Blending pastoral warmth, philosophical depth, storytelling skill, and literary craft, Mark Buchanan encourages Christians to make heaven, literally, our "fixation" -- filling our vision, gripping our heart, and anchoring our hope. Only then, says Buchanan, can we become truly fearless on this earth, free from the fear of losing our life, property, status, title, or comfort; free from the threat of tyrants, the power of armies, and the day of trouble. Buchanan reawakens the instinctive yearning for things above, showing that only the heavenly minded are of much earthly good. Clear, stylish typeset, with user-friendly links to referenced Scripture.
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|Title of Religion eBook: Things Unseen|
|Release Date: 01-04-2012|
|Allowed Countries (hover)|
|Publisher: The Doubleday Religious Publishing Group|
This eBook download is available in the following formats:
|Parent title||Things Unseen|
|Devices||Samsung Tablet, Apple Ipad & Iphone, Barnes & Noble Nook, Kobo eReader, Aluratek Libre, Iliad, Nokia, Blackberry, Hanlin|
|Note||ePub, short for electronic publication is one of our favorites and should be yours for a couple of reasons. ePub offers reflowable text giving you flexibility to manipulate how the content is presented. Moreover, lots of cool features are now being developed for the reader like advanced video and audio. ePub is now an industry standard, so all of the "non-propreitary" hardware manufacturers are now supporting it.|
Chapter OneEternity in Our Hearts
I have a memory that lives in me now like the ache of an old wound, like shrapnel closed up in my flesh. It is of my mother and father laughing. Laughter spills from them, candy from a burst piqata, and my brother and I scramble to be part of it, to get a handful, a mouthful, a life full.
We are on holiday. My father, whose work to him was often a heaviness and a dreariness, is light from two weeks of rest and play and silence. His chronic irritability, his swift, jerky snapping at things, is gone. He often looked as if he was constantly fighting invisible restraints-a failed Houdini who, no matter how much he thrust and twisted to loose the ropes and chains, couldn't slip free. But his usual motions of rigid haste have slowed and smoothed, and the things that three weeks ago would have made him explode in anger or withdraw in sullenness now just make him shrug or chuckle. My mother has relaxed into my father's softening mood. She has almost collapsed into it, thankful, weary, only now realizing how close she herself was to breaking.
We're in a cabin beside the sea, and it's morning. The sun comes up hot, sweet. It shimmers bright on the skin of things. Light pours into the room; even the shadows brim with it. The small cabin fills up with the smells of coffee and maple bacon and buttered toast. You can sleep in if you want, but no one wants to. My father is busy in the kitchen, cooking, singing. My mother is on the deck of the cabin, reading. She comes in.
Something goes wrong. I don't remember what. The toast burns, or the coffee spills, or something breaks. In t...