New Life

Hi. I'm Tom Heard, the technical director and webmaster of Dynamis. Chances are you're here out of curiosity because I did some network or PC work at your company, or you're considering having Dynamis do some work on your office network or website. I sincerely hope you find the best company for the job at hand - whether it's mine or another one.

But while you're here, can you spare a few minutes to consider a few things of a more permanent nature than computing?

First, that God made us (humans). We did not evolve. (More about that). But we messed up the world, and our lives. So God sent his son, Jesus, to pay the price for the things we did wrong, to show us a better way to live, and to reunite us in relationship with our creator. A relationship that brings healing to us and those around us. He doesn't force this on us, but allows us to choose to follow him and his ways ... or not.

So what I'd like you to consider is this: have you accepted Jesus' awesome gift? Have you given over your life to him? Are you following him and his ways? If not ... why is that? Send me a note and let's write back and forth about it some. Because more than anything, I would really like for you to have the same amazing and awesome new life that I have found in Jesus ... in this life and the next. The life that continually renews and transforms me, year after year.


Rich & Famous,
Lost and Found

OK, maybe you're curious but not really willing to start a conversation about this yet. So read on then ...

Everyone has a special place in their heart that can only be filled one way. Only the perfect key fits the lock, and yet the holder of that key waits for our invitation to unlock the door and come in.

Here's a story about one of hollywood's best and the key that opened her heart, told by Dr. Dale A. Meyer:

Last May I met and interviewed actress Jennifer O'Neill for our television program "On Main Street." If you can't place her right away, she played the older woman in the movie classic, "The Summer of '42." She also appeared opposite John Wayne in "Rio Lobo." To date, Jennifer O'Neill has been in 30 movies and, since she's only 52, she'll probably appear in more. Or maybe you will recall her as the model for "Covergirl" makeup. Her modeling fame began early, as a teen- ager appearing on the cover of "Vogue" magazine.

Miss O'Neill released her autobiography, "Surviving Myself" early this year. While reviewing her public life of glamour and celebrity, she also looks back at her private, spiritual life. Her parents had the habit of dropping her off for church and Sunday school while they went to do whatever they would do. When she was an adolescent, her parents let her decide whether she wanted to go to church or not. What would a young person say? Not surprising, Jennifer decided not to bother with church. In her autobiography she recalls how she reacted years later when somebody talked to her about Jesus.

"I had heard about God on a regular basis through my study of various philosophies," she wrote, "but I hadn't heard any mention of Jesus Christ since I was in Sunday school in Connecticut--the one that stole my weekends and made me yawn."

"The one that stole my weekends and made me yawn." Many people share that opinion of Jesus. Some of your friends or co-workers, some of your family members may have learned the basics about Jesus years ago in Sunday school. But then came high school and college life, then came marriage, then came children, then came a host of career opportunities and life challenges. And amidst it all, the Jesus of Sunday school, the One of whom children sang, "Jesus loves me, this I know," seemed to become rather irrelevant. Most people didn't intend to do it, but they let Jesus get pushed to the periphery of their lives.

Nothing spreads faster than a yawn. When you see how well it's gone for Jennifer O'Neill and for so many other people who have written off Jesus and the church; when you see how their careers have prospered, you yourself might be tempted to relegate Jesus to the periphery with other childhood memories. "They have no struggles," says Psalm 73, about the people who have put God on the sidelines. "Their bodies are healthy and strong. They are free from the burdens common to man; they are not plagued by human ills. . . (Ps. 73:4-5,13). "The one that stole my weekends and made me yawn." Is that also your honest feeling about Jesus?

Let me tell you a few other things about Miss O'Neill. She has been married nine times. That's right, nine times. She has had nine miscarriages. She has given birth to three children. She discovered that her daughter was sexually abused by one of the stepfathers. Jennifer has been in two major accidents; one from an auto, and one from a horse falling on her. Her nose has been broken three times. Her wrist has been broken. Her neck has been broken. During an attempted rape, her wrist was slashed. As a teen-ager she tried to take her life with an overdose of pills. As an adult she was accidentally shot in the abdomen. Her public profile masked the hurts of her private life.

Our TV program, "On Main Street," has two major segments. During the taping of the first segment, I asked Miss O'Neill what kept her going. She said that she was driven by a search for love. Here's what she said:

"I had a hole in my heart. . .. Every place I looked, you know, to coin a phrase from a song, I was looking for love in all the wrong places. Another person can't fill you up. If you go into a relationship looking for that person to make you whole, you're doomed."

TV has its own rules--one being that you have to take commercial breaks. So after we took the mandatory break, we resumed taping and I asked how the hole in her heart had been filled. Her answer? Remember the one who stole her weekends and made her yawn? Listen to what she said.

"That hole in my heart was completely and totally and unconditionally and forever filled by the love of God through His Son Jesus Christ, who forgives all my sins. . .. I know it's there for everyone. I know that I lived my life for 38 years without God at the center of my life. I don't know how I survived.. .. He has transformed my life. I have a wonderful marriage now. I have fabulous relationships with my children because I finally gave it up. I didn't have to earn it. We can never earn it. I don't care where you are, how low you've gone or how hopeless you feel. Don't believe that lie. There is hope every second. God has His hands open to you if you just take it. It's a free gift.

I'll tell you what really struck me. You may have heard how Miss O'Neill's voice choked as she described Jesus. This being radio, you couldn't see what I saw when I was with her on the set. Her eyes started to well up with tears. Yes, of course, she is an actress who knows how to do that on command. But this was not a movie script with directions for the actors. This was a free conversation. Her words were not scripted. Her emotions were real. Jesus-- no one else--filled the gaping hole in her heart. No longer was Sunday school or church a waste of time. Jennifer O'Neill stopped yawning.

So here we can see what's so great about the Good News of Jesus Christ. What no one in the world can give you, God does. He fills your heart with love.

The hole in your heart--I'm not talking now about Jennifer O'Neill. I'm talking about you. The hole in your heart is not so big that God can't fill it and heal you with His love. How much love does God have for you? St. Paul uses the word "pour" to describe how God can fill your heart with His love. In Romans, St. Paul says, "We rejoice in the hope of the glory of God. We also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out His love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom He has given us" (Rom. 5:2-5).

The word is "pour." As He has done with so many others through the centuries, the Spirit of God is now ready to pour love into your heart. God's love comes to you in His Son Jesus Christ. Jesus told His disciples in John 15:13, "The greatest love you can show is to give your life for your friends." That's what Jesus did at the cross of Calvary. He willingly laid down His life as a sacrifice to pay for our sins. Our sins, your sins and my sins--the things that you and I have done wrong, the things that have violated God's commandments.

Our sins are the reason why we have so much heartbreak in life. But Jesus sacrificed Himself so that you and I could receive forgiveness for our sins and our hurts could be healed. In the news of Jesus Christ the Spirit of God pours forgiveness and healing love into your broken heart. That's why we call it "Good News."

Miss O'Neill writes in her autobiography, "Sin is any separation from God, which, of course, is why we all need grace and forgiveness, because we will fall short of His glory on a daily basis. It is so easy for me now to forgive others, because I have been forgiven for so much every day of my life."

(Copyright 1999, International Lutheran Laymen's League)


OK, so that's what Dr. Dale A. Meyer says. So what do I say? I'm writing this to say that this same Jesus is the one that changed my life, and that more than anything in the world, I would like you to have the same peace and fullness of life that I have now, and have it forever, along with the anticipation of infinitely more awesome things to come. What I have now is so good that I would never trade it for any level of wealth or success. What I have coming is exponentially better. It is free, it massively changed my life, and I don't at all miss how things "used to be." What is "it?" Salvation through Jesus Christ. And if you don't have it yet, man, would I love to help you get it.

If you've already got it, my challenge to you today is the same challenge I've made to myself: to (1) live it and (2) share it, in some new way or to some degree that you have not before.

Please extend this story and invitation to anyone you know who might be interested. And hey - thanks for taking the time to read it.

Tom Heard
Send me a note

My Sons Blood

This is good!

The day is over, you are driving home. You tune in your radio. You hear a little blurb about a little village in India where some villagers have died suddenly, strangely, of a flu that has never been seen before. It's not influenza, but three or four people are dead, and it's kind of interesting, and they're sending some doctors over there to investigate it.

You don't think much about it, but on Sunday, coming home from church, you hear another radio spot. Only they say it's not three villagers, it's 30,000 villagers in the back hills of this particular area of India, and it's on TV that night. CNN runs a little blurb; people are heading there from the disease center in Atlanta because this disease strain has never been seen before.

By Monday morning when you get up, it's the lead story. For it's not just India; it's Pakistan, Afghanistan, Iran, and before you know it, you're hearing this story everywhere and they have coined it now as "the mystery flu". The President has made some comment that he and everyone are praying and hoping that all will go well over there. But everyone is wondering, How are we going to contain it? That's when the President of France makes an announcement that shocks Europe. He is closing their borders. No flights from India, Pakistan, or any of the countries where this thing has been seen. And that's why that night you are watching a little bit of CNN before going to bed. Your jaw hits your chest when a weeping woman is translated from a French news program into English: There's a man lying in a hospital in Paris dying of the mystery flu. It has come to Europe. Panic strikes.

As best they can tell, once you get it, you have it for a week before you know it. Then you have four days of unbelievable symptoms. And then you die.

Britain closes it's borders, but it's too late. South Hampton, Liverpool, North Hampton, and it's Tuesday morning when the President of the United States makes the following announcement: "Due to a national security risk, all flights to and from Europe and Asia have been canceled. If your loved ones are overseas, I'm sorry. They cannot come back until we find a cure for this thing."

Within four days our nation has been plunged into an unbelievable fear. People are selling little masks for your face. People are talking about "What if it comes to this country," and preachers on Tuesday are saying, "It's the scourge of God." It's Wednesday night and you are at a church prayer meeting when somebody runs in from the parking lot and says,"Turn on a radio, turn on a radio." And while the church listens to a little transistor radio with a microphone stuck up to it, the announcement is made: "Two women are lying in a Long Island hospital dying from the mystery flu."

Within hours it seems, this thing just sweeps across the country. People are working around the clock trying to find an antidote. Nothing is working. California, Oregon, Arizona, Florida, Massachusetts. It's as though it's just sweeping in from the borders.

And then, all of a sudden the news comes out. The code has been broken. A cure can be found. A vaccine can be made. It's going to take the blood of somebody who hasn't been infected, and so, sure enough, all through the Midwest, through all those channels of emergency broadcasting, everyone is asked to do one simple thing: Go to your downtown hospital and have your blood type taken. That's all we ask of you. When you hear the sirens go off in your neighborhood, please make your way quickly, quietly, and safely to the hospitals.

Sure enough, when you and your family get down there late on that Friday night, there is a long line, and they've got nurses and doctors coming out and pricking fingers and taking blood and putting labels on it, and they say, "Wait here in the parking lot and if we call your name, you can be dismissed and go home."

You stand around, scared, with your neighbors, wondering what in the world is going on and if this is the end of the world.

Suddenly a young man comes running out of the hospital screaming. He's yelling a name and waving a clipboard. What? He yells it again! And your son tugs on your jacket and says, "Daddy, that's me." Before you know it, they have grabbed your boy. Wait a minute. Hold on! And they say,"It's okay, his blood is clean.

His blood is pure. We want to make sure he doesn't have the disease. We think he has got the right type." Five tense minutes later, out come the doctors and nurses, crying and hugging one another - some are even laughing. It's the first time you have seen anybody laugh in a week, and an old doctor walks up to you and says, "Thank you, sir. Your son's blood type is perfect. It's clean, it is pure, and we can make the vaccine."

As the word begins to spread all across that parking lot full of folks, people are screaming and praying and laughing and crying. But then the gray-haired doctor pulls you and you wife aside and says, "May we see you for a moment? We didn't realize that the donor would be a minor and we need...we need you to sign a consent form." You begin to sign and then you see that the number of pints of blood to be taken is empty. "H-how many pints?"

And that is when the old doctor's smile fades and he says, "We had no idea it would be a little child. We weren't prepared. We need it all!" "But-but...You don't understand." "We are talking about the world here. Please sign. We-we need it all!"

"But can't you give him a transfusion?"

"If we had clean blood we would. Can you sign? "Would you sign?" In numb silence, you do. Then they say, "Would you like to have a moment with him before we begin?" Can you walk back? Can you walk back to that room where he sits on a table saying, "Daddy? Mommy? What's going on?" Can you take his hands and say,

"Son, your mommy and I love you, and we would never ever let anything, happen to you that didn't just have to be. Do you understand that?"

And when that old doctor comes back in and says, "I'm sorry, we've - we've got to get started. People all over the world are dying." Can you leave?

Can you walk out while he is saying, "Dad? Mom? Dad? Why - why have you forsaken me?"

And then next week, when they have the ceremony to honor your son, and some folks sleep through it, and some folks don't even come because they go to the lake, and some folks come with a pretentious smile and just pretend to care. Would you want to jump up and say, "MY SON DIED FOR YOU! DON'T YOU CARE?"

Pretty good point about the point of "going to church." It's not about us; it's a time to honor God, to tell him we're thankful that he had that much love for us. And then, to offer our lives to him (again, and again) to be used to spread this great news to more people. If you've dedicated your life to Jesus, why not spend some time with other believers, to honor Him for what he has done for you, and to learn more about being his agent in a world that needs His love and healing?

Enough time to care ...

They say "you can't take it with you when you die." But living life with Jesus, I've learned there's one thing you can and do take with you: the relationships you build in this life. What will they look like when you go? :-)

When we think about relationships, we usually think about ones that last a while, rather than brief encounters. But in the context of eternity, brief encounters can take on new meaning. Here's a story that I think illustrates how such an encounter can begin a relationship.

Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living. It was a cowboy's life, a life for someone who wanted no boss. What I didn't realize was that it was also a ministry.

Because I drove the night shift, my cab became a moving confessional. Passengers climbed in, sat behind me in total anonymity, and told me about their lives. I encountered people whose lives amazed me, ennobled me, made me laugh and weep. But none touched me more than a woman I picked up late one August night.

I was responding to a call from a small brick fourplex in a quiet part of town. I assumed I was being sent to pick up some partyers, or someone who had just had a fight with a lover, or a worker heading to an early shift at some factory for the industrial part of town.

When I arrived at 2:30 a.m., the building was dark except for a single light in a ground floor window. Under these circumstances, many drivers would just honk once or twice, wait a minute, then drive away. But I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis as their only means of transportation. Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always went to the door. This passenger might be someone who needs my assistance, I reasoned to myself. So I walked to the door and knocked.

"Just a minute", answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 80s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940s movie. By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.

"Would you carry my bag out to the car?" she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness.

"It's nothing", I told her. "I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated".

"Oh, you're such a good boy", she said.

When we got in the cab, she gave me and address, then asked, "Could you drive through downtown?"

"It's not the shortest way," I answered quickly.

"Oh, I don't mind," she said. "I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice".

I looked in the rearview mirror. Her eyes were glistening.

"I don't have any family left," she continued. "The doctor says I don't have very long."

I quietly reached over and shut off the meter. "What route would you like me to take?" I asked.

For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl. Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.

As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, "I'm tired. Let's go now."

We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her.

I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.

"How much do I owe you?" she asked, reaching into her purse.

"Nothing," I said.

"You have to make a living," she answered.

"There are other passengers," I responded.

Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly.

"You gave an old woman a little moment of joy," she said. "Thank you."

I squeezed her hand, then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life. I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly, lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away? On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more important in my life. We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware--beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.


Hey Tom, how's life?

I get a lot of email. A lot of that email is stories. A lot of those stories are kind of hokey, like someone holding a handful of dirt and calling it gold. But here's three stories that remind me of what real life has been like since I decided to follow Jesus:

The Concert

Wishing to encourage her young son's progress on the piano, a mother took the small boy to a Paderewski concert. After they were seated, the mother spotted a friend in the audience and walked down the aisle to greet her.

Seizing the opportunity to explore the wonders of the concert hall, the little boy rose and eventually explored his way through door marked "NO ADMITTANCE." When the house lights dimmed and the concert was about to begin, the mother returned to her seat and discovered that her son was missing.

Suddenly, the curtains parted and spotlights focused on the impressive Steinway on stage. In horror, the mother saw her little boy sitting at the keyboard, innocently picking out "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star."

At that moment, the great piano master made his entrance, quickly moved to the piano, and whispered in the boy's ear, "Don't quit. Keep playing." Then leaning over, Paderewski reached down with his left hand and began filling in a bass part. Soon his right arm reached around to the other side of the child and he added a running obbligato.

Together, the old master and the young novice transformed a frightening situation into a wonderfully creative experience. The audience was mesmerized.

That's the way it is with God. What we can accomplish on our own is hardly noteworthy. We try our best, but the results aren't exactly graceful, flowing music. But with the hand of the Master, our life's work truly can be beautiful. Next time you set out to accomplish great feats, listen carefully. You can hear the voice of the Master, whispering in your ear, "Don't quit, keep playing." Feel His loving arms around you. Know that His strong hands are playing the concerto of your life.

Remember, God doesn't call the equipped, He equips the called. Is he calling you?


The Cracked Pot

A water bearer in India had two large pots, each hung on each end of a pole which he carried across his neck. One of the pots had a crack in it, and while the other pot was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water at the end of the long walk from the stream to the master's house, the cracked pot arrived only half full.

For a full two years this went on daily, with the bearer delivering only one and a half pots full of water to his master's house. Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments, perfect to the end for which it was made. But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and miserable that it was able to accomplish only half of what it had been made to do. After two years of what it perceived to be a bitter failure, it spoke to the water bearer one day by the stream.

"I am ashamed of myself, and I want to apologize to you." "Why?" asked the bearer. "What are you ashamed of?" "I have been able, for these past two years, to deliver only half my load because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your master's house. Because of my flaws, you have to do all of this work, and you don't get full value from your efforts," the pot said.

The water bearer felt sorry for the old cracked pot, and in his compassion he said, "As we return to the master's house, I want you to notice the beautiful flowers along the path."

Indeed, as they went up the hill, the old cracked pot took notice of the sun warming the beautiful wild flowers on the side of the path, and this cheered it some. But at the end of the trail, it still felt bad because it had leaked out half its load, and so again it apologized to the bearer for its failure.

The bearer said to the pot, "Did you notice that there were flowers only on your side of your path, but not on the other pot's side?

That's because I have always known about your flaw, and I took advantage of it. I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walked back from the stream, you've watered them. For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate my master's table. Without you being just the way you are, he would not have this beauty to grace his house."

Each of us has our own unique flaws. We're all cracked pots. But if we will allow it, the Lord will use our flaws to grace His Father's table.

In God's great economy, nothing goes to waste. So as we seek ways to minister together, and as God calls you to the tasks He has appointed for you, don't be afraid of your flaws.

Acknowledge them, and allow Him to take advantage of them, and you, too, can be the cause of beauty in His pathway. Go out boldly, knowing that in our weakness we find His strength, and that "In Him every one of God's promises is a Yes."


Stranger in a Strange Land

If you really want to know what really goes on in my day to day ... here it is.


The Gift.....

A young man was getting ready to graduate from college. For many months, he had admired a beautiful sports car in a dealer's showroom, and knowing his father could well afford it, he told him that was all he wanted for graduation.

As Graduation Day approached, the young man awaited signs that his father had purchased the car. Finally, on the morning of his graduation, his father called him into his private study. His father told him how proud he was to have such a fine son, and told him how much he loved him. He handed his son a beautifully wrapped gift box. Curious, but somewhat disappointed, the young man opened the box and found a lovely, leather-bound Bible, with the young man's name embossed in gold.

Angry, he raised his voice to his father and said "With all your money, you give me a Bible?" and stormed out of the house, leaving the Bible.

Many years passed and the young man was very successful in business. He had a beautiful home and wonderful family, but realized his father was very old, and thought perhaps he should go to visit him. He had not seen him since that graduation day. Before he could make arrangements, he received a telegram telling him his father had passed away, and had willed all of his possessions to his son. He needed to come home immediately and take care of things.

When he arrived at his father's house, sudden sadness and regret filled his heart. He began to search through his father's important papers and saw the still new Bible, just as he had left it years ago.

With tears, he opened the Bible and began to turn the pages. His father had carefully underlined a verse, Matt.7:11, "And if ye, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more shall your Heavenly Father which is in Heaven, give to those who ask Him?"

As he read those words, a car key dropped from the back of the Bible. It had a tag with the dealer's name, the same dealer who had the sports car he had wanted. On the tag was the date of his graduation, and the words "PAID IN FULL"!

How many times do we miss God's blessings because they are not packaged as we expected?

Note from Tom: I would like to be able to think of myself as a mature, thoughtful, and wise person, someone who puts a lot of thought into every important word and action. (Who wouldn't?) God is helping me get there, but sometimes it seems like I am really slowing down the process.

Sometimes I ask God to change something in my life; we talk together and I share a dream with Him, but then I resist with everything I have when He starts to move make that dream come true. He tries to show me what's wrong with what I have, and I deny it, defending things and ideas like they were as important as He is. He tries to move me to the place I dreamed of being, but I cling to what I know, begging Him to just change it a little to make it sort of like what I dreamed of, and "then I'll be happy."

Sometimes it's even "good" ideas, "good" work, or "good" situations I'm clinging to. God knows I've put in the time and effort he was willing to invest in the situation, and has a new place prepared for me around the corner. But I don't want to go, because I haven't succeeded. Maybe I've even been misunderstood or attacked for my efforts, and I want to be vindicated before I go.

Sometimes I get the point soon enough, and discover something wonderful was waiting for me in time to enjoy it. Sometimes I miss the point until it's too late, and like the arrogant young man in the story, I miss both the immediate reward (the car) and the much more important, lasting reward (the relationship with his father).

How is your relationship with your father, your creator, your saviour, your friend? Are you letting Him guide your life? Do you trust Him? When life stinks, and it's not your fault, do you open up to His direction or narrow your focus even more down onto "the problem?"

If you know Jesus as your savior, and have invited His spirit to live inside you and guide you, I hope you're getting to know Him better and following His lead more too. I've got a lot more learning to do and relationship to build. Pray for me while you're at it.

If you don't know Jesus as your savior, and have not invited His spirit to live inside you and guide you, well, if you ever wonder if there is something more, I promise you THERE IS. What's it like? Sort of like life outside The Matrix. Looking back, I can tell you that life without Jesus was like a cruel, sick hoax. Anything good I got out of it would either break or get boring as time went on. But time would pass, and I would get hungry, and the next great thing to come along looked good, and, so there I went jumping on the bandwagon again.

But I've found that life with Jesus is different. The food He gives satisfies. He delivers on his promises and then some. The gifts He gives GET BETTER WITH TIME. Not only do they not break, but they increase in value and, funny thing is, they make me want to spend more time with Him, and He gives me more gifts, and ... the cycle goes on.

Hard to imagine it starts with one little prayer of resignation. You admit to Jesus that you need Him. You apologize for doing wrong things, especially any that you just can't seem to get out of your head. You thank Jesus for dying on the cross to pay the penalty for all those things. You promise to follow Him, You ask Him to be your friend, and you invite His Spirit to live in you and guide you.

If you're at a point in life where you're ready to encounter this great truth, pray that prayer and your life will never be the same.

But hey, if you want to talk to me about some part of this, or even just to tell me I'm nuts, please send me a message. I won't invade your life -- I'll just answer your questions honestly ...

- Tom