You Can't Fight A Battle You Don't

There Is Something Else I Am After, Out Here In The Wild. I Am Searching For An Even More Elusive Prey . . . Something That Can Only Be Found Through The Help Of Wilderness. I Am Looking For My Heart.

When Winter Fails To Provide An Adequate Snow Base, My Boys Bring Their Sleds In The House And Ride Them Down The Stairs. Just The Other Day, My Wife Found Them With A Rope Out Their Second-story Bedroom Window, Preparing To Rappel Down The Side Of The House. The Recipe For Fun Is Pretty Simple Raising Boys: Add To Any Activity An Element Of Danger, Stir In A Little Exploration, Add A Dash Of Destruction, And You've Got Yourself A Winner.

Somehow We Have Overlooked The Fact This Treasured Called The Heart Can Also Be Broken, Has Been Broken, And Now Lies In Pieces Down Under The Surface. When It Comes To Habits We Cannot Quit Or Patterns We Cannot Stop, Anger That Flies Out Of Nowhere, Fears We Cannot Overcome, Or Weaknesses We Hate To Admit--much Of What Troubles Us Comes Out Of The Broken Places In Our Hearts Crying Out For Relief. Jesus Speaks As If We Are All Brokenhearted. We Would Do Well To Trust His Perspective On This.

When A Woman Forsakes Her Vulnerability Because She's Been Hurt Or Because She Lives In A Dangerous World Or Doesn't Want To Be Used, She Loses Something Essential About Being A Woman.

We Don't Live In The Garden. We Live Far From Eden. Every Life Is Full Of Heartaches. Every Life, Frankly, Is Unspeakably Sad.