It does not matter, you understand, that you cannot see the highly polished surface of my oak desk. This is my clutter and I know exactly where everything is. Then I read the morning paper. Mothers kill their children. Sons kill their parents.
Brothers kill their sisters.
Parents kill each other. And I think about my dirt balls. Even when I wanted to drift. Twenty-four years ago babies started to come to live at our house. Each of them has made a personal, life-time commitment to Jesus Christ.