A Prayer for Saturday Morning by Wendell C. Hawley

From A Pastor Prays for His People by Wendell C. Hawley

Father God, author and finisher of our faith,
Source of every blessing we enjoy,
how great are our privileges in Christ Jesus.
Bountiful is your provision for all our needs—
our sin is that we do not appropriate what is available.
You are able to keep us from stumbling.
But as we review even this past week, we’ve stumbled so many times:
stumbled in relationships,
stumbled with wrong attitudes,
stumbled in temptation.
Forgive me for stumbling when I need not have.
Keep me from stumbling:
be my arm of support,
my strength,
my stability.
You have promised to present me blameless.
When I consider my faults—and think of being presented in glory, faultless—
I am overcome with gratitude to you, my Savior,
my Paraclete, my advocate—thank you, thank you.
You have said you will present me with great joy.
Oh Lord, help us to finish the race set before each of us—
to persevere,
to walk in faith,
to love you supremely,
and like Abraham, to have an eye on that city
which has foundations, whose builder and maker is God,
that we might be presented with great joy.
Heaven rejoiced on the day of our repentance, and now you promise
rejoicing on our presentation!
All this is promised because you alone are our Savior—
we absolutely do not rely on anything or anyone but you.
So fulfill this promise to us today:
Unto him that is able to keep you from stumbling,
and to present you faultless before the presence of his glory,
with exceeding joy, to the only God, our Savior,
be glory and majesty, dominion and power,
both now and forever.
Amen.

Imaginary Friends in Real Life by Wil Triggs

In a discussion earlier this week, a person commented on historical books (his favorite) as reading about “real things” as opposed, I suppose, to reading fiction. I enjoy reading history and memoir. But the subtext to comments like that is the idea that fiction cannot be real. He may not have meant it that way, but it’s easy for us to say that fiction is not real and historical writing is.

I am sensitive to this kind of language because years ago, a colleague at another workplace made an even more horrifying comment on theater and acting. The person said to me that all acting is a form of lying because the actor is pretending to be something he’s not. I thought at the time that he had to be joking. I looked at his face for the beginning of a grin that would signal that he was playing with me, but no. He was serious.

As a lifelong theatergoer this was unimaginable. Going to plays has been an important part of my life. I love doing it and spend time checking what is playing in London, New York, Stratford, Chicago. It was a triumph of God’s Spirit that I did not get mad at that man.

And as a reader whose life has been shaped by some great pieces of fiction, I cannot say that the imaginary people of fictional works are not real.

Never mind Raskolnikov or Hamlet or Gandalf. What about Atticus Finch or Ebenezer Scrooge or Sherlock Holmes? When we read good books, we easily embrace the people in them one way or another. Either we see in them ways to live, virtues to aspire to, or bad choices that we don’t want to make. Sometimes we see both good and bad in one character and read through the suspense of what’s going to become of him. I want to be Scrooge at the end of the book, not the beginning, but the “real” me right now might not be there just yet.

The characters in Jesus’s fictions are so real that we easily forget that they, by definition of the people I’ve quoted, weren’t real. They’re fiction.

So maybe they’re hyper-real. In some ways, we can become them.

In real life, we can take on their roles like an actor becoming Hamlet or Willy Loman, but with these Scriptural characters born from the mind and mouth of Jesus, they may not be us at all, and yet, they could be pointing us to the way we might be, even should be.

We are like a sower who sows seeds that grow over time--as we did last weekend at the Cream of Wheaton when we gave away Bibles to people. Or when we teach in Kids’ Harbor we’re sowing seeds that will grow over time.

We can be the Prodigal Son’s brother or his father. We can be jealous of our brother or kill the fattened calf and throw a party. We can bandage and house the wounded man, taking on the role of the Good Samaritan, but not in some theoretical fiction, but with living, hurting people who are not at all like we are. We can knock on the door of prayer and not stop. Or we might need to play the part of the shepherd who drops everything for one lost sheep.

When we take on these roles like actors playing parts written by playwrights, it may not feel like us, but that doesn’t mean we’re lying. Perhaps we’re moving closer to heaven than earth, living as members of a kingdom that has come and is yet to come.

Consider Abraham and his promised descendants—they auditioned and got the starring roles as strangers and exiles on earth (so-called real life). They played the part, because “as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared for them a city.” (Hebrews 11:16). Abraham was not a fictional character, but he went to places he never dreamed and God gave him a new name.

What role will you act today? Sower, father, Good Samaritan? Stranger or exile? Sometimes acting, like fiction, can be a pathway to truth and becoming a new you that’s more like Jesus and less like the natural men and women we are so accustomed to being.

A Manageable Yes by Judy Hulseberg

The STARS ministry needs summer volunteers again. This announcement took me back to a conversation I had with one of my sons years ago. During a busy season for our family, he asked me why I chose to work in a STARS classroom on Sunday mornings. 
 
He knew I loved to volunteer in most classrooms. He just couldn’t understand why I would add one more activity to my weekends at that time. As a hermit-level introvert in a lively family, our weekly marathon of activities left me practically comatose by Saturday night and ready to knock myself out with a frying pan for some alone time. In the years after having children, I had learned to welcome any solo activity. A trip to the DMV was heavenly with a good book or a daydream. Ditto for any delay in a doctor’s waiting room. And occasional MRIs and root canals have provided some of the best opportunities for napping and thinking in the last two decades.
 
As a matter of survival during that season, I became adept at the art of saying no: to work advancements, volunteer opportunities and social activities. I even told myself that it made sense to keep saying no to Sunday ministry commitments for a little while longer. But the Holy Spirit kept nudging in that area, so I looked for a manageable yes.
 
That summer, a call for STARS classroom aides seemed to promise the kind of limited commitment that even I could handle, both in scope and in the skills required. It seemed sufficient to possess a willing heart, a smile, and the ability to hand out snacks and worksheets while other volunteers did the heavy lifting. That was about all I had to offer, so I figured a summer in STARS would be a way to serve without dropping any of the other plates spinning in the air. So I said yes to a tiny commitment.
 
That first summer passed, and something entirely unexpected happened: I discovered that being in a classroom full of animated STARS was actually energizing rather than draining, a small miracle for the extreme introvert. Before I had time to think it through, I had signed on to serve year round, and—even more surprising—STARS Sundays became a favorite activity on my calendar.
 
I shouldn’t have been surprised that a grudging little yes would turn into a great blessing and joy. I know that following God’s leading works that way. I had just forgotten to trust what I knew was true.
 
During those Sundays in STARS, God began reminding me of this and other spiritual truths. “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the Lord. As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.” (Isaiah 55:8-9) And “But God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise and what is weak in the world to shame the strong.” (1 Corinthians 1:27)
 
God’s living and active Word seemed to tumble into my mind each week, and the STARS classroom began to feel like a master class on the reliability of God’s Word and the wonder of his ways. 
 
Watching the students patiently listen to each other’s heartaches and concerns reminded me of moments when I talked more than I listened. Hearing them express gratitude for being together each week brought to mind times when I grumbled and complained while ignoring countless blessings. Observing their absolute confidence in prayer revealed to me the solidity of their faith and the flimsiness of mine. Through those deemed weak in this world, God humbled and convicted me over and over again, demonstrating his brand of wisdom and reminding me that his ways are infinitely higher than mine.
 
God also revealed glimpses of something about how life ought to be—not the struggle and pain of a life with disabilities, of course—but something about God’s values and heart.  In a world that prizes accomplishment, abilities, and advancement, the STARS classroom was characterized by simple but transcendent moments: The wonder and awe when a student who hasn’t spoken for months suddenly laughs at a joke or sings an entire verse of Jesus Loves Me. The delight when an ordinarily detached student holds your hand or shares a secret. The unabashed joy and enthusiasm of praising God in song without worrying about pitch or key. I walked out every week with a refreshed view of what is really important.
 
And then there was the unexpected laughter. It seemed that we were always laughing at something—inside jokes and good natured-teasing, humor skillfully woven into every Bible lesson by wise and funny volunteers, and a stream of unfiltered comments and observations. My favorite came one day when A., who never misses a detail, couldn’t stop looking just above my eyes and finally announced, “You really need to take care of that.” That was my unruly hair, which on that morning could have starred in its own episode of the “Alaskan Bush People.”   
 
This type of candor and a genuine warmth permeated our interactions. We received enthusiastic greetings and hearty hugs just for showing up. Of course, the most exuberant affection was reserved for the veteran teachers and volunteers. The students adore them. They are greeted like rock stars, and it strikes me that this is as it should be. Faithfully serving and loving the STARS for decades warrants rock star status in my mind, and it is wonderful to be in a place that gets it right.
 
When I cautiously agreed to invest a little time in STARS, God took that miserly investment and began paying generous dividends in regular lessons about his character and ways. Each week with the STARS, someone reminds me again that the wisdom of this world really is foolishness with God; and through the very ordinary tasks of “helping” the disabled, God continually demonstrates his extraordinary ability to reveal something about himself in and through each of us.
 
Sometimes a parent or ministry coordinator thanks me for serving in STARS, as if I am kind or altruistic to be there. I’m never sure what to say because volunteering in STARS doesn’t feel like service at all. It is neither a sacrifice nor a burden. It is a privilege and a joy to be with the STARS, and I’m grateful that they warmly welcome me, bad hair and all.

The Last Breakfast by Wil Triggs

Back from LittWorld, Media Associate’s International’s triannual conference, there is much to think about. But the last breakfast keeps me hungry for more.

I’m thinking about Byato. He had sat in front of me in a workshop on publishing books, but we hadn’t spoken until that last morning breakfast. He pulled out a chair at the same table where Lorraine and I were sitting.

He described Mongolia, his homeland, as a culturally Buddhist country. He didn’t grow up knowing much about religion. Mostly what he knew was terror at home. His dad had been abusive, so much so that he and his brothers plotted to kill him. He didn’t go into detail except to say that the plot did not work out. All it did was end his childhood. I could hear the regret.

As a young adult, he fell into bad habits. His mother suffered. Already living with the difficulties of her husband, she was now seeing her beloved son make bad choices.

He saw this, too. Byato tried to stop them to ease her pain. He described trying to wash the smell of tobacco out of his clothes without much success and the subsequent pain of not being able to either stop or successfully hide his habit from his mom, which he knew caused her pain. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop all the bad habits. He could not get the smell out of his clothes.

When he went into a church for the first time, he heard people singing as he approached. It drew him in. The people were singing about the cleansing power of Jesus’ blood, how it could make a person truly clean. It wasn’t just the smell of tobacco on the surface of his clothes, but the utter failure in his soul that they were singing about—cleansing from the inside out. Somehow, by the Holy Spirit, he knew it was true and, in that truth, change and life came to him. We talked more about his work as a Christian broadcaster.

Then breakfast was over. Time to go our separate ways. There was so much more I wanted to know.

Every year, I tell the story of Hudson Taylor to the Kindergarteners--a similar story of faith in curriculum I inherited from Linda Murphy. Mr Ni was an idol worshipper. Yet he never could get over his sense of sin. One night he heard a bell ringing, and he followed the sound and found people in front of a building. It was Hudson’s home.

One of the people told him that a man was in the building who would tell them about God. Curious, Mr. Ni went in and sat down. Hudson told of Jesus and the forgiveness of sins. Mr. Ni raised his hand and stood up in the middle of the message. Hudson shared more and Mr. Ni believed.

A few days later Mr. Ni asked Hudson how long it had been since they had first heard about Jesus in his home country. Thinking he would hear 20 or 30 years, Mr. Ni was shocked when Hudson told him that it had been hundreds of years.

Mr. Ni thought of his father, who had died never hearing about Jesus. “Why did it take you so long?” he asked.

In his good and loving sovereignty, God directs our paths. Working now on our Cream of Wheaton display, I’m praying for opportunities this summer, that we might have the courage to sing the song and ring the bell.

Summer Reading Lists 2022

We asked College Church staff and elected leaders to share their summer reading lists. You can see their lists below. Check back because we will update the list as we get more responses.

Josué Alvarado, pastoral resident 

I struggled to focus during my prayer time, and it was of great help to read a small book by Donald S. Whitney titled Praying the Bible. That is how I discovered the richness and usefulness of the Book of Psalms during my prayer time. I learned to use God’s Word to speak back to him and avoid the many distractions of repetition and selfishness.  

Additionally, I came to pray and meditate with The Valley of the Vision, a collection of Puritan prayers, edited by Arthur Bennet. This has helped me to improve my meditation and prayer. A great encouragement for those who are seeking to be efficient with their time of prayer to worship the Lord.  

I would recommend Defending Your Faith by R.C. Sproul. He defines apologetics and provides a solid defense of the reason for God from a philosophical perspective and provides arguments to trust the Bible as the trustworthy Word of God. Our faith is not illogical, and it has a firm foundation. We ought to be ready to present a defense of the hope that is in us.  

Cheryce Berg, director of children’s ministries 

Treasuring Christ When Your Hands are Full by Gloria Furman 

Family Shepherds: Calling and Equipping Men to Lead Their Homes by Voddie Baucham Jr. 

The Connected Parent: Real-Life Strategies for Building Trust and Attachment by Karyn Purvis and Lisa Qualis 

Who Am I and Why Do I Matter? by Chris Morphen 

Mark Berg, elder 

No Little People by Francis Schaeffer 

The Murder of Roger Ackroyd by Agatha Christie 

Midnight in Chernobyl by Adam Higginbotham 

Lisa Burlingame, hospitality committee 

Everyday Holiness by Josh Moody 

Revelation, A Shorter Commentary by G. K. Beale 

More Than Conquerors by William Hendriksen  

Deeper by Dane Ortlund 

Jay Cunningham, nominating committee 

Everyday Holiness by Josh Moody 

The Rise and Triumph of the Modern Self by Carl Trueman 

Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern (for anyone who enjoys well written fantasy) 

The Road to Character by David Brooks 

Prayer by Tim Keller 

What it Means to be Human: The Case for the Body in Public Bioethics by Carter O. Snead  

It’s time to re-read C.S. Lewis’ Space Trilogy. 

The Brothers Karamazov is one of those books it seems like any American should have to read, so I’m finally going to plunge in. 

David Gieser, elder 

Peace Child by Don Richardson 

Mission Drift by Chris Horst and Peter Greer 

Tim Hollinger, technology director 

I’d like to either re-read the Chronicles of Narnia series or read the Hobbit and Lord of the Rings trilogy for the first time. 

David Kelley, evangelism and culture impact committee 

Pro Rege by Abraham Kuyper 

Amy Kruis, deaconess 

Deeper by Dane Ortlund 

Technopoly by Neil Postman 

Housekeeping by Marilynne Robinson 

Elanor by David Michaelis 

Ann Lawrenz, deaconess 

Life Together by Dietrich Boenhoeffer 

Ten Words to Live By by Jen Wilkin 

Strange New World by Carl Trueman 

Jack by Marilynne Robinson 

Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis 

George Herbert Collected Poems 

 Sarah Lindquist, evangelism and culture Impact committee 

A Church Called Tov: Forming a Goodness Culture That Resists Abuses of Power and Promotes Healing by Laura Barringer and Scot McKnight 

To the Heart of the Matter: The 40-Day Companion to Live a Culture of Life by Shawn D. Carney 
short devotions on how to live out a pro-life ethic 

Curt Miller, missions pastor 

Confronting Injustice without Compromising the Truth by Thaddeus J. Williams 

Ben Panner, college pastor 

Side by Side by Ed Welch 

Jeremy Taylor, elder 

Polycentric Missiology by Allan Yeh 

Soul Survivor by Philip Yancey 

Amazon Unbound by Brad Stone 

Footprints in the African Sand by Michael Cassidy 

Motus Dei by Warrick Farrah et al. 

Come, My Beloved by Pearl S. Buck 

Wendy Robinson, board of missions 

Lead: 12 Gospel Principles for Leadership in the Church by Paul David Tripp 

Wil Triggs, director of communications 

The God of the Garden by Andrew Peterson 

Gospel People by Michael Reeves 

The Glory of Christ by John Owen 

Red Stilts by Ted Kooser 

Where the Light Fell by Philip Yancey 

Tim Wang, board of missions 

The Mission of God’s People: A Biblical Theology of the Church’s Mission by Christopher Wright 

The Beasts, the Graves, and the Ghosts (Christian preaching during Chinese Festivals) by Hann Tan 

Brian Wildman, elder 
Lead: 12 Gospel Principles for Leadership in the Church by Paul David Tripp 

The Righteous Mind: Why People Are Divided By Politics And Religion by Jonathan Haidt 

Everyday Holiness: Becoming Who You Were Made to Be by Josh Moody 

The next book in the Cork O'Connor mystery series by William Kent Krueger.  

Ashes on Beauty by Lorraine Triggs

Aunt Kay and Uncle Don were fixtures of my childhood. Their Christian counterparts were our Uncle John and Aunt Betty, neither couple were actual family, but family formed from community—one in the household of faith, the other in the houses of South Kenwood Avenue.

During the summer, after the afternoon soap operas and before the dads came home from work, Aunt Kay would walk across the street to our house, cigarette in hand, to join my mother on the front porch for conversation and neighborhood gossip. But first things first, my mom would instruct us to get an ash tray for Aunt Kay.

We didn’t own ash trays. What my mother was asking was for us to choose the prettiest teacup from her small, but treasured collection, and bring its saucer out for Aunt Kay—you guessed it—to tap her cigarette ashes in it. Gross. Disgusting.

By far, the prettiest teacups were from Aunt Betty, who would bring back a cup and saucer from her trips to Scotland to visit her family. We would purposely choose one of Aunt Betty’s cups, hoping our mother would ask us to put it back—they were too perfect, too much of a treasure for cig butts and ashes.

Well, that was a non-starter, and we were indignant at my mother’s careless attitude toward her fine bone china. What prompted our childish indignation was the house rule that the teacups were off-limits for our al fresco tea parties. Mother did not want us to ruin her lovely teacups with hose water, sticks and mud. Come on, Mom, really? But it was okay for Aunt Kay to ruin them? My pharisaical leanings were showing, and at such a young age.

Jesus had a similar careless attitude, not to fine china, but to alabaster flasks. The disciples, like me and my sisters, knew better. In Mark 14, sandwiched between the chief priests and scribes plotting to kill Jesus and Judas Iscariot’s betrayal, we see Jesus, not on a porch, but reclining at the table in the house of Simon the leper. Then an anonymous woman walks into the room, breaks an expensive alabaster jar, and pours the oil on Jesus’ head.

Talk about the indignation flying around that table—why did the woman waste the ointment? Why did she ruin the flask? We could have sold it all to give to the poor. Mark says that they scolded her.
Then Jesus says, “Leave her alone. Why do you trouble her? She has done a beautiful thing to me.” Her act of ruin became a gospel proclamation as she anointed Jesus’ body beforehand for burial, and beauty would come from the ashes of betrayal and death.

We adored Aunt Betty, but my mother knew her better than we did. She would not have minded the burning cigarette finding rest on her bone china gift. In fact, if she were on that porch, she probably would have made Scottish cream scones and served tea in the now saucer-less cup for Aunt Kay, as my mom dumped the ashes in a beautiful display of grace.

Ashes on beauty, beauty for ashes.

A Prayer for Our Hearts

from A Pastor Prays for His People by Wendell C. Hawley

Everlasting God, Lover of our souls,
Open our eyes to see your love for us—
your love which was established before creation
and continues unfailing and unending, even unto this very hour.
Your Word tells us that you had a plan for us a long, long time ago.
A love for us not based on
performance,
or beauty,
or inherent value.
A love which sent a Savior to the unlovely,
the destitute,
the helpless,
the condemned.
A Savior whose love prompted him to say:
“Come unto me all you who are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”
Lord, may you this day be the present help of all who turn to you,
whether hurt or ashamed,
whether sick or disheartened,
whether afraid or defeated,
whether troubled or angry.
You have come to change the human condition drastically, totally . . .
the sinful heart,
the stony heart,
the rebellious heart.
Holy physician, divine surgeon . . . work in our lives that our souls might prosper in spiritual health and vitality.
Do this in the life of every person now praying to you.
Thank you, Lord,
for hearing,
for answering,
for meeting every need.

Reunion by Wil Triggs

There was one person I wanted to see more than anyone else at last week’s LittWorld conference in Hungary. That person was Serhii Sologub.

We met at the previous LittWorld when John Maust asked me to interview him for MAI. That interview felt like old home week for me. I heard about his journey to faith in the context of Soviet atheism. How God had rescued him and called him into ministry.

His name tag read Sergey. “Call me Serhii,” he insisted. “Sergey is Russian; Serhii is Ukrainian. I am Ukrainian,” he explained.

Serhii had published a book on family devotions. He proudly showed me the book. On the back of the book was the logo of the publisher—Mission Eurasia. That is the mission founded by Peter and Anita Deyneka, the mission where Lorraine and I served. Not only that—he was a pastor at the church where Charley and Cheryl Warner attended.

It was like finding a brother I never knew I had. Honestly, I could have talked to him at every break and shared every meal with him, and I would have been happy. This was exactly the sort of person we had given many years of service for. A Christian, moving into ministry and writing for his people. We did a video interview as well.

But he didn’t come to that pre-pandemic LittWorld just to talk to me, plus I had other writing assignments to complete and others I genuinely wanted to meet. We did talk again, and Serhii went on to discover an English publisher (Moody) for his book and learned a lot about writing and publishing at the conference.

That was almost four years ago, and just a few months ago, Charley was in the office meeting with Curt Miller to plan the visit of five pastors from Irpin Bible Church. Charley said to me, “Serhii is coming to Wheaton!” He explained the concept of five pastors coming to find out about our pastoral residency as a possible model for pastoral training at their church.

When they arrived, we were all hearing the rumors of the Russian invasion. I went to an early morning meeting where all five pastors were to be. I was excited to see Serhii. I looked around the room, hoping to see him.

Charley introduced a Sergey. I looked at him. If this was the Serhii I met at LittWorld, well, he was taller, stockier. It looked nothing like him. Was my memory playing tricks on me?

There were indeed five pastors, but Serhii—my friend—was not one of them. Pastor Vasil kindly recorded a video message from Lorraine and me smiling and waving, saying that we hoped to see him at LittWorld in just a few weeks.

As the invasion happened and the war began, we were all praying for the pastors to get back to their families. But I also was praying for Serhii, the pastor who stayed in Irpin. I didn’t know why he had not come.

Lorraine went to women’s retreat, and I flipped cable news channels and internet news to see everything I could about the war. Irpin became front-line news. A man from Irpin Bible Church was killed. Some of the other pastors were texting messages about their travels and what they were doing once back.

As we watched the images of mothers and children leaving the country, the news came out that men under 60 were not allowed to leave Ukraine. I assumed this meant even for a short-term training event like LittWorld in neighboring Hungary.

It seemed impossible that he would be able to come this time, but John Maust told me that not only was he coming--he was bringing his daughter with him.

When we arrived at Lake Balaton outside of Budapest, we checked in and touched base with John Maust, then unpacked and stepped out of the hotel to head toward town and find some dinner. And there he was—Serhii and his daughter. After many hours of driving, they had arrived.

He looked the same as I remembered. He looked good. And his daughter was lovel and an aspiring writer. We spent more time together catching up. So many questions.

Ukraine allows a father to cross the border with a child or children. His book has been published in English, but also in German, Chinese, Russian, Ukrainian, and they are talking about publishing in Hebrew as well.

Besides being a small group pastor and a writer, Serhii is a web developer. When the war broke out, he created a program to help people keep track of where the church had scattered. Rivne, Irpin, other places in Ukraine, as well as Poland and Germany—and they are forming small groups in those places where people have fled. In addition, staying behind enabled Serhii to be part of the team working to care for the church and community.

“We are meeting our neighbors,” he said, of the many who live near the church and are only now discovering the loving hand of Jesus at Irpin Bible Church. The church is intact, but 70 percent of the city is damaged.

So what are you writing, I asked. Or are you? It’s easy to say that you’re too busy to write. If there was ever a case where this would be true, it seems to me that this would be it.

“I have started to write the stories of people in the war,” he responded. “Vasili, Vitali, Dima—little glimpses of people and what they are doing to help.”

Now this is a book I’d like to read. He likely won't put himself in that book, but his story inspires, too.

And then it was time to say goodbye.

Early yesterday morning, I emailed Serghii and asked if he had any prayer requests. He replied, "Please pray with us for the team at the new center for people in Gostomel. Our church opened it just this week. We need brothers and sisters who can come and help people there."

Serhii ended his email with this footer: "God is good. All the time." And my brother believes what he believes all the time. War has not changed that. God's goodness guides us all today--in Ukraine and here in our homes even now.