The Lord promised: “If my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from Heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land.” (KJV 2 Chronicles 7)

It was a magnificent house with all the trappings of grandeur: marble pillars, spiral staircases and stained-glass windows. Passersby and foreigners always bowed their heads, crossed themselves or just smiled with reverent respect, as if they were passing a church.

The song “Amazing Grace” has been on my mind lately. The image of Il Divo, a male quartet, singing the song at the Coliseum in Rome is etched in my memory.

Laundry piles high, dishes totter and spill on the counter, crumbs scatter like ants under the table, and the teal carpet lies cluttered and brown from the want of a vacuum while I sit frustrated, once again, that I let things get out of control. Oh, I have my bag of excuses.

Writing a life history is like gathering a bouquet of flowers to give to a friend. It would be ludicrous to cut every flower in the garden. Bouquets are beautiful because they are rare and fashioned with a loving eye. Only the best flowers are chosen and displayed to show their delicate beauty.

We live in an increasingly noisy world. We are bombarded with honking horns, telephone jangles, cars pumping along with the drumbeat blaring from inside the cab, people yelling at the top of their lungs at someone who stepped wrongfully into his or her space. Parents yelling at children.

I have often read the Parable of the Ten Virgins in the Gospel of Matthew and wondered what a modern version of the story might look like. I came up with prevailing attitudes that are cross-generational.

There is a controversy as to who really chopped down the cherry tree. Was it young George Washington or young Abraham Lincoln? Some say it was Lincoln, and some argue it was Washington.

This last month, I have been more diligent in my prayers and scripture study. I have been waking up at 4:30 in the morning and going upstairs to pray and read scriptures. No, I don’t set the alarm; my eyes just pop open, and I lay there thinking.

I have a couple of eighth graders who are starting to take an interest in politics. Sometimes they ask me soul-searching questions that cause me to dig in and search for answers.