God makes our desert a garden; He turns our exile into homecoming.
MY MOTHER DIED when I was twenty-six. She was only fifty-seven. A few years before her death, she was diagnosed with cancer of the larynx. She fought it bravely, but, in time, it overtook her, and all too soon, by our accounts, she died.
We had a service led by an Air Force chaplain at a local
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Scripture:
Denomination:
Presbyterian/Reformed