Because when you’re wildly in love with someone, it changes everything.

Hold tightly my hand,
patiently while I search for
the truth of my life.

Lord, help me to appreciate this person without elevating him (or her) above You in my heart. Help me to remember that no human can ever take Your place in my life. You are my strength, my hope, my joy, and my ultimate reward. Bring me back to reality, God; give me an undivided heart.

Please don’t look away,
have the courage to stare back,
to stare back at me.

People fall in private, long before they fall in public. The tree falls with a great crash, but the secret decay which accounts for it, is often not discovered until it is down on the ground.

Now we cannot…discover our failure to keep God’s law except by trying our very hardest (and then failing). Unless we really try, whatever we say there will always be at the back of our minds the idea that if we try harder next time we shall succeed in being completely good. Thus, in one sense, the road back to God is a road of moral effort, of trying harder and harder. But in another sense it is not trying that is ever going to bring us home. All this trying leads up to the vital moment at which you turn to God and say, “You must do this. I can’t.

She wanted a smile that was meant only for her.

Now, if a woman believes—a godly girl believes that she is to submit to her husband and she looks over there and all she sees is an immature boy, who does everything for himself, that is a great way of creating bitterness in her heart.
But if she looks over there and sees a husband that his whole focus is this, “Hallowed be Your Name. Your kingdom come, Your will be done.” And he’s using everything he has, all his gifts, his talents, his authority, his place as a husband and father, he’s using it all to bless his wife and children and to bless the church and to bless the world, it’s easy for her to submit to a man like that.

Sometimes life is so hard you can only do the next thing. Whatever that is just do the next thing. God will meet you there.

Weeping is the eloquence of sorrow. It is an unstammering orator, needing no interpreter, but understood of all. Is it not sweet to believe that our tears are understood even when words fail? Let us learn to think of tears as liquid prayers, and of weeping as a constant dropping of importunate intercession which will wear its way right surely into the very heart of mercy, despite the stony difficulties which obstruct the way. My God, I will ‘weep’ when I cannot plead, for thou hearest the voice of my weeping.