I Like Order

I like order. When everything is very orderly, I feel in control. I don’t always like structure– rules and prescriptive ways of doing things–but even when I prefer to fly by the seat of my pants, my flying, and my pants for that matter, are very orderly. 

God has indulged me in this little proclivity: I have four kids, two girls and two boys. All the children are two years apart, the first two in September, the next two in March. We celebrate birthdays two times per year, six months apart. My children' s names all consist of four letters, one syllable. We (almost–coming soon!) have eight grandchildren, four boys and four girls. Each of my adult children has one boy and one girl. 

If you come to my house and remove your shoes and set them so the right is on the left and the left is on the right, this drives me crazy and I will switch them for you, even in front of you, so that they are properly aligned. I also cannot tolerate anything inside-out, especially if it is hanging on a hook where I can see it, or a coat with the sleeves partially pulled inside. I have a compulsion to make things right and orderly–like my dishes, my silverware, and my towels which are all the same color–dark gray (just the towels, not the dishes which are all green and identical and stacked neatly in the cupboard). I make my bed every single day not because I have to but because I want to. It creates order in my house. Obviously, this was all much harder to achieve when I had four sticky children running around, but now that I have the opportunity, I like keeping things perfect.

I like order so much that I rely on it to feel secure. When things fly out of order, which they often do, I feel panicky because they might never become orderly again. 

But here’s the question I need to consider: Am I relying more on my ability to keep things perfectly ordered or on the God who sovereignly allows disorder so that we will run to him? 

Although God does, indeed, like order–look at the creation account or the animals two-by-two, or the instructions for the tabernacle, or the Levitical laws– but because he allowed us free will, disorder now reigns in our world. Because of this disorder, I try to control my little world so I don’t have to worry. But should I really put my trust in my perception of what feels safe? 

I’ve heard people say, “The safest place you can be is in the center of God’s will,” but I am wondering if maybe that’s not really true. Because when I surrender to God’s will, I must give up my own will; giving up my own will feels like losing control. Losing control means that I won’t be able to keep everything in perfect order. Is that where God wants me to be–at the end of myself but at the beginning of him? If we could see the future and were able to control all the variables so we felt at ease with what was ahead, we wouldn’t feel our need for a Savior. But we need a Savior because we have no ability to see around the corner. If what comes next makes my well-controlled house of cards fall to pieces, what will I put my trust in then?

So, even though God is sweet to me by allowing me a great sense of order in my life, if I put my security only in those things–in the things that feel clean and clear and ordered, I lose the opportunity to sit at his feet, to rely on him and not my well-ordered life. When I rely on my own tenacity to keep things well-aligned, I am not truly surrendering my will or my wants. If I only have peace when things are controlled, I’m not really trusting in the One who will sustain me when everything flies out of place (or when the grandchildren all visit at once).

Here’s where I have landed in this meandering thought experiment: If I only feel happy when my physical world is perfect, I am forgetting that Christ did, indeed, give me a little peek around the corner; this peek should give me peace. Christ lived, died, and was RESURRECTED so that I could see that all the chaos of this world will eventually be made beautiful and right. So I don’t need to panic. I need to look farther ahead and see what awaits me when God resurrects and restores Heaven and Earth. Confidence in that future promise is what should give me peace.

So in the meantime, when things get messy, I will be arranging my silverware into neat little piles and thinking thoughts of Heaven.

No Worry Required

In the past, I have written about my guilty conscience and the ways I try to quiet it. Some things for which I used to feel guilty have resolved themselves because they involved parenting duties I have now relegated to my adult children themselves, ie: cutting their own fingernails and brushing their teeth. When they were small, I didn’t do these things for them and barely did them for myself because I was simply trying to survive and those things seemed superfluous. Now that I sleep and have large chunks of time at my disposal, most of the things I once felt guilty about no longer plague me. In fact, I don’t struggle as much with guilt now as I used to, maybe because I realized many of the things I struggled with were actually false guilt. What I struggle now with is worry. 

I worry about my kids. I worry about my grandkids; I tell myself to stop because it is their parents' job to worry about them and I already did– and am doing–that for my kids. If I keep worry tabs open for each grandchild–we are up to eight now–I would freeze, and my mind would become the spinning ball of death–the same ball that appears on my Mac when I give it too much to do. I worry about my husband, and I worry about both of us when we fly in his airplane. I worry about my dog which I left with friends in Wyoming because I didn’t want to fly him home and because he is epileptic and I worry about his seizures. As a writer and a non-rusher and a bit of a dawdler, I worry about productivity. So when I get into a good routine of writing or living or eating, I worry about stopping it because maybe I will never get into a good routine again. I worry about writing because it doesn’t come as easily and cleanly as it used to, and I have to work harder to make myself do it even though I love it. I worry that I might be stupid because even though I understand words and feelings, numbers and money confuse me. I worry about my hermit-like tendencies and wonder if maybe I should try to be around people more even though I really like staying home by myself. I worry about exercising, and then when I exercise too much I worry that I am not recovering well and that maybe I have permanently injured myself. I worry about having too much stuff. I am OCD with this and need to know where everything is so I can feel in control. If I have too much, I can’t keep track of it all and it is stressful for me. When we moved recently, I got rid of nearly half of my possessions and keepsakes and it felt very clean and controlled. Now I worry about buying things because that clean feeling might go away. I worry about everything happening in the world today and that things are spinning wildly out of control and nothing will ever be beautiful again.

But mostly, I worry about worrying because I know that it accomplishes ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. So why do I do it, and why do I keep letting myself get into the mental space where everything feels threatening and life seems oppressive and ugly? I do it because I don’t really truly believe that God is sovereign and good. If you asked me this, I would say that I do believe he is those things, but I am realizing now that I don't. But I want to.

If I truly, with all my worrying heart, believed that God was holding onto everything and that nothing happened that wasn’t sifted through his holy hands, I could relax. I mean really relax. And I could enjoy the life he has assigned me in the time and place he has put me. If I truly trusted that he is good and that he is doing good for me, I could live the simple life of a child–God’s child. I wouldn’t worry because my Heavenly Father is in control. He is all-powerful. He is omniscient. And nothing ever surprises him. He is allowing history to unfold in the exact manner that he planned, and he is not shocked by the brokenness of the people he has made. If I really believed that I was praying to my Father–to my FATHER–in Heaven when I pray the Lord’s prayer or any prayer, I could shed my propensity to worry about everything as fast as my granddaughter sheds her clothes at the mention of a bath. 

Because really, what is worry? It accomplishes nothing except fear. It makes me distrustful and sometimes bitter because if nothing bad ever happened, I would never have to do it. The only time I find myself at ease and not worrying is when everything is going my way and no one is sick and no one is sad and all of my possessions are tidy and in order. 

But this is no way to live, because then I am always worrying that the perfectness is just about to end, and then I will be back to worrying again. I try to mitigate all of this by telling my kids to drive carefully and to stay healthy. I put up gates in my new house so no one will fall down the stairs and break themselves although I am still worried that they will stand on the bench that sits by the stairs and catapult themselves overboard and land lifeless in the basement. These thoughts create panic in my brain, not peace. So how do I stop? How do I get to a place of peace?

I get to peace by giving it all up–all the worry. I get to peace by trusting that God has my best life planned, even if it’s not the way I may think best, it will be the very best to make me more like him. I get to peace by praying and telling him that I am worrying again, and that I know that I am not supposed to worry about anything. I get to peace by reviewing his faithfulness in my life in the past. I get to peace by reading the Bible and seeing things that God already did and things he has already worked out behind the scenes when no one even knew he was doing it. I get to peace by truly believing that God has already won the battle over Satan. That he sent Jesus to live perfectly in my place so I have nothing to prove. That everything sad will one day become untrue. 

I get to peace by realizing that when I focus on my little ever-changing life, I am uncomfortable and insecure. And by realizing that when I focus on God and his unchanging nature, I can be still and know that he is God. When I look at his sovereignty rather than my fickleness, I see that worry is silly because we have no control over anything. But God does. 

And he is a master at making everything beautiful in its time.

God has a beautiful worry-free life planned for me. I just need to believe it and give up my perceived control. I need to remind myself daily of his goodness. I need to stop worrying, look for the peace he has promised, and learn to trust him more.

Because he really is sovereign and good.

 Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he has done. Then you will experience God’s peace, which exceeds anything we can understand. His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Christ Jesus.

Philippians 4:6-7 (NLT)

A Quiet Confession

I have a confession: I hardly ever had a Quiet Time when my kids were little. 

I capitalize “Quiet Time” (as opposed to quiet time which I never had then, but now have in abundance) because it is a practice the western world has crafted and created, calling it, essentially though not actually, a requirement of a good Christian’s life. 

Please hear me: I do think that Christians need to quiet their souls so they can hear the still small voice of God, and I do think that can often happen more easily in a regimented time of Bible reading and prayer. But I also think that the Western evangelical formula for how this time should look is creating false guilt in the minds of many–especially young mamas. 

When I was a mom of four young kids, I loved (and still love) God and wanted to learn more about him by spending time in his presence, but my practical life made achieving time alone–for anything– nearly impossible (even showering alone was a luxury; most days, at least one child would lay on the bath mat right outside of the clear glass shower door). I knew this Christian “requirement” of a Quiet Time wasn’t really a rule, but it felt like one to me, and I felt ashamed that I had so much trouble making it happen. I added this shame onto the other guilt I felt about my exhaustion and my impatience with my children’s excessively long bedtime prayers.

The familiar evangelical term, Quiet Time, is a relatively new idea that gained traction in the last hundred years or so–with good intention. For millennia, the masses were illiterate, only hearing scripture read out loud to them.The centuries-long labor pains of illiteracy and inaccessibility made personal Bible reading impossible, but with the advent of the printing press and wide-spread literacy, a more individualistic and regimented Christian faith was born. 

The freedom that we now have to read God’s Word on our own is an unbelievable privilege of the present modern era. And the idea of having a solitary time in prayer and Bible study is a thrilling prospect attainable for all over the course of our lives as spiritual pilgrims. This arc of our hopefully-long lives will include more focused times of devotion (as I had in college as a hungry new believer), and very busy times–like young motherhood–where consistent Quiet Times may be difficult to achieve, and the “slower-mornings” seasons of the empty nest and  retirement. 

As modern evangelical believers who want to walk the way of Jesus, I think we can reformulate the rigid prescription of Quiet Time and lighten the burden of guilt for many. By creating a “system” for meeting with God, we have removed some of the spontaneity of our faith–which is to be child-like and awe-inspiring. How can we get that back? By removing some of the “rules.” If we can learn to commune with God by singing hymns in the shower (even–and especially– if littles are watching), by thanking him for the red birds in the blue sky as we absorb the beauty of the morning, by reading his Word out loud while babies blow bubbles in the bathtub, or by listening to the gospels as we exercise our bodies, then even when our seasons are busy, we can create rhythms in our lives that reverberate with joy, not guilt. 

In my present season of empty-nesting, I absolutely adore my consistent time with the Lord nearly every morning (and I can enjoy a long, hot, and completely private, shower whenever I desire). I don’t love the term Quiet Time, but in reality that is what I do when I meet with the Lord in the mornings over hot coffee and my Bible–I quiet my heart and mind before him so he can become greater and I can become less. My daily Quiet Time is not a requirement. God doesn’t love me any more because I followed a formula for meeting with him. God has always loved all of his children–even before they could read or have solitary time in his Word. Our disciplines don’t change God’s attitude towards us, but sometimes they can change our attitude towards him. And sometimes God can change us just as well when we look to him in desperation in busy seasons and unpredictable circumstances in our lives. 

The Bible doesn’t tell us how much time to spend reading it or how many hours we must accrue to be “holy,” but it does tell us to “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.” (Mark 12:30) So instead of focusing on achieving the perfect Quiet Time in every season of our lives, let’s make our ordinary days–right now–into a loud time of celebrating how much we love him.

Welcome 2025! I'm back!

 

After a long absence from my blog, I am motivated to gain more regular writing rhythms and posting here will help create a good cadence in my life. And speaking of my life, here are some things God is teaching me right now.

Five things I learned began to learn in 2024 (and hope to continue to learn in 2025)

He must become greater; I must become less.  – John 3:30

1.   I am learning to be SMALL

Not small in stature. I am still all of 5’10”, tall for a woman, but small in my own mind. And small in my accomplishments. There was a time when I wanted a bigger life, bigger responsibilities, bigger acclaim. I wanted to be known for something I could do really well. But through hiding in my Savior this year, I have found out that in him, I am big to God. When you are big to God, it doesn’t matter if you are small to everyone else or even yourself. Mother Teresa also made this observation when she famously quoted, “Not all of us can do great things, but we can do small things with great love.” I can lovingly do even the very smallest things –whether writing or editing or making a meal for my family – that God has placed before me and be satisfied because they are mine. 

Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High

    will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.

I will say of the Lord, “He is my refuge and my fortress,

    my God, in whom I trust.” 

– Psalm 91:1-2

2. I am learning to HIDE

For so many years in my life, I wanted to be seen–seen as smart, seen as organized, seen as clever and having it all together. These things were important to me, and people’s admiration made me feel validated and valued. I still desire that my voice be heard and my ideas understood, but the gospel has shown me that if I put God in his rightful place by making much of him, not myself, I can be satisfied in the simple fact that I am his child. I am still flattered by the occasional notice or ‘atta girl, but the cravings for people’s approval has diminished. I don’t need to be noticed or approved because I believe I am a child of the King and that is what makes me valuable.

Submit yourselves, then, to God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you. Come near to God and he will come near to you. – James 4:7-8a

3. I am learning to RESIST

This year God has shown me how often I let Satan infiltrate my thoughts. The enemy subtly convinces me to feel sorry for myself and hold grudges against others. When I fall prey to his words, I feel justified when I judge others. When I listen to the call to selfishness rather than selflessness, I make myself big and make others–and God–small, and I walk the road of superiority rather than humility. But when I recognize this warfare and resist it with the armor of God (Ephesians 6), all I have to do is stand my ground. The Lord fights for me; he is, after all, the final victor in the cosmic battle (Revelation 21). If I choose to think God’s thoughts about whatever is true or right or lovely, rather than Tori’s thoughts about others perceived slights and offenses,  I can truly demonstrate calvary’s love. I can give all my hurts to God who sees and records all of my tears. 

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. – 1 Corinthians 13:4-7

4. I am learning to LOVE

         I have known great love–first through the tender care of my mother and the safety provided by my father. Then, as a child with my sisters and friends, and even my cats. I experienced a thrilling love when I met Brent and married him–what a whirlwind that was! When we had Luke, I understood love in a whole new way, and the intensity of it scared me; this mother-love only continued as we had Tess, Shay, and Cole. And then came the grandbabies: my love continues to grow without limit and to surprise me by its constancy. But this year, I learned about love beyond reason or emotion. I finally understood that Christ’s calvary love should change me. Calvary love: the love that gave up everything to redeem me, that lost everything to give me life, that degraded itself and hung naked on a cross, that suffered unimaginable pain so I could be whole. That love, that LOVE, should so flood my soul. It should temper my mouth and my mind. The amazement of that unselfish act should make all my idle words quiet. The calvary vision should change me so I can love like Christ–even when I hurt, even when I am neglected, even when I feel ignored. When I ruminate on calvary’s love, I can more easily embody patience, humility and honor and more quickly exude joy not anger. 

The path of the righteous is like the morning sun,

    shining ever brighter till the full light of day.

–Proverbs 4:18

5. I am learning to ACCEPT

       Over the course of my life, I have developed a negative feedback loop. The chatter inside my head–often aided and abetted by Satan– tells me I am a failure, a disappointment, stupid. These are not from the God of hope, but from a sin-tainted mind in need of adjustment. This adjustment comes from time spent in the Word where I remind myself of what is true: even though I do sometimes fail, disappoint, and lack clarity, Jesus never did. I can live within my imperfections because he was perfect in my place. When I surrender to him in faith, I can base my self-worth on his perfect life, death, and resurrection, and I can accept who I am even though sanctification is painfully slow. God promises if I faithfully walk beside him, he will continue to work on me. But I won’t be perfect until I meet him face to face. What a wonderful day that will be!

In 2025, I know that God’s gentle wooing and enormous patience with me will continue. If I am satisfied in smallness, and if I choose to resist the devil and to demonstrate Calvary’s love, I will be able to revel in who God made me right now and delight in the Tori he sees fit to reveal.

Usher Her Home

Anna’s prayers were interrupted by a loud voice--a deep, booming voice--announcing something in the temple courts.  As she got up stiffly, slowly, she could just make out the words, “...a light for revelation to the Gentiles, and the glory to your people Israel!” What...or who... was this light, this glory?  Opening the door of her room slightly, she could see a young couple and an old man.  Was that the weaver, Simeon?  What did he hold in his arms?  Was it a lamb?  A sacrifice to cover his offenses? The bundle was small, swaddled in a worn serving cloth; it began to move, then cry.  It was a baby!  The weaver was holding a baby!  

It had been a sweet seven years.  Though Anna and her husband ached for a child of their own, they had become content in their togetherness and the simple routines of life.  Then tragedy struck; Anna’s beloved husband, Adah, had been working on a grand structure --a tall and majestic theater--for most of their short marriage.  One gray autumn afternoon, just after the mid-day break, an angry storm rolled in from the east. With one gust of its violent breath, the wind toppled the scaffolding which held Adah.  Thrown to the ground, Adah was killed instantly, pinned by the stones which had once provided for his life. Now homeless and hopeless, Anna begged the priest to allow her to live in one of the empty storage rooms which lined the front wall of the temple.  Normally used to store worship items and fuel for the altar fires, this small, windowless room had been abandoned in favor of the larger ones nearer the rear door.  Close to the temple courts, it allowed Anna direct access to the people that came there.  These people, the regulars to the temple, became the family that she had lost when Adah died. Ministering to these same people became the focus of her meager, but fulfilled, existence.   She used her long days, sometimes fasting, always praying, to lift these people to the Lord.  Anna, a prophetess of God, often sensed the burdens of those God brought into her presence, and praying for them, sent them on their way confident that they had met God through her words. Her quiet contentment with God’s sovereign plan had pulled her out of her own hopelessness nearly 70 decades earlier.  She had learned to hope in Him and wanted others to do the same.   

Anna’s mind was jolted back to the present by another shrill wail.  It was the cry of a newborn.  The old man handed the baby carefully back to the mother.  Was she crying as well?  Slipping on her sandals, Anna opened her door wider and stepped out into the court.  The baby’s cries had stilled.  But all was not quiet.  The old man began shouting, “He is here!  He is here!  Messiah is here!  He has come!”  The Messiah?  The Lord’s Anointed?  The Deliverer for whom she had prayed?  As she neared the baby and his parents, a strong stinging breeze moved a strand of gray hair across her face. As she pushed it back into place beneath her scarf, her spirit also cried; “Yes!  He is here!  He is the One!”  Anna had long ago learned to trust those spirit promptings, and her shuffling steps moved quickly towards the child.  A song erupted in her soul and came out of her mouth as she greeted his parents and the elderly weaver, “Today I have seen my long awaited Messiah!  This baby is my Lord!”  Tears streaming down her lined face, she kissed the tiny cheek and placed a gnarled hand upon his downy head.   The other hand she placed upon his mother, and she blessed them saying, “May this Tender One be a light for all of those in darkness as he brings glory to the Holy Father.  May you, Holy Father, guard this mother’s heart as she learns to trust in your plan.”  The prophetess left the trio then, gratefully proclaiming Messiah’s appearance.  The baby’s mother was overcome with emotion...or was it confusion?  She and the baby’s father, toting twin turtle doves in a wicker cage, carried their sacrifice toward the temple’s altar.

As she entered her dark room, Anna’s bright mood turned to sorrow.  Recalling the prophet Isaiah 53, read last Shabbat by the visiting Rabbi, Anna knew that this child was born to bear her iniquities--the ones now temporarily “covered” with the blood of animals;“By His knowledge the Righteous One, My Servant, will justify the many, as He will bear their iniquities.” This sin-bearing Messiah was God’s plan of old--from the beginning of time!  How Messiah would do that, she did not know.  But, that he would do it was certain.  Did she feel her hope returning?  He had been sent to live in Shalom. He had been sent to love his own.  He had been sent to save all sinners. He had been sent... the Perfect Lamb. 

No, Anna had not brought a child into her home, though she wished and hoped for one.  But now, this baby, this Glorious Child whom she had kissed with her lips and touched with her hands, this Messiah, had come for her--for her!  Sent from Heaven to subdue sin and defeat death, this baby was God’s perfect plan.  His birth would prepare him for death.  

And his death would usher her Home.

Red Bird Devotions #28

Cart Correction

When it comes to carts, I think I am cursed.  It seems to never fail, that when I make my choice from that tangled mess of metal and madness in the entrance of Hy-Vee or Target, I end up with a defective one.  Really.

So, the other day as I was pushing my shopping cart, I noticed that I had to work especially hard at keeping it on the straight and narrow.  As I perused the endless aisles, I realized that I must apply heavy pressure on the right side of the handle so the left wheel wouldn’t push me into an oncoming customer.  I was exhausted by the time I got to the check out aisle and had to go home and take a nap after unloading my groceries.

This whole experience of fighting with my cart, the wheel wanting to go one way, and me pulling it back, made me think of how I am with God.  I constantly try to go my own way, think my own thoughts, bring myself the glory.  God, in His loving strength continues to pull me back on the right path through His Word, His people, His Glory.

Sometimes, though, I don’t respond to any of these, and He in His infinite wisdom, has to apply some pressure to my life so I won’t keep pulling away.  This pressure may come in the form of conviction or confusion or discontentment, and though it feels uncomfortable, it always turns me back to God…at least for a time.

And God, in His boundless mercy, continues to guide me patiently, knowing full well that I will stray from His path again and again and again.  Just like the wheel on the cart.

But still, He keeps holding on.

And He keeps guiding me so I won’t collide with disaster.

And I need to keep trusting Him and letting Him lead the way. 

“For the waywardness of the simple will kill them, and the complacency of fools will destroy them; but whoever listens to me will live in safety, and be at ease, without fear of harm.”

Proverbs 1:32-33

Red Bird Devotions #26

Lingerer

lin·ger·ing

/ˈliNGɡ(ə)riNG/

Learn to pronounce

adjective

lasting for a long time or slow to end.

I've been thinking a lot about lingering lately.  Lingering around the dinner table.  Lingering in the forest when I take a walk. Lingering in the Word when I take the time to read it well.  

And I have been realizing that I haven't been lingering enough.

When I linger after a meal and forget about the clean up and about the dirty pans on the stove, I learn about Brent's excitement for a new project or his hopes for the future.  And as I look at his face and listen to his voice, I remember that I need to pray for him regularly and believe the best in him.  I remember what sweet gift God gave me when he gave me my husband.  I remember to linger, right now, in this beautiful relationship that is mine.

When I linger in the forest and feel the wind blowing the autumn leaves softly; when see them fall like rain upon my path, and when I hear them crunch beneath my feet, I remember that God didn't have to make the seasons change and provide such beauty each fall for us; but he chose to give us melodious birdsong and clean air and warm sunshine because he longs to care for us.  I remember to linger, right now, and recall that I serve the lavish God of creation.

When I linger in the Word of God written by him through divinely-inspired human hands, I remember that I can know him better by reading it, by meditating on it, by studying it.  When I read Scripture not to finish but to change, I tune my ear to listen for his voice. When I linger in these pages--his pages--I see the constant forgiveness he offers, the abundant grace he provides, and the unending devotion he displays to his children...like me.  I remember to linger, right now, at the feet of my Savior, reveling in the reality of his presence in my life.  

I want to remember to linger more.

I want to be present in every moment of this very precious life.  

I want a life well-lived, a mind well-used, a peace well-embodied.  I want to be well-known by Jesus. 

May I linger in his blessings, linger in his beauty, linger in his book.   

May my mind be captivated by loving, and lingering upon, our great and glorious God.

As Jesus and his disciples were on their way, he came to a village where a woman named Martha opened her home to him. She had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet listening to what he said. But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made. She came to him and asked, “Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!”

“Martha, Martha,” the Lord answered, “you are worried and upset about many things, but few things are needed—or indeed only one. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.”  

Luke 10:38-42