Prayer paves way

Ten-year-old Isaiah Clardy prayed three years ago for a garden. He remembers it was for “people that didn’t have food,” but doesn’t recall what led him to make the same prayer request continually each night before going to sleep.

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Doing the thing

It was a Sunday morning. I was praying for my family. I was crying out to God for ways I could help my husband. I did that for a while. Actually, I did that for a long while. I love words, and sometimes, I tend to use a lot of them. After letting me go on and on, God answered me.

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Good or black?

I frequently mix up the two. I catch myself calling this Friday, Black Friday. Then, I realize my mistake.

You have to admit. It fits in many ways. The day Jesus died has a lot to do with darkness, despair, and mourning. 

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When God says go

God was calling Mary Long.

At first, the idea of going to Africa was a little frightening. Mary was concerned about her family’s safety once she got there as well as the Conway home she was leaving behind for two weeks.

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Courage to fight

My husband has always said I should take karate. Maybe it’s because he wants me to be able to defend myself against a potential attack. Maybe he knows how much I need and enjoy physical fitness. Maybe he understands the mental and spiritual connection to the sport.

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Fight in the shade

Art can speak volumes. Its message is often more profound and penetrating than mere words alone. As I continue to press on in my fascination with fighting and films, I find myself grateful for those movies with a redeeming message I can hold on to.

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This day we fight

I had become fascinated by fighting. This curiosity surfaced nearly two years ago when I realized every movie I was interested in had fighting as its backdrop. I noticed I was drawn to action films, where characters displayed courage, fought for freedom, and stood their ground in honor of the right thing. They didn’t back down, despite having all odds against them.

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Fighting with grace

Someone recently told me I was a fighter. When I hear stuff like that, I’m never sure how to respond. I’d like for you to think of me as a fighter. Well, not necessarily a fighter, but competent, proficient, worthy. Your opinion of me matters more than I care to admit.

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Holding on to hope

Sometimes I wake up with crooked hands. It’s mostly my right hand. My fingers are puffy, sore and tender, and I can’t fully open my hand. Not so good for a right-handed writer.

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Finish the work

It was unintentional. I thought I would be on the sidelines. After all, it was a kids' race. Actually, a mud run. Precisely, the Dirty Myrtle Mud Run. I had signed Page and Graham up for the kids 1-mile event.

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