I love to hit people. I love to.
Every year we celebrate the holy season of Advent O God. Every year we pray those beautiful prayers of longing and waiting and sing those lovely songs of hope and promise.
The Christian of the future will be a mystic or he will not exist at all.
How often I have found that we grow to maturity not by doing what we like...
From your silken hair to your delicate feet you are perfection to me....
Until they put that sand and dirt in my face I will not sit in church all...
God has no religion.
