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When His Breath Speaks: Yesterday, I found myself in a conversation that stirred something deeper in me. A family member was upset about the nickname our grandkids have given my husband—they’ve taken to calling him Grumpy instead of Grandpa. Now, if you know him, it fits. He can be grumpy at times. But when those little voices call out “Grumpy!” with affection in their tone, it never fails to turn his frown into a smile. Still, this loved one expressed concern, quoting the Scripture: “Life and death are in the power of the tongue.” — Proverbs 18:21 They believed the nickname was speaking something harmful over him. I tried to explain, gently, that perhaps the verse was being misunderstood. But eventually, I stopped debating and asked Abba to speak to their heart—because they weren’t going to hear it from me. That moment sent me into reflection. What does this verse really mean? 💭 Sitting with the Scripture I sat with it. I asked Abba again, “What is this verse truly saying?” It’s from the Old Testament—a part of Scripture that points us toward Jesus , revealing who He is and what He would accomplish. So let’s break it down. Life and death… in the power of the tongue. We know Jesus brings life. But what about death? The verse points us toward the power of words , which led me to think of His words—of Jesus’ tongue . But how could His words bring death, when He is only life? This family member offered this argument: “Even if that verse refers to Jesus’ tongue, His breath is in us. So if we speak negatively, it’s His breath flowing out of us.” I paused there. I can get on board with Jesus’ breath in me . But I struggled with the idea that His breath would bring death because of something I say. Because if my words have the power to give or take life, then… Why did Jesus need to die at all? If I could save myself or destroy myself with my own words, what was the cross for? ✝️ The Final Word It all came full circle when I remembered the words Jesus spoke at the end: “It is finished.” — John 19:30 With His tongue , He spoke life to all of us. He conquered death with His words. He didn’t bring death—He defeated it. And He still does. 🕊️ Living Free So no, I don’t live in fear of what I say anymore. Growing up, I used to worry constantly about whether my words would bring blessing or curse. Not anymore. I’m free. Free to speak. Free to laugh. Free to call my husband Grumpy if it brings joy to the room. Because I’m no longer the source of life or death— Jesus is . And the more my heart stays fixed on Him, the more my words reflect His goodness. But even when they don’t… He is still enough. 💬 Reflection It’s not my words that hold power. It’s His. And they’ve already spoken life over me. 📖 Scripture References: Proverbs 18:21 – “Death and life are in the power of the tongue…” John 19:30 – “When Jesus had received the sour wine, He said, ‘It is finished.’” 🤍 I’d love to hear from you: Have you ever wrestled with the fear of “speaking death”? What helped you walk in freedom? Drop a comment below, or share how His words have brought life to your heart lately.

Last weekend I went to North Carolina for an event our pastor hosted, called “On Earth as it is in Heaven.” I walked away full of the Bread of Life. I incorporated all my notes that stood out from the different speakers and our group talks into this chapter in Ehud’s story that I am writing next: The ears of the Father are never far from the voice of a child who calls Him Abba. I don’t expect to see him again. Not after all these years. Not after the hiding and the shame. But when he walks into the edge of the market square wrapped in the same old linen robes, beard longer, eyes hollowed by time and regret, I know immediately. The priest from my childhood. He sees me too. His eyes widen, then narrow, as if searching for the boy he once dismissed. I rise from my seat near the olive barrels, heart pounding not with anger, but with a grief unhealed. He speaks first. “Ehud.” I nod. “You remember.” “I never forgot.” I motion him aside, away from the noise of barter and Moabite sneers. We walk in silence to a shaded place behind the well; the stones worn smooth by years of prayers—some answered, most not. At least not in the way many wanted them answered. He turns to face me. “I’ve heard you speaking. Preaching. Training. Whispered tales say your words carry the old teachings. That people are listening.” “They are not my words, but yes. Our people are listening.” His shoulders sag. “And what do you tell them?” I stare at him. “I tell them that Jehovah has not changed. That He sings still. Even if they’ve forgotten the sound.” His mouth twists, bitter. “You are a better man than I.” “No, but I remember. And I’m not afraid of what the remembering demands.” His hand trembles as he leans against the stone wall. “Do you think I haven’t tried? I gave everything once—my years, my strength. And what did it bring? Silence. Loss. The children of Israel mocking my prayers. The Moabites laughing as I lit empty fires.” My jaw tightens. “So you stopped lighting them.” His eyes flash. “Wouldn’t you? When the heavens feel as hard as bronze?” “No, because Abba never stopped listening. You did.” He stares at me. I see the pain behind the fury, the guilt behind the excuses. “I thought you’d understand,” he says. “I do, but I won’t let you stay there.” I step forward. My voice rises—not in anger, but conviction. The words are not mine. They never are. They pour from a well deeper than grief, older than silence. “Tell me about the god you don’t believe in.” He blinks. “What?” “Describe him. This god who abandons. Who demands strength without mercy. Who watches while his people suffer and does nothing. Tell me about that god.” He shakes his head, jaw clenched. “That’s the only god I’ve known these past years.” “Wow,” I whisper under my breath. “I don’t believe in that god either.” His arms fall to his sides. “The truth is,” I step closer, “our Abba never leaves you to save yourself. Never. That was never the plan. Never the promise.” He closes his eyes, breathing ragged. “Jehovah never leaves you to do anything by yourself. Not fight. Not grieve. Not repent. Not rejoice. Not even pray.” His lips tremble. “Let your circumstances say whatever they want,” I add. “What Jehovah says is the only truth.” His eyes meet mine, glassy with tears he hasn’t let fall in years. “Every other god only offers hope for an eternity. Jehovah gives you Himself. ” His knees buckle. He sinks onto the stone edge of the well. “The milk and honey will return to the land,” I promise. “Not because we earn it. Because He longs to dwell with His children again.” “I failed,” he rasps. “We all have.” “I taught law. Discipline. Duty.” I nod. “That’s because the deepest need inside a human is the need to feel safe.” He covers his face with his hands. “I wanted to make them holy.” “But the pursuit of God was never about perfecting people. It was always about making us part of His family.” A sob breaks free from his chest. I kneel beside him. “It is unmerited,” I continue, “because you cannot work for it, earn it, or pay for it. It’s not for sale.” He clutches at my robe like a man drowning. “How do I return? How do I lead when I am so broken?” “You’ve not been asked to produce this life.” I touch his shoulder. “Only to receive it.” He groans and lets the tears come. I put my hand on his back and wait. When his sobs quiet, I speak again, low but sure. “Don’t give my children principles to work, but bread to eat.” He breathes in like the air is new. “You knew this once,” I say. “I lost it.” “You remember now.” He looks at me, and there is light in his eyes. Small, flickering, but real. “Come, let us call the people. Let us remind them of their Father’s voice.” He stands. Not with pride. With purpose. Together, we walk to the square. He lifts his hands. I raise my voice. And we call them home. “Return,” I cry out to all nearby, “to the One who gave you milk and honey. Not just for your lips—but to show you His goodness.” “Return,” he echoes, “to the One who is not far, but near.” “Return,” I cry, “to Abba.” A crowd gathers. Faces lift. Tears fall.

I’ve been meditating on the knowledge of good and evil and sitting with Jesus, asking Him about this topic. What follows is a reflection born out of my time with Him—broken down question by question, just as it unfolded in my heart. What is the one and only thing that the Father did not want for His children? The very first command God gave us was not about morality, labor, or worship—it was about not knowing good and evil. Therefore, the one and only thing Jehovah never wanted for us was: the burden of knowing good and evil for ourselves. He didn’t want any of us carrying the weight of judgment , the need to define right and wrong apart from Him , or the consequences of moral independence. The first thing He told His children wasn’t about doing, but not doing . “You are free to eat from any tree… but you must not eat from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.” – Genesis 2:16–17 This tree was not a trap. It was a boundary drawn by love. He never wanted us to bear the burden of deciding good and evil for ourselves—because that was never meant to be ours to carry. He wanted us to have a life lived in His presence, not one filled with anxiety over moral perfection. Eating from the tree wasn’t about a piece of fruit—it was about autonomy. It was us saying, “I’ll decide for myself. I’ll be like God.” And that is the one and only thing He never wanted: For us to try to be like Him without Him. Is it logical to say that partaking of the knowledge of good and evil brought death to us—and that God never wanted that? When Adam and Eve chose to eat—they stepped into a realm God never intended for them: the realm of judgment. They became aware of nakedness. Of shame. Of fear. Of separation. Eating from the tree ushered in the very thing God warned them about: death entered the world—not just physical, but emotional and spiritual. But even in that moment, God’s heart was protective. God’s next move wasn’t vengeance. It was mercy . “He drove out the man… lest he reach out his hand and take also of the tree of life and eat, and live forever.” (Genesis 3:22–24) This wasn’t cruel. This was the kindest boundary ever drawn. Because to live forever in a broken state—with the weight of guilt, fear, pain, and the knowledge of both good and evil— would have been eternal torment. Removing access to the tree of life was an act of love. Is it logical to say that the Father sent His Son, Jesus, to redeem us from the knowledge of good and evil and its consequences? When Adam and Eve ate from the tree, we all gained: The burden of moral judgment Shame (they covered themselves) Fear (they hid) Separation from God And ultimately, death Jesus came to undo all of that : He took our shame: “Who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame…” (Hebrews 12:2) He abolished fear: “Perfect love drives out fear…” (1 John 4:18) He reconciled us: “Through Him to reconcile to Himself all things…” (Colossians 1:20) He overcame death: “I am the resurrection and the life…” (John 11:25) The Father sent His only begotten Son, Jesus, to redeem us from the knowledge that broke us—the burden of trying to live by our own judgment of good and evil. Through Jesus, we return to what was lost: intimacy, life, and trust in God’s voice above our own. Through Him, we are no longer slaves to shame, fear, and moral self-reliance. “I am the way, the truth, and the life.” (John 14:6) He didn’t offer more knowledge—He offered Himself. Is it logical to say that if today we ask God for the knowledge of good and evil it is actually against His will for us? Asking God for the knowledge of good and evil is asking Him to give us something He never wanted for us. It’s not a request rooted in trust, but in fear and control. It is asking for the very thing He sent Jesus to rescue us from: a life defined by moral judgment instead of relational intimacy. The tree was off-limits not because God was withholding power, but because He was protecting innocence and intimacy. Knowing good and evil apart from God means trying to be righteous without relationship. So yes, asking God for the knowledge of good and evil today still reflects that same misstep : wanting to judge , rather than trust . Jesus didn’t come to upgrade our moral awareness —He came to restore our dependence on the Father. The New Covenant doesn’t promise better knowledge—it offers a better relationship : “ They will all know me.” (Jeremiah 31:34) He came to lead us back to the voice of God . Asking our Father for the knowledge of good and evil misses the point of redemption. It’s a form of saying: “I want to know what’s right so I can handle life without needing You.” But Jesus said: “I am the vine; you are the branches. Apart from me, you can do nothing.” (John 15:5) Is it logical to say that asking the Father for this knowledge is history repeating itself—that it’s the serpent tempting us again? The enemy hasn’t changed tactics—just packaging. Today, it might sound more spiritual: “God, show me what’s right and wrong so I can walk perfectly.” “Help me judge rightly so I never mess up.” “Make me wise so I don’t need to rely on others.” But underneath it all is the same seed: “I don’t want to walk with You—I want to walk on my own.” That is still the voice of the serpent. It tempts us to substitute intimacy with information , relationship with religious self-sufficiency . In Genesis 3:5, the serpent said: “God knows that when you eat from it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.” That temptation wasn’t about fruit—it was about control. About becoming like God without God. When we ask today for the knowledge of good and evil, we echo that same temptation: “Give me enough insight so I can walk this life on my own.” But Jesus shows a better way: “I do nothing on my own… I speak just what the Father has taught me.” (John 8:28) “Not my will, but Yours be done.” (Luke 22:42) He didn’t reach for the fruit. He reached for the Father. What I’ve concluded after sitting with the Holy Spirit and asking these questions is that: God never wanted us to carry the knowledge of good and evil. He wanted us to walk with Him. To hear His voice. To rest in His presence. So no, I won’t ask for the knowledge of good and evil. I will ask for closeness. For daily bread. For my Father’s voice. For His presence.

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Tiffany Ann is excited to live out her dream of putting her stories on paper and sharing them. She’s written over twenty novels. Her books aim to capture the hearts of those who believe in true love, with every story ending in a happily ever after. Tiffany Ann Book, LLC Pens as Tiffany Ann, paranormal romance • Tiffany Parker, biblical historical fiction • Tiffany Buras Parker, historical fiction • Tiffany B. Parker, women’s fiction TIFFANY B. PARKER As Tiffany B. Parker, I offer cozy women’s fiction: warmth, heart, humor, friendship, and hope. This series premiers in 2026. Stay tuned. The Laughing Years: Unruffled & Unstoppable – Series Overview "Where age is just a number, drama is served with dessert or mimosas, and nobody eats alone unless they want to." When 78-year-old Jennifer, a newly widowed firecracker with a knack for organizing chaos, inherits a piece of land outside town, she doesn’t just build herself a home — she creates a haven. Eight cozy cottages, each for a pair of best friends, sisters, or partners-in-crime, all connected to a big, beautiful kitchen where mealtime means belly laughs, strong drinks, and stories that make you say, “Did she really just say that?” Golden Girls meets Steel Magnolias — unapologetic humor, fierce friendship, late-life adventures, and a whole lot of heart. Yes, there will be laughter, but there will also be tears. Working Book Titles: 1. Unruffled and Unrepentant – Jennifer (founding the haven) 2. Unruffled and Unveiled – Lani (kitchen queen, family secret) 3. Unruffled and Unafraid – Marigold & Fern (caregiving through loss) 4. Unruffled and Unexpected – Maxine (introvert turned reluctant leader) 5. Unruffled and Unattached – Clara (romance against the odds) 6. Unruffled and Unfiltered – Evelyn (scandal leads to liberation) 7. Unruffled and Unbound – Iris (homebody turned local celebrity) 8. Unruffled and Unrestrained – Roxy (wild adventures with Jennifer) 9. Unruffled and Unhurried – Franny (overcoming worry and lateness) 10. Unruffled and Unbreakable – Vivian & Mae (bickering half-sisters united)