take up the things that I have cast away In vice or indolence or unwise play. Let mine be a merry, all-receiving heart, But make it a whole, with light in every part.
