A New Creature. . . an Apostolic Pentecostal blog

High in the crystalline air of the Andes mountains of southern Peru, there is a remote cliff on the flank of an otherwise unremarkable 18,363 foot high mountain called Nevado Mismi. Each morning, as the sun’s rays gently warm the mountain’s snow pack, flake by flake. . . drip by drip the snow melts and begins to flow down the shoulders of the mighty mountain. Ecclesiastes 7:8 Better is the end of a thing than the beginning thereof: and the patient in spirit is better than the proud in spirit. A simple cross marks this lonely and humble location. Monuments to beginnings are not common, and if they exist at all are most often simple markers, rather than grand memorials. . .but without beginnings nothing comes after. From this desolate scene of rock and scree, the mighty Amazon River is birthed. Rivulet adds to rivulet, as day succeeds day. . . meandering mountain streams add to numberless and nameless brooks, and springs. . . flowing and ever growing the waters move relen...

I drove over 1200 miles over the last week, on my recent trip to Ontario for business. As is my usual practice, on the dashboard of the car, I have Rex Humbard’s book, Personal Promises From God’s Word. http://www.amazon.com/Personal-Promises-Gods-Word-Humbard/dp/B0006YN2JQ/ref=sr_1_fkmr0_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1429398469&sr=8-2-fkmr0&keywords=rex+humbolt+bible+verses This book has quite a number of sections, with Bible passages arranged in various topics. . .verses for when you are afraid, or sad or lonely, etc. etc. etc. So what I do is, I choose a passage, and I chew on it. . . I meditate on it. . . I pray on it as the hundreds of miles of my journey pass by. The section of verse that I chose this last week was: Proverbs 3:1-2 My son, forget not my law; but let thine heart keep my commandments: For length of days, and long life, and peace, shall they add to thee. First noticed. . . my son. Written with an affectionate warmth. . . Not an edict from a cold, ...

Life is a process. Each moment of life, is but a snapshot. . . a slice across the spaghetti noodle which is our journey from birth to grave. This tangled strand of our life begins in the womb of our mother, in her days and ways of pregnancy. It winds its way across far flung latitude and longitude and pages of the calendar until our soul’s departure from this world. We are a culmination of every day. . . every breath. . . every step and experience of our past. Every meal or every lack of a meal contributes to what we are today. . . Every personal interaction. . . every experience, good or bad makes us what we are. We are unique by way of our DNA, and from our cumulative life’s experiences. We walk on the ever changing razor’s edge of the present moment. Endlessly moving in the flow of time. Within this ephemeral passing moment, is the only power we have. We are shaped by and we reside in the result of all our yesterdays, but this past need not and indeed must not be...