God wants to break through the identities we've constructed for ourselves, the fears we have of discovery, to say, "I see you. I know you. I know everything about you, and yet I love you. Period. You don't have to fear the truth with Me because I already know it. I know exactly who you are, and I still died to save you.

God uses those who seem ill-fitted for a significant life.

When God puts His hand on a plain, ordinary person whom He has destined for leadership, that person is given mountain-matching abilities, whether he be a Roosevelt, a Lincoln, a Nehemiah-or a person like you or me.

Sad as it was that she did not know where her children were buried or what they looked like if alive, fact was she knew more about them than she knew about herself, having never had the map to discover what she was like. Could she sing? (Was it nice to hear when she did?) Was she pretty? Was she a good friend? Could she have been a loving mother? A faithful wife? Have I got a sister and does she favor me? If my mother knew me would she like me?

Everybody knew what she was called, but nobody anywhere knew her name. Disremembered and unaccounted for, she cannot be lost because no one is looking for her, and even if they were, how can they call her if they don't know her name?

Although she has claim, she is not claimed. In the place where long grass opens, the girl who waited to be loved and cry shame erupts into her separate parts, to make it easy for the chewing laughter to swallow her all away.

When we are acting like God, we are being ourselves! The ramifications of having God as our Daddy (rather than some ape dragging his knuckles in the African jungle somewhere) is life changing. I hope you can see that what you believe about your origin makes a difference in the way you value yourself and humanity in general.

I am on the side of the unregenerate who affirm the worth of life as an end in itself, as against the saints who deny it.

Abortion is advocated only by persons who have themselves been born.

If cold December gave you birth, The month of snow and ice and mirth, Place on your hand a turquoise blue, Success will bless what'er you do.

And I've noticed that everybody that is for abortion has already been born.

The boy is special, Aunt Annie told his mother, and his mother in turn told him. But what kind of special? No one ever says.