It’s Spring Break, and I’ve stepped out of the iHermitage to look around a little. In “It’s Not About Belief” by Jon Zuck, I found this intriguing little tidbit that adds another way to look at something:
The Greek word pisteo is almost always translated “belief” or “faith” in the New Testament. However, it also means trust and is better translated as such. Dare to move from belief to trust.
Kinda changes the emphasis in the old prayer:
I believe. Help my unbelief Lord.
![[photo of small poster]](http://cowpi.com/journal/media/2007/we_are.jpg "Small poster says, 'We are constantly invited to be what we are.' by Henry David Thoreau")
(Photographer unknown)
Please pray for all the babies born today; that they will be drawn into a deep relationship with God and bring others to Him.
Pray for all those that God calls home today; that He will grant them His grace of a good death, that is, one more chance to choose Him before they die.
And pray for all those in between so that His love, peace, and energy may touch our hearts in faith and hope, to be people of God.
Come, Thou holy Paraclete,
And from Thy celestial seat
Send Thy light and brilliancy;
Father of the poor, draw near;
Giver of all gifts, be here;
Come, the soul’s true radiancy.
Come, of comforters the best,
Of the soul the sweetest guest,
Come in toil refreshingly;
Thou in labor rest most sweet,
Thou art shadow from the heat,
Comfort in adversity.
O Thou Light, most pure and blest,
Shine within the inmost breast
Of Thy faithful company.
Where Thou art not, man hath naught;
Every holy deed and thought
Comes from Thy divinity.
What is soiled, make Thou pure;
What is wounded, work its cure;
What is parched, fructify;
What is rigid, gently bend;
What is frozen, warmly tend;
Strengthen what goes erringly.
Fill Thy faithful, who confide
In Thy power to guard and guide,
With Thy sevenfold mystery.
Here Thy grace and virtue send:
Grant salvation to the end,
And in Heaven felicity.
— Old Latin hymm, Veni Sancte Spiritus
In one day, yesterday, I noticed the hint of green among the barren trees along the road sides. The blossoms on the Bradford pear trees are beginning to open, preparing to share their white bouques with the world. The pair of swallows returned to their mud nest over the porch. A bull frog could be heard bellowing in the early night mist.
Aslan is coming. Life is reasserting itself. Death is conquered. The Paschal mystery is all around us.