Tag: Ministry

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The Cheerful Misfit

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When nothing seems to fit — and that’s okay

“On the contrary, those parts of the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable.” — 1 Corinthians 12:22

Some of us move through life with the quiet sense that we’re slightly out of step — not broken, not rebellious, just never quite fitting the mold we were handed. We show up, we work hard, we love deeply… and still feel like we’re standing just off to the side of the picture.


I’ve been thinking about the quiet ones lately. The ones who don’t quite fit the mold. The ones who try to blend in, not because they lack light, but because standing out feels risky — or exhausting — or simply unnecessary.


Somewhere along the way, we were taught that faith, success, and even joy had to be loud. That if you weren’t noticed, applauded, or affirmed publicly, you must be doing something wrong. But that’s not how God works. And that’s not how growth usually happens.


There’s an old song that keeps playing in my head: “Raindrops Keep Fallin’ on My Head.” It isn’t an upbeat song. It isn’t even particularly spiritual. It’s about a man walking through life wondering why things don’t seem to line up for him the way they do for everyone else. No matter how hard he tries, the rain keeps falling — and there’s a moment where he admits, almost with a shrug, that nothing seems to fit quite right.


That feeling isn’t failure. It’s often the first sign that you were never meant to squeeze yourself into someone else’s shape.


Scripture is full of people who didn’t stand out at first glance. Shepherds. Younger siblings. Widows. Servants. People whose names were whispered before they were ever written down. God didn’t choose them because they were impressive. He chose them because they were available — willing to show up, willing to listen, willing to stay.


Sometimes the calling isn’t to stand out — it’s to stand firm.
To keep doing good when no one is clapping.
To keep loving when you’re taken for granted.
To keep believing when you feel like a misfit in the room.


If you’ve ever felt like you don’t quite belong — not in your family, not at work, not even in church — hear this gently:
You are not overlooked.
You are being shaped.


Raindrops may keep falling. Life may feel a little off-key. But God has a way of using the steady, the faithful, and the quietly obedient to water the very ground where others will one day find shelter.


You don’t have to force yourself to stand out.
You were already set apart.


Prayer
God, it’s me again — the one who sometimes trips over her own feet while trying to do the right thing. Help me remember that even when I feel out of place, I am not out of Your care. Let me stop auditioning for rooms I was never meant to impress. Teach me to walk faithfully, laugh freely, and rest in the truth that You see me — not as a joke, not as an afterthought, but as Your very worthy clown. Amen.

Now Breathe!
Inhale grace. Exhale comparison.
We may not fit every room — and that’s okay.
We belong to God. Now, come walk  forward with God and me as a cheerful misfit.

Love Chelle

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Dear God- Keep  Digging

Posted in cancer, christmas, faith, God, inspiration, love, money, relationships, UncategorizedTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , 1 Comment

Luke 13:6–9 (NIV)
Then he told this parable: “A man had a fig tree growing in his vineyard, and he went to look for fruit on it but did not find any.
So he said to the man who took care of the vineyard, ‘For three years now I’ve been coming to look for fruit on this fig tree and haven’t found any. Cut it down! Why should it use up the soil?’
“‘Sir,’ the man replied, ‘leave it alone for one more year, and I’ll dig around it and fertilize it.
If it bears fruit next year, fine! If not, then cut it down.’”
Reflection
Some days, I feel exactly like that fig tree—standing in the middle of life, trying my best, but still wondering if I’m producing anything at all. Not the perfect, fruitful tree everyone expects… just the one hoping nobody notices how bare the branches feel.

And honestly? There are moments I feel inadequate in almost every role I hold:
– As a wife, loving deeply but sometimes running on fumes
– As a mother, praying between grown-child crises, hoping I’m guiding well
– As an employee, juggling tasks with a superhero cape that keeps slipping
– As a minister, pouring out even when my cup feels half-empty
– As a singer, trying to bless God while my voice sometimes protests
– As a writer, full of stories but occasionally stuck between heart and keyboard

And in the middle of all that, I slip into development mode: fix myself, improve myself, upgrade myself—as if I’m a project on a deadline.

But Jesus tells a different story.

In the parable, the owner looks at the tree and says, “Cut it down.” But the Gardener—who knows how roots really work—steps between judgment and mercy and says:
“Give her time. Give her grace. Let Me work with her.”

He doesn’t ask the tree to try harder. He doesn’t shame it. Instead He says:
“Let Me dig around her.”
“Let Me nourish her.”
“Let Me tend to the parts nobody sees.”

While I’m busy trying to perfect myself, Jesus reminds me:
“Growth is My job. Staying connected is yours.”

He is not rushing me. He is not disappointed in me. He is not walking away from me.

He is kneeling in the soil of my life saying:
“Give her another year. I know what she needs. Let Me grow her in My timing.”

And that truth sets my soul at rest.
Prayer
Dear Lord,
Thank You for being the Gardener who refuses to give up on me. Forgive me for the times I rush myself, judge myself, or declare myself fruitless. Teach me to rest in You, to stay rooted in You, and to trust Your timing over my own. Dig around me, nourish me, and grow me in the way only You can. And when I feel inadequate, remind me that Your grace is still at work beneath the surface.

With love,
Chelle

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Dear God – When Caregiving Hurts and Heals

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DEAR GOD… WHEN CAREGIVING HURTS, HEALS, AND LEANS HEAVY ON MY SHOULDERS

“My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.” — 2 Corinthians 12:9

Today, I told myself I would wait until the temperature climbed to at least forty degrees before heading out to decorate my sister’s room at the nursing home for Christmas. I’m bringing her a case of pudding and picking up the dirty laundry — the usual “big sister doing what needs to be done” routine.

But before I even put my coat on, a familiar companion showed up… guilt.

Not guilt because I don’t want to help — I do, with all my heart.
But guilt because sometimes… Lord, I am just tired.

Tired from my own responsibilities.
Tired from my job, my husband’s appointments, my grandchildren, my writing, my own body acting up on me.
Tired from being pulled in ten different directions while trying to stay whole myself.

And there’s a special kind of guilt that comes with caregiving when you are exhausted.
A guilt that whispers, “You should be doing more.”
A guilt that berates you for needing a break.
A guilt that makes you feel like resting means failing.

Especially when the person you’re caring for is your younger sister.
Only 48.
Bed bound.
Multiple strokes.
Speech limited.
Taken down by a condition we didn’t even know existed until it barged into our family like a thief in the night.

Sometimes I walk into her room and see her lying there, and my heart squeezes because I remember who she used to be — strong, funny, quick-witted, full of that younger-sister attitude that kept me on my toes.
And then another wave hits:
How dare I complain about being tired when she would give anything to switch places with me for one day?

But Lord… that is not the truth You want me to carry.

Because even with her limitations, she and I still do what sisters do:
trash talk, laugh, joke, roll our eyes, and make the nurses wonder what on earth is going on in Room Whatever-It-Is-This-Week.
She’s still her, and I’m still me, and our sisterhood refuses to die.

And yet, the guilt still shows up when I catch myself sighing too hard, or wishing for one quiet weekend, or resenting the cold weather because caregiving is already heavy enough.

But today, Father, You whispered something to my heart:

“Guilt is not your assignment. Grace is.”

Caregiving is not a competition of strength.
It is not a performance for heaven.
It is not a test You are grading me on.

It is love lived out loud.
It is compassion with skin on it.
It is the ministry nobody sees but You.

Decorating her room today…
It’s not just Christmas décor.
It’s dignity.
It’s joy.
It’s a reminder that she is still here and still loved.
And it is a reminder that I am still allowed to be human.

So Lord, when the guilt rises because life is heavy,
when responsibilities pile up faster than I can carry them,
when I feel torn between caring for her and caring for myself,
remind me:

You never asked me to do this perfectly.
You only asked me to do it with love.
And love, even tired love, is still holy.

With Love,
Chelle

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Growing Through It

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Lessons From My Winter Garden

“As the rain and the snow come down from heaven, and do not return to it without watering the earth and making it bud and flourish…so is My word that goes out from My mouth: It will not return to Me empty.”
— Isaiah 55:10–11 (NIV)

I am making my very first attempt at a winter garden. And let me be clear: I have absolutely no clue what I’m doing. Most of my “training” comes from overly enthusiastic YouTube gardeners who clearly have more time and more sunshine than I do.

I’m pretty sure I’ve already spent more money on soil, seeds, and enthusiasm than I’ll ever get back in vegetables. But honestly? For once… I don’t care.

Because this garden isn’t about vegetables at all. 

It’s a grief-release project. A quiet place to pour the pain instead of pouring it on somebody. A space where my hands can work while my heart finally breathes.

The “easy 30-minute” mini greenhouse?
It took three hours, two episodes of repentance, and one conversation with myself about whether I should have just grown plastic plants and called it a day.

Digging in the dirt made my back hurt, and apparently I thought a cubic foot of topsoil stretched farther than it does, because three trips to the garden center fixed that delusion.
Then came the bugs—whole nations of them—each one convinced they belonged in my hair.

But the moment that froze me was this one:
I realized it had been nineteen years since I actually sat—really sat—in my own backyard.
Nineteen years since I noticed the quiet.
Nineteen years since I gave myself permission just to exist.

So here I am, tending this little winter garden—measuring, digging, seeding, watering.
Not because I’m expecting a miracle harvest,
but because there is healing in putting your fingers in the dirt and hope in watching something grow in a cold season.

And wouldn’t you know it…
Right as the first snow has fallen, my mama-heart has kicked in full force.
I keep peeking out the window like a nervous parent on the first day of school.

“Lord, protect my babies.”
My seedlings.
My fragile green hopes.
My little reminders that even in winter, life is possible.

And here is the ironic blessing of it all:

– The “easy carrots” have not even whispered.
– The “super easy spinach” has barely shown a shy fleck of green.
– But the tough plants?
  The kale and Brussels sprouts—those winter warriors—are popping up like four-leaf clovers.

Of course they are.

Because the things we expect to flourish don’t always flourish first.
And the things we expect to struggle often surprise us with their strength.

Just like us.

Some seasons of our lives are carrots—quiet, hidden, working underground where no one can see.
Some seasons are spinach—delicate, hesitant, unsure.
But some seasons?
We are kale and Brussels sprouts—growing in the cold, thriving in hardship, lifting our heads in weather that would take out weaker
The snowfall isn’t a threat.
It’s a promise.

If God sends snow to water the earth,
He will also watch over the seeds He told me to plant—
the ones in my garden
and the ones in my soul.

And just like these unexpected winter greens,
I believe I’m going to grow through this season

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Red Light, Green Light

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Lately, I’ve been stretched thin — the kind of thin where coffee starts looking like an emotional support beverage, and my bed feels like a distant memory. With relatives going in and out of hospitals, caretaking shifts, family worry, and decision fatigue (add a side of job and regular life), I’ve been functioning on autopilot. And not the smooth, first-class autopilot. More like the “Lord, please fly this plane because I’m tired” version.
Then, yesterday, on the way to yet another appointment, I found myself sitting at a stoplight. I thought it was red, so I just sat there… waiting, replaying the last few weeks in my head. My shoulders were tight, my eyelids heavy, and my spirit stretched. Then suddenly — BEEP! An irritated horn behind me snapped me back to reality.

And that’s when I realized:
I wasn’t sitting at a red light at all.
It wasn’t even green.
It was yellow — a caution light telling me, “Proceed when safe.”

🌟 Misreading the Signals
That moment hit me deeper than I expected. Because stress will have you out here misreading life’s signals.
When you’re tired enough, everything looks like a stop.
A closed door feels like punishment.
A pause feels like abandonment.
A delay feels like failure.
A quiet season feels like rejection.
A yellow light looks red.
But exhaustion is a lens that lies to us.
Sometimes, God isn’t saying “STOP.”
He’s saying, “Chelle, slow down, breathe, look around… and move forward with Me.”

God Uses Yellow Seasons Too
We love the green-light seasons — when everything flows, doors open, blessings drop, and strength is high.
And we understand the red-light seasons — when God lovingly tells us to wait, rest, or retract.
But that yellow light?
That in-between, not-quite-here, not-quite-there space?
We treat it like an inconvenience.
God treats it as instruction.
A yellow season says:
“Be cautious, but don’t freeze.”
“Use wisdom, but don’t quit.”
“Move forward, but stay alert.”
“Pay attention, but don’t be afraid.”
A yellow light is still movement — just intentional movement.

The dig into  this moment wrapped itself around one of my Uncle/Pastor Ron’s favorite scriptures:
“Trust in the Lord with all your heart
and lean not on your own understanding;
in all your ways acknowledge Him,
and He shall direct your paths.”
— Proverbs 3:5–6

My scripturally adjacent version:
When we’re exhausted, our understanding gets cloudy.
When we’re overwhelmed, our perspective gets foggy.
But when we trust God, He clears the road even when our vision is blurry.

Honk Honk,  if you feel like you’ve been waiting at a red light for too long…
Ask yourself gently:
“Is this really a red light…
or am I just too weary to see that God is saying, ‘Proceed — just proceed wisely’?”
Look again.
Take a breath.
Lift your head.
Reset your spirit.
Ask for fresh strength.
Sometimes, the miracle is not the light changing…
it’s your clarity returning.

So before I pick up my keys again and cause some other signal light saints to lose their religion, pray with me:

Lord
I am tired. My mind is overloaded, and sometimes I misread what You’re trying to show me.
Help me see clearly today.
Help me not confuse exhaustion with direction or fear with caution.
Give me discernment to know when to rest, when to wait, and when to move forward.
Thank You for being patient with me when I stall at yellow lights.
Guide my steps. Strengthen my spirit.
And help me proceed wisely, safely, and confidently with You.
Amen.

With Love Chelle

No Fruit Cake, Please

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Reflecting on yesterday’s Christmas blessings.

My husband’s latest scans came back clean. Whew just in time to put a little Christmas cheer back.

My “partner in crime” cousin’s suspected breast cancer turned out to be nothing. I think she is happy I bug folks about smash-a-grams.

The Lord put me in the path of a young man who needed a Christian stranger to look past color, gender and class to “read his mail”. He thought he had hit a psychic reading which gave an inroad to talk about WHO a word of knowledge really comes from.

Then an unexpected last minute dessert order that I really didn’t know how to charge for, helped pay for 6 new sets of thermals for donation to Blessing Warriors RVA Inc. .

All I need now is for no one to offer me fruit cake and this will be the best Christmas ever.

Merry Christmas Everyone

With Love and Penmanship – Michelle

You Are Normal!

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 For we have not an high priest which cannot be touched with the feeling of our infirmities;

–          Hebrews 4:15 KJV

We often joke in my household that I would never make a good politician because I tell everything about and on myself so there would never be any dirt to dig up…unless you looked under the carpet.  I believe the wearing of my heart on my sleeve comes from having a testimony of a loving God that has been too good to me to keep it to myself.  I pretty much live an open book. Or so I thought.

My ministry is the often sharing of being joyful in troubled times, trusting God no matter what and believing how He would restore all.  Nice, tidy, wonderful sounding inspiration…missing one major detail.   Maybe it was pride. Maybe it was fear.  Maybe I could not stand to have to utter words aloud that would cause me to think and deal with it or myself.

But recently I was faced with three persons that “outed” me.   One was struggling to hold on in faith when modern medicine said “no way.”  Another because of past mistakes was wondering how God could ever love her.   Finally, the third who had lost the roof over her head due to medical and legal difficulties.  Each supposing lack in their faith because they were scared, they were hurt, and they were ashamed of the way they felt.

Normally, I would have an easy answer for their queries of “I don’t understand how you do it?” But God challenged me to pull the last bit from under the rug.   It didn’t sound like such a testimony to me, but from each of the “three” I received either a “why didn’t you tell me” or “gee, you hid that well.”  Finally I was convicted by “I really needed to hear that….I am normal”.

My secret you ask?   It was simply the answer “ME TOO”.

Most of you already know that it has been close to 5 years now since my son simultaneously went deaf and into final stage renal failure.  I have not been slack to share most of the experience… highs and lows.  What I failed to share… and even now I hesitate to say it…..the day I got mad with God.

You see, after years of countless surgeries, repeated illness and thrice weekly dialysis treatments, a suitable donor match had been found.  We immediately went into preparation mode to get the house ready for infection control, not spending a spare dime since I would be out of work for weeks, and tip toeing around family and friends because we wanted to keep the surprise quiet until after the procedure. We cancelled all travel, all vacations and even my participation in what could have been a career changing convention concert.

And then “it” happened!  I was in devotions one morning and I clearly heard God say to me “Forget the Back-up Plan…”   I didn’t have a clue what that meant at the time, but I knew it meant to trust Him.   In my mind’s eyes I immediately applied that thought to my finances, my job and so on and so on.  Everything except what would come next.

Just a few days before we were supposed to check into the hospital, I get a cold emotionless call from a third party nurse.   She gave no explanation. She would not answer any of my questions.   She offered no empathy or sympathy. She simply said a very technical version of “No Go. “

I don’t remember any reports of earthquakes that day.  But I felt it.   I didn’t know how I was going to tell my son, who was so excited about finally being free from the pain and isolation of dialysis.   I was furious. Was God playing with me like a cat with a string?   Imagine if you will, me going off by myself because I didn’t want any people to know though I knew in my spiritual mind God had a plan…..my heart and my head was all jacked up.  I wanted to know what I had done wrong.  I wanted to know what I needed to do better

As if God had not seen me, I reminded Him of all the nights I stood by my son’s bedroom door praying and listening for his breath making sure it was still there.   I reminded Him, how we believed through all the extreme body pain when the high dose narcotics wouldn’t do.   I reminded Him, how we stayed faithful even when were too tired to function.   I even bargain that even if my prayers were no good, then surely somebody amongst all the folks that prayed for our family there had to be one….even just one… whose faith was greater.

My screams were met with simply “Forget the Back-up Plan.”

It became clear that God was telling me to trust Him even when I could not trace Him. We found out later than the donor had a sudden condition that disqualified him.  If we had received that kidney, it would have failed us quickly.    We would have been in a bigger mess than what we started with.  Just like His Word says in Jeremiah 29, He has a plan that has a good and certain end.  For our Good and not to harm us.

As I told my three friends, it didn’t happen overnight.  Months have passed now and I still jump a little when the phone rings at night.   I will be honest and let you know that this piece took days to write because tears started to flow amidst a whole lot of “God I am sorry. “

I reveal all these things to simply let you know that whatever you are going through, You ARE normal.  Being faithful and believing is not always easy, but so very worth it.    Yes, Philippians 4:4 tells us to “Rejoice in the Lord Always, “  and then goes on to say “Again I say rejoice. “  I surmise that if we have to be told and then reminded to rejoice then apparently it “aint” always easy.

Believe it or not, He knows you hurt.  He is not a God so far out that He is not touched with our personal pains (Hebrews 4:15).  He is okay with you being honest about it.  He will not strike you down for asking questions.

Just remember that it is faith that moves mountains… not tears.   Cry but keep pushing!!!!

A Christmas Story

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Twas the night before Christmas

And I had just closed my country store.

Turned the locks, shaded the windows

When there was a frantic knock on the door.

The sales were quite over. Merchandise was quite done.

I had had quite enough of Christmas.

Nothing left to sell ya, not a toy. Not a one.

 

I was quite tempted,

To shout “No Room At The Inn”

But remembered my Sunday School Teacher

She’d  say “ Naughty, Naughty Sin”

It was a Papa, a Mama, and a few little ones

How could I pass?

Seeing chubby cheek chilled faces

Pressed against that last pane of glass.

 

The snow and wind came in behind them,

A huge chill filled the air

Yet there was a warm glow all about them

Oh so happy I was there.

“Patch of Ice You Say, Car in a ditch, Everything Tossed”

“Big Boom” the children said excitedly

Mama chimed  “cold and lost”
On the phone  was Papa

“ We can’t wait, no place to stay.”

“Sorry Buddy”  the tow driver retorted

“Don’t you know it’s a Holiday”

Everything then in me

Wanted to hide under my bed and weep.

For surely in house full of strangers

This old shop keeper would get no sleep.

 

So I rekindled  the fire,

Boiled milk  for  a cup of cocoa or two

Exclaimed not much food left in here

But all I have is open to you.

The Kids  Got All Excited,

and  Raced to the Tree

At the prospect of candy canes still hanging

And suddenly free.

Mama was ingenious,

what she did with that spam.

Totally convinced me and the Papa

Of the miracle of canned ham.

 

As I pulled blankets, and soft pallets

And strew them about the floor

I realized though I had made a killing this Christmas,

It was they that truly had more.

They played games,  they told stories

They laughed about with glee.

They had a joy  about them

That had long ago escaped me.

 

My head and heart couldn’t take it

I yelled for them to stop

How could they be so crazy happy

When their holiday was such a flop?

No real food, amiss from  presents,

and sleeping on the floor.

Stuck in ditch and with a grumpy stranger

In an empty Christmas store.

 

When just then ,

a little hand tugged

at the hem of my dress

Said “ Hey Lady ,

in Jesus there are no strangers

and this  aint such a mess.

See we headed to grandpa’s  fancy house

Up on a really big hill

Though we were scared when the car went boom

Daddy said , “let’s find God’s good will.”

We came through the cold and snow

When God led us to your door.

And now you have shared all that you had

So I just know God will bless you more.

 

As I looked into those little eyes

It was very plain to see.

It was not me helping them that was God’s good will

But it was them helping me.

It’s not about the trimmings, not the money

Or any kind of gift

The true celebration of Christmas

Is seeking His will for who you are with.

 

As I settled in a rocker that night

Humming my little messenger to sleep.

I wonder if this was how Mary felt

And I knew why she did weep.

Though His gift was wrapped so quietly

In a manager filled with hay

He was destined to be presented triumphantly

On a Hill far away.

 

So if your Christmas spirit has  escaped you

Look around for who you are with.

Seek the will of Him who sent you.

That’s your greatest gift.

Already bought and paid for

Precious blood, highly priced.

He Reached out for a stranger

And Gifted this day in paradise.

 

Michelle Gillison-Robinson, Christmas 2016

What Kind of Doughnut Does God Like?

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“But I have this against you: You have left the love you had in the beginning.”
Revelation 2:4 (ERV)

In my office, in my particular section, in my specific group, we are a pretty tight bunch. Not to say it is a virtual love fest all of the time. Just like all families, which I believe we have become, we genuinely and generally care about each other.

In the midst of a team effort of solid performances, quarterly reports, deadlines, demands and demons (aka budget goals) that cause most groups to be pretty cutthroat, we have managed to make our environment better by really getting to know each other. We share our joys and sorrows, pasts and presents, and our hopes for the future.

For instance, today is doughnut day! I believe the excitement of that square cake box filled with a dozen naughty delights is made even sweeter by the fact that I don’t just pick up a dozen glazed (even though most folks would gobble that.) I get up early to go to a special shop that is known for the best doughnuts with the largest traditional variety. None of the crazy bacon or weird stuff, but good, honest, homemade, preservative free calories.

Over the years, I have observed my work family and realized that this one will eat this and that one loves that, who will only eat a half and who will eat the other half. And that my boss… well… he will eat the box if you put sugar on it. The doughnut baker has also come to know my work family, so much so, that he starts working on my order when he sees me get out of the car. It has become a thing of extraordinary service that he knows us so well that the first time I asked him to omit a certain treat, he wanted to know if somebody was on a diet or had quit.

So my question to you is this, What Kind of Doughnut Does God Like?

Sometimes in the midst of our so called “service” to God, we get caught up in the mature ins and outs of weekly attendance, volunteer groups, planning committees, building funds efforts….. all great things by the way…. But then forget the sweet intimacy of relationship that God want to have with us. We become little Marthas, “troubled by many things”, and miss out on the Mary experience of which Jesus Christ said was a “good portion, that would not be taken away.” (Luke 10:42). He took the time to know you before you were even formed (Jer 1:5). We must prioritize the time to get to know Him again.

Now don’t call your pastor and tell him I said you have to quit everything!! Just be mindful that God doesn’t mind you being busy, He just does not want you to be so busy “doing for” Him that you “forget about loving” Him. There are times you just need to sit and let Him talk to you, whether via the written Word or mediation, instead of just making your prayer time about need, wants and demands. The songs you sing should not just make you “happy” but imagine Him leaning via the throne room to listen in. Don’t get so caught in the preaching, teaching and ministering that defines you that you totally forget Who it is all about in the first place. Big hint… it is not you.

So back to today’s question! The great Creator of the Universe, of whom, His Word is constantly referring to the sweetness of it, must surely like a doughnut with honey and a glass of milk. My husband, the great thinker in the house, says (in his big baritone voice) “If you view all that God has made, you would know He would like a variety box.”

I responded, “ If you would look in the mirror, you would know that God likes something a little nutty.”

Prayer:
Father, in the matchless Name of Jesus, we enter Your Presence thanking You for all that You have given us and given us to do to “occupy until You come.” But Lord today we want to take the time to return to our first love experience with You. We repent for letting our self-services and even our good intentions get in the way and we commit ourselves, once again, to really getting to know You again. We are excited about the adventure. In Jesus Name, Amen.