The kind of work no bulldozer can do.

My brother tucked this old photo—from April, 1994—in my Christmas card this year. It was a strange collision of worlds to see myself, then a sophomore in high school, posing for a group photo after a weekend of service at SpringHill Camps where I am now one of the directors.

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A whole lotta judgin’ going on.

For some reason, it seems really important to know the eternal destiny of him, or her, or that guy on TV… but the important question is not about him, it’s about me. So how do we know if we’re sons of God?

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