Whispers of Truth

I have a friend who asks the question, “So, what does that look like?” often enough that we have teasingly and rather fondly named it after him—the Keuhndorf question. Especially in teachings that seem rather abstract, he wants a tangible application for his life. I absolutely understand and often feel the same way; if I am honest, this question has become a go-to, a kind of touchstone for me when I consider hard scripture. I don’t always have a firm answer, but it keeps me focused on the application instead of just gathering knowledge as I read and study. This week I was looking closely at Jeremiah 18-19 in preparation for Bible study. The chapters’ content (if not their numbers) is familiar—they are about the potter and the clay and demonstrate in a very simple way that God is sovereign. Period. God sends Jeremiah to the potter’s house/shop for some serious object lessons not only about his nation but also about the individuals that make up the nation (himself included). One

When I was young, heroes were ubiquitous, and some were actually flesh and blood heroes, like my god-father and god-mother. Jerry and Linda could do no wrong in my eyes, and I worshiped them because they loved me and indulged me and made me feel special and seen.   My paternal grandparents, Vernon and Cap, were my heroes, too. I followed my bustling grandmother around her kitchen and garden, and my gruff, silent granddaddy climbed into the tents my grandmother would hang about the house and yard (replete with stuffed animal friends) when he came home from the field for lunch. My young uncle (only thirteen years separated us) and still childless aunt lavished attention on me as well. My mom and dad seemed larger than life and slightly removed at the time. They were often busy working and earning and learning, which allowed me to spend time with my “other” parents and family members. The thing all these heroes of my young life had in common was a focus on me. I fully admit that I w