This adage has had several words transposed but its truth cannot be denied.

One of the earliest versions said: “The tongue is mightier than the blade.” Several years later, it read, “The word is mightier than the sword.”

Thanks to olde English, here’s an interesting turn of words: “The dashe of a Pen, is more greeuous than the counterbase of a Launce.”

Even William Shakespeare couldn’t resist putting this thought into Hamlet, Act 2: . . .”many wearing rapiers are afraid of goosequills.”

It is said that the adage decorates a wall of the Thomas Jefferson Building of the Library of Congress.

So what’s the Biblical wisdom, the origin, the truth of this adage?

Proverbs 18:21 advises to use our tongue cautiously because it is a weapon wielding the power of life and death. In other words, just by opening our mouths we can cut others down or we can build them up. Proverbs also says that evildoers can be trapped by their “sinful” talk, which allows the innocent to escape!

In fact, the author of Proverbs touts the wisdom of holding our tongues, weighing our answers, and using our tongues as a tree of life.

The Apostle Peter gives another really good reason for controlling our tongues. He says that if you love life and want to enjoy good days, keep your tongue from evil. (1 Pet. 3:10)

In my opinion, this one of the sweetest verses with regard to our tongues:

Let your conversation be always full of grace, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how to answer everyone. (Col.4:6, NIV)

Sure, seasoning makes food taste better. Which is why grace, God’s unmerited favor, coupled with well-seasoned words, adds wisdom to our answers.

The Bible certainly shares a lot of food for thought, pun intended, about our tongues. But what does God’s word have to say about the pen is mightier than the sword?

Hebrews 4:12 tells us:
For the word of God is living and powerful, and sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the division of soul and spirit, and of joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart.

Able to cut on both sides, a  two-edged sword is an offensive and defensive weapon. And because God’s word is both written (penned) and alive through the Holy Spirit, there is no denying its truth and might.

If we feel ill-prepared for daily battles, let’s practice using our sword (the Bible). We’ll find each word as sharp and true as ever.

By author eMarie

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In the 1300s, the original adage was longer. Meatier, one might say. That’s because the dish included minced meats (dried fruits, nuts, spirits, and fats, etc.), spices, cereal, and sometimes blood. These ingredients were then stuffed into an animal-type casing and cooked. Not to culinary or temperature-controlled specifications. Hence, the danger in eating such foods.

A portion of this adage was then lopped off in 1623 in William Camden’s Remains Concerning Britain. Aware that such sayings were vanishing with the passage of time, Mr. Camden sought to memorialize them in his book.

But even earlier, in fact thousands of years earlier, kings had cupbearers who would sample their wine and taste their food. If the cupbearer didn’t die, the king would then partake. He had proof the food would do him no harm.

From the above information, have you guessed the adage?

SPOILER ALERT: At one time, it was said that the proof of the pudding is in the eating. If said at all, the now antiquated adage is the proof is in the pudding.

There are several Biblical references that predate the pudding. Here’s one of my favorites:

“Oh, taste and see that the Lord is good. Blessed is the man who trusts in Him!” Ps. 34:8

How lovingly the Lord calls us near and extends the challenge to, in modern terms, check Him out. He has no fear that He’ll pass the sniff test! In other words, He is as trustworthy, as good, as faithful as He claims He is. When we pray, He hears our cry. Digging into His word, we’ll find Him there.

Moses found the Lord in the desert’s burning bush and again as the Red Sea opened. At an advanced age, Sarah saw the goodness of God in her baby Isaac’s face. Ascending to the throne, David experienced anew the faithfulness of God. Paul and Silas left the prison, not because the jailer freed them but because God’s power loosed their chains. John wrote what he saw on the Island of Patmos, because God again revealed Himself there.

Because God’s love couldn’t allow Him to enjoy the beauty of Heaven without  each of us, He sent Jesus to pay the price in our place.

Jesus, the promised Messiah in the Old Testament and the risen Savior in the New, still says ‘You’ve tried the rest, now come, put your trust in me. I’ll give you living proof.’

By author eMarie

To leave a comment, please click on the title above, LIVING PROOF, and scroll down. Please subscribe, share this post with family and friends, and return next week for another encouraging blog. Thank you and God bless you!




Though oft-quoted, this adage has been challenged, tested, rejected, and accepted. It has even been used as a book title. But few have applauded its origin.

In John Heywood’s 1546 book of proverbs written in the Old Englishe tongue the line reads:
some heads haue taken two headis better then one: but ten heads without wit, I wene as good none.

Were you able to decipher the adage?  🙂

A 2010 article in Scientific American entitled, “Are Two Heads Better than One? It Depends,” set out to prove a problem-solving premise: do we perform better and make smarter decisions when we work together or alone?

Turns out, two heads are better than one. Other factors that play a role in two-headed or team success are included in the article.

In 2016, a Psychology Today article cites research by a Carnegie Mellon University professor suggesting that a group’s intelligence can surpass its individual members.

So who should we thank for gifting us with this astute adage?

“It’s just a very old proverb . . . from John Gower’s ‘Confessio Amantis’ written in 1390.” *

Not so according to Ecclesiastes 4:9.

“Two are better than one, because they have a good reward for their labor.”

The author of Ecclesiastes went on to explain that if one of the laborers falls, the other will pick him up. But if someone labors alone and falls, he has no one to lift him up. Together, we not only avoid pitfalls but are apt to work faster, smarter, better.

Ah, but that wasn’t the first spotlight the Bible places on this adage. No, no. We have to go back to where our story begins. In Genesis 2:18, the Lord God said “it is not good that man should be alone; I will make him a helper comparable to him.” Not lesser, not better but “comparable” (like, similar, equal to. . .).

God created us to share each other’s burdens, to gather together (Heb.10:25), and to live in unity.

Sure, we also need time alone with the Lord in prayer, in His Word, to fulfill His call on our lives, to catch a fresh glimpse of God’s goodness.

But, God, in His wisdom, made us better together. He provided a way for a more enjoyable, lighter workload with greater rewards. By His design, two heads are better than one!

By author eMarie

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* www.phrases.org.uk/bulletin_board/59/messages/34.html



In his 1695 play, “Canterbury Guests,” writer Edward Ravenscroft used this phrase.

Ever since that time, many writers (especially British) have used the adage. In fact, Charles Dickens used these words in “Nicholas Nickleby,” “Oliver Twist,” and “The Old Curiosity Shop.”

Have you guessed the adage yet?

All but vanished from usage, the expression taught commitment. One shouldn’t undertake anything half-heartedly.

In 2016, American composer Henry Threadgill won a Pulitzer Prize in Music for his album with the name of . . . ready for this? In for a Penny, In for a Pound.

What’s so fascinating about this phrase?

It’s Biblical origins, of course! Of the many Bible verses that have to do with commitment, here’s one of my favorites:

But Jesus said to him, “No one, having put his hand to the plow, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God.” Luke 9:62, NKJV

As they say, context is key.

In the agricultural area in which Jesus was teaching, farmers understood this statement well. Looking backward while moving forward does not make for plowing straight rows. Fewer crops due to poor land use means less harvest.

On the face of it, the request from the young man (to go bury his father) seems reasonable, compassionate even. But Jesus knew his heart. He knows our hearts, too. We are not fully committed to Him when we choose to look or go back. Leave. Move in a different direction. We’re either going forward with Him, our hand in His, or we’re going our own way.

Two words that have taken the place of commitment these days are “all in.” Jesus said He would rather we were all in than lukewarm. His command is that we love the Lord our God with all our heart, with all our soul, and with all our strength.

If we’ve had difficulty with our harvest lately, maybe it’s time to recommit our hands to the plow. No looking back. Just straight rows ahead.

We’re not only in for a penny or a pound. We’re plowing and planting for eternity.

By author eMarie

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Slowly disappearing from our everday usage, this colloquialism is said to have roots in both the English and French languages.

Before Chaucer’s time, the line was, “For he that naught n’assaieth, naught n’achieveth.” (That’s old English for you!)

Can you guess what the adage is?

In 1546, John Heywood listed his glossary version as far less English and much more Impossible. Impossible to read! However, some believe Heywood had translated a 14th century French quote which stated: “One who never undertook anything, never gained anything.” In today’s language: nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Is that what our Founding Fathers thought when they set out to build our republic? John Adams declared “facts are stubborn things.” Let’s investigate one facet to show just how stubborn they are.

“And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the Protection of Divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor.”

Fifty-six men signed the Declaration of Independence. Threats by the King of England aside, these men did not pledge their all on a whim. This was a do or die situation. An impossible venture. As it turned out, some of the Founders lost their lives; some lost part or all of their families; some lost their fortunes. But all lost their honor in the eyes of the English.

From their venture, we gained a republic. One Nation Under God.

Paul, a bondservant of Jesus Christ, proved his faith and love in Jesus again and again. Beaten, stoned, imprisoned, boiled in oil and left for dead, he was eventually beheaded. We see he had counted the cost in his strong statement of faith penned in Phil.1:21.

For to me, to live is Christ, and to die is gain.

 In the last two decades, the term “venture capital” has added a financial component to this adage. Yet, as we saw in 2008 and again in these past few years, monetary gains can be unstable and fleeting.

The only venture with continued, appreciable returns is what we do for Jesus. Depending on the soil, planting seeds can be hard work. Intercessory prayer takes time and effort. Persecution is an option. But the spiritual gain on investment is, well, Heavenly!

For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world, and loses his own soul? (Mark 8:36, NKJV)

By author eMarie

To leave a comment, please click on the title above, A VENTURE TO GAIN, and scroll down. Please subscribe, share this post with family and friends, and return next week for another encouraging blog. Thank you and God bless you!


As a fun pastime, I began researching and recording adages. With the passage of time these incredible sayings that speak a broad truth seem destined to fade into the sunset – never to be heard again. Compelled to share their origins and Biblical applications, here is the first of many.

From the blog’s title, can you guess today’s adage? J

Some say this phrase can be traced back to the Victorians who would insert other reading materials between the pages of a Bible. So, they outwardly appeared holy and devout, but that might have been a far cry from the truth.

Then the adage made an appearance in the Piqua, OH newspaper, Piqua Democrat, in June 1867:
“Don’t judge a book by its cover, see a man by his cloth, as there is often a good deal of solid worth and superior skill underneath a* jacket and yaller pants.” Martin Luther King may have harkened back to this when he said to judge not by skin color but by …“the content of their character.”

In the 1944 edition of African Journal American Speech, the phrase read: You can’t judge a book by its binding.”

But in the 1946 novel, Murder in the Glass Room, authors Edwin Rolfe and Lester Fuller penned: “you can never tell a book by its cover.”

And let’s not forget Bo Didley’s 1962 hit, written by Willie Dixon: “You Can’t Judge a Book by its Cover.”

The above research cites interesting information, but the Old Testament book of Samuel gives the best, original, and accurate use of this adage.

For the LORD does not see as man sees; for man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart.” (1 Samuel 16:7b, NKJV)

God sees beyond the outside. No matter who we are, how much we “paint the barn,” or hide behind book covers, He cuts through it all and discerns our hearts.

No need to put on airs. In fact, the only way we can “dress for success” is to put on Jesus’ righteousness (2 Cor.5:21). When we accept Jesus Christ into our hearts, God doesn’t look at us any other way than through Jesus—clean, pure, holy.

We’re no longer judged (condemned). We’re covered!

By eMarie

To leave a comment, please click on the title above, OUTSIDE IN, and scroll down. Please subscribe, share this post with family and friends, and return next week for another encouraging blog. Thank you and God bless you!  🙂

*According to knowyourphrase.com, the words were small and difficult to read








The Penthouse – An Original 9-11 Story (Part 3)

the night is coming when no one can work. (John 9:4b, NKJV)

(From Part 2: “Hammett. Hammett.” Bile burned in my throat. Thunder rolled in the distance, or did the noise reverberate from the television? I raced into the living room and sank to my knees. “Oh, dear God, no!”)

The North Tower crumbled to the ground. Glass and metal hurled through the air. Frantic people scrambled in every direction only to have ash and soot swallow them. The TV screen became a gray-black blur. The camera shook as the crew darted for safety—their nervous voices lost in the melee.

Someone screamed, her shrill, loud voice filled the room and pierced my ears. Her tears flowed down my face into trembling hands. Pieces of priceless pottery sailed through the air, their broken shards less hysterical than she. I had to stop her before she lost complete control. The wet carpet under my face became my first wake-up call. Too weak to push myself up, I laid there.

Garbled voices from the television drifted toward me spewing words that ran together. A third plane crashed somewhere in Pennsylvania, its destination shy of its goal. A man wrung his hands and mumbled about the Pentagon but the information didn’t fully register. I forced myself to read the words on the screen. “America Under Attack.” Voices narrated their impromptu speculation. Eyewitnesses reported chilling accounts. Some commented about children in a nearby preschool whose parents would never pick them up.

No one tried to explain why my husband had to die in the attack.

Time lost its meaning. I don’t know how long I laid there while television commentators continued their analysis. Heat, humidity, and smoke wafted through my open windows. Damp hair stuck to my face. A blinking red light caught my eye, and I thrust myself off the floor. Cell phone plans were expensive, and I’d only given my number to a few people. I racked my brain but couldn’t imagine who would’ve left a message.

Engaged in a dizzy dance, I staggered like a shipwrecked sailor into the bedroom and snatched the phone from the desk. Before I flopped on the bed, I grabbed a coverlet. Curled in a fetal ball, I clutched the phone. Spent nerves prevented me from listening to the message. My mind replayed conversations Hammett shared when he’d headed the safety committee. He equipped the offices with fire extinguishers and carried out routine fire drills up and down the thirty-seven flights of stairs. No wonder he stayed in great physical shape. Hope flooded my thoughts.

I blew out a long sigh, pushed the button, and retrieved the only message. “Hi, Mom, it’s Maddie. It’s about 8:37 on Tuesday morning, September 11. I don’t have to be to work at the hospital until noon today. These twenty-four-hour emergency room shifts are brutal, and I haven’t seen you guys as much as I’d like. I picked up some bagels and cream cheese at that deli you two always rave about. I’m gonna take them up to Dad’s office, and wondered if maybe you could join us.

“By the way, I got bored at work Sunday and weighed myself. Big mistake. So, before I eat these bagels, thought I’d take the stairs up to Dad’s office. If it doesn’t kill me, maybe I’ll lose five pounds by the time I get there. “Okay, I’m about to enter the stairwell so I might lose reception but I’ll count off the steps for as long as I can. Ready? “Two, four, six, eight, ten, twelve, fourteen, sixteen . . .”


People often ask why I’ve left this story unfinished. Well, let me ask you – if this were your story, your life, how would it end? Claire had no idea how radically her life would change on September 11, 2001. She and Hammett seemingly had it all: the penthouse, the money, the future . . . or so they thought. Though they’d planned for their financial goals to the last penny, they’d neglected their eternal destination. Maybe more time would’ve helped, but it’s the one commodity none of us can buy. Unlike the fictional characters in my story who had to comply with how they’re written, people have free will.

We choose where we will spend eternity.

The Bible tells us that God sent His Son Jesus into this fallen world to provide a way for us to go to Heaven. Since Jesus lived a perfect life, His death on the cross paid the penalty for our sins. You might think being a good person is good enough. Well, if that were true, Jesus wouldn’t have had to die for your sins. What’s sin? Sin means to break the law, go against a moral code, to miss the mark. If we’re honest, we’ve all missed the mark. When we ask Jesus Christ to forgive our sins, He comes and lives in our hearts. He makes us a new person. We trade our sin-filled life for a new one . . . that’s what “born again” is all about.

We’re all given the opportunity to choose to live for Jesus. Our choice makes the difference between the hope of Heaven or the horror of hell. We all remember the tragedy of September 11, 2001—the images we saw, the news accounts we heard, the stories we read. Maybe you had a relative, close friend, or an acquaintance who died in that horrible attack. Ready or not, the day will come when we, too, breathe our last breath. Like the characters in this story, perhaps you’ve succeeded in achieving your financial goals. None of that will matter if you haven’t chosen Jesus and secured your eternal destination.

To do that, simply ask Jesus into your heart today. Read His Word, the Bible, and let Him lead you home. *** Please see the special page created on this website entitled “The Penthouse” where you can post questions about this story, your thoughts about the 21th anniversary of 9/11/2001, and your memories of that day.

This is an original fictional story written by eMarie.

To leave a comment, please click on the title above, THE PENTHOUSE – An original 9/11 STORY (Part 3), and scroll down. Thank you for subscribing and inviting friends to this website. God bless you! 🙂

THE PENTHOUSE – An Original 9-11 story (Part 2)

But of that day and hour no one knows, not even the angels of heaven, but My Father only. (Matt.24:35, NKJV)

(Repeat from part 1: Hammett and I grieved in different ways. He poured himself into his work and allowed it to consume him. “Can’t we talk about this?” I’d pleaded. He shrugged, undressed, and fell asleep the second his head hit the pillow.)

To cope, I skipped meals. Lots of them. If Hammett and I were invited out, I sometimes pretended to eat. Other times, I’d polished off my plate like a ravenous wolf. When my stomach rebelled, unable to handle its contents, I excused myself to find the nearest restroom. My friend Jessica noticed my weight loss and unhealthy eating patterns. She invited me out to lunch. Instead, she took me to meet with her therapist.

After several sessions, I suggested Hammett go with me. “Don’t ever ask me to go to one of those shysters. It’s mind over matter. You think they’ll help you, but all they do is take your money.” He pointed his finger at me. “Besides, I’m not the one that needs help.” In five weeks, I’d gone from a healthy 152-pound, 5’6” woman to a lethargic 129 pounds. I knew I was out of control when I caught a glimpse of my skin-taut rib cage in the mirror.

It didn’t surprise me when I woke up in a hospital bed, disoriented and bewildered, with tubes and monitors all around me. Hammett stroked my hair. “I found you passed out in the bathroom. I’m so sorry. I should have done something . . .  I.” His eyes met mine. “We’ll get counseling. The two of us. We’ll get better.” We did get better. Hammett made it a rule—he’d be home by dinnertime every workday, and he stuck to it. Over time, our therapy sessions went from twice a week to once a month. We learned so much more about each other, and as Solomon had said, we began to appreciate what we’d taken for granted.

By now, our daughter Madilyn had graduated medical school and joined a small emergency medicine practice in the City. Our daughter-in-law visited often with our grandson, Oliver. He lit up the room and kept us young. We enjoyed spoiling him with toys, books, clothes, and electronics.

A shiver crawled along my spine. I glanced at my watch, stunned that I’d daydreamed on the balcony for so long. I hurried to clean off the table and brought the breakfast dishes to the sink, then turned on my favorite TV morning show to accompany my mundane chores. Water splashed over my hands. I hummed and scrubbed the plates.

“We interrupt this broadcast to bring you. . .” I turned toward the television—its picture captured my attention. The camera lens zoomed in close, as if I rode on the wings of a misguided jet. The commentator’s words pricked my ears. Sirens and horns blared outside and in the background while the TV newscaster narrated the uncertain reality. Clear blue skies above the Twin Towers blackened with billowy smoke. Again and again, images of the plane as it flew into the North Tower appeared on the screen. I flipped through the channels. There had to be some mistake, maybe some sick reenactment of War of the Worlds.

I hurried to the balcony and looked toward Manhattan, to the steel towers that graced our view.

“God, help us.” Dark smoke rose into the air until it entombed the silvery tower. Back inside, I grabbed the phone from the receiver, relieved I still had a dial tone. Before I pushed a button, the phone slipped from my sweat-drenched palm. My breath caught in my throat. The TV camera tracked another plane soaring at low altitude on approach to the South Tower. My body crumpled to the floor and my heart hammered as flames erupted through the tower’s jagged opening. The newscaster’s voice faded away. Eerie figures fell from the windows of the north building, surreal and horrible. Frightened people dotted the street, too stunned to cry. Their confusion matched my own.

My cell phone rang. I leaped off the floor and raced to my desk, then read the number on the screen. “Hammett, where are you?” For a nanosecond, everything moved in slow motion before rocketing forward. Shattered glass and noise rumbled in the background. Desperate screams almost drowned Hammett’s words. I dug my nails into the desk.

“Hammett, I can’t hear you.” I yelled over the chaos that probably surrounded him. He sniffled. “You were right. I shouldn’t have come to work today.” His words came between stilted breaths. I gripped the phone so tight my hand ached. I could only imagine what Hammett saw, how he felt at that moment, the thoughts going through his mind.

I wanted to say something of comfort, something to encourage him. “Hammett, I can’t live without you. I don’t want to.” The words left my lips and, oh, how I wished I could take them back. They weren’t helpful or what he needed to hear.

He sobbed. Hard. And I’ll never forget the grit in his voice as he gasped and choked out these words. “You’ve made my life so happy . . . I wish I had . . . a million more. Take care of . . . Madilyn. Suzanne . . . and Oliver. I’ll . . . watch over you.” The line went dead.

“Hammett. Hammett.” Bile burned in my throat. Thunder rolled in the distance, or did the noise reverberate from the television? I raced into the living room and sank to my knees.

“Oh, dear God, no!”

*** Part 3 of this original fictional story by eMarie will be posted Friday, September 9, 2022

To leave a comment, please click on the title above, THE PENTHOUSE – An Original 9-11 STORY (Part 2), and scroll down. Thank you for subscribing and inviting friends to this website. God bless you! 🙂

THE PENTHOUSE – An Original 9-11 STORY (Part 1)

So teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom. (Psm. 90:12, NKJV)

The morning began like most others. Hammett hurried onto the balcony while securing the knot in his tie. After forty-two years, the fit of his black suit and crisp white shirt still stirred butterflies in my stomach. I poured two cups of black coffee as he buttered the toast, our usual pre-work breakfast. Between bits of conversation I followed the movements of a jogger plodding his way through Central Park, a view we’d paid dearly for.

As September mornings go, humidity already presented a challenge, but the pale blue sky and mid-60s temperature offered Hammett a perfect seven-mile bike ride to his office in New York City’s Twin Towers.

He pushed his plate away and gazed toward the tall green trees. An occasional hint of autumn splendor painted the leaves. Hammett leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head.

I enjoyed him this way, relaxed, with a slight upturn in his lips. “Are you sure you have to finish out the week?” If only I’d bitten my tongue. Instead, the words rang like an alarm clock.

Hammett looked at his watch then sprang out of the chair. “I promised Julia I would.” He bent down and kissed my forehead. “Just three more days.”

He touched my shoulder, and I held onto his hand. I stared into his deep blue eyes—the worry lines in his forehead more pronounced than I’d ever noticed. I held back words I wanted to say. Words like, you don’t owe her anything; I’ve always admired your dedication, but it’s such a beautiful day. Let’s ride the ferry. Deep inside, I knew it wouldn’t help if I said them.

We’d married two years before we graduated college. Hammett began his career as an intern, and continued to work for the same marketing firm for forty years. I stayed home and raised our two children. Hammett climbed the corporate ladder until he’d earned a place at the table—chief financial officer. With our debts paid, children’s futures secured, and nothing preventing us, we sold our home in the country and bought a penthouse on the upper west side. Our wallets took a wallop, so I accepted a part-time job as an at-home editor. After ten years, we achieved our dream. We paid off the mortgage and breathed easier. We owned the penthouse free and clear.

Though we had means, we’d chosen to live with fun and frugality in mind. We’d gone on a few cruises but stayed in hostels when we toured Europe. Our friends bought yachts, we rented kayaks. Skiing in Aspen never made it on our radar. The nearby Poconos filled that need.

Several months ago, we met with our investment banker. A month later, Hammett signed his retirement papers. At the firm’s request, he agreed to work as a consultant on an occasional basis, and at his discretion.

That afternoon we went through our scrapbooks and picture albums. Every page told the story of our lives. Days, weeks, months, and years passed before our eyes. Though I hadn’t voiced the thought, I wondered how many more years we’d have together.

As if he read my mind, Hammett took my hand. “It’s the beginning of the rest of our lives. Whatever time we have, we’ll make the most of it. You and me.” A tenuous smile spread his lips.

The sun warmed me as I stood at the edge of the balcony and waved to Hammett, his bike pointed toward his trek to work. He leaned over the handlebars, his satchel slung on his back, the path through Central Park a little busier now than thirty minutes ago. He stopped pedaling long enough to throw me a kiss, something he hadn’t done for years. I pretended to catch it and threw one back.

He smiled and rode down the sun-dappled pathway.

No longer able to see him, I lingered on the balcony, absorbed in the moment. Hammett’s words from months ago, “the rest of our lives,” flashed through my mind like a shooting star.

Somehow, the thought took me back several years when our daughter-in-law and son, Solomon, an administrator at Cedar Sinai Hospital, traveled to Haiti. Unable to conceive, they adopted a newborn in Port-au-Prince. Solomon returned a changed man. “Mom, Dad, you’ve gotta go there. We take everything for granted. They have nothing, yet they’re the happiest people I’ve ever met.” A week later, Solomon lay in a hospital bed with fever, severe abdominal pain, and diarrhea. Diagnosed with malaria, he slipped into a coma. A few days later, he left our lives forever.

Hammett and I grieved in different ways. He poured himself into his work and allowed it to consume him.

“Can’t we talk about this?” I’d pleaded. He shrugged, undressed, and fell asleep the second his head hit the pillow…

Part 2 of this original fictional story by eMarie will be posted Friday, September 2, 2022

To leave a comment, please click on the title above, THE PENTHOUSE – An Orginal 9-11 STORY (Part 1), and scroll down. Thank you for subscribing and inviting friends to this website. God bless you! 🙂


Since moving to the Boise, ID area, we’ve noticed more windy summer days than not. While we enjoy pleasant, consistent airflow indoors (thank God for air conditioning!), it’s amazing to watch birds navigate the blustery skies. But what about airplanes?

Sometime ago, I found this interesting article:

“During our tour of an aircraft carrier, a jet fighter pilot explained that planes need a 56-kilometer-per-hour wind to take off on such a short runway. To reach this steady breeze, the captain turns his ship into the wind. “’Shouldn’t the wind come from the plane’s back?’” I asked. The pilot answered, “’No. The jets must fly into the wind. That’s the only way to achieve lift.’”

“God called Joshua to lead His people into the “winds” that awaited them in the promised land. Joshua required two things. Internally, he needed to “be strong and very courageous” (Joshua 1:7); and externally, he needed challenges. This included the daily task of leading thousands of Israelites, facing walled cities (6:1–5), demoralizing defeats (7:3–5), Achan’s theft (vv. 16–26), and continual battles (chs. 10–11).

“The wind that blew in Joshua’s face would lift his life as long as his thrust came from God’s instructions. God said he must “be careful to obey all the law . . . do not turn from it to the right or to the left . . . meditate on it day and night, so that you may be careful to do everything written in it. Then you will be prosperous and successful” (1:7–8).

“Are you resolved to follow God’s ways, no matter what? Then look for challenges. Fly boldly into the wind and see your spirit soar.”

I pray that you allow Jesus to be the wind beneath your wings. Whatever adventure He has for you and wherever He sends you, He’ll give you a lift.  🙂

Article written by Mike Wittmer*

Reposted by author eMarie)

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* Mike posted this article posted on FB 2/2022