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In 1 Samuel 21, we find David at perhaps his lowest point. He is a fugitive, running from Saul, and his desperation is palpable. It is a chapter that feels intensely human, marked by fear, hunger, and the frantic choices we make when we feel like we have run out of options.
The Bread of Presence: Mercy Over Ritual David’s encounter at Nob, where he requests the consecrated bread from Ahimelech the priest, is one of the most intriguing moments in his early journey. It serves as a striking reminder that the heart of God’s law is mercy. While the bread was strictly for the priests, Ahimelech recognizes the weight of David’s hunger and the necessity of sustaining life. It’s a moment that challenges our own rigid tendencies. When we are faced with the needs of others, do we prioritize the letter of the law, or do we, like Ahimelech, see the urgency of grace? The Fear of Gath: The Pressure to Perform Later in the chapter, we see David fleeing to Gath, the home of Goliath. The irony is heavy—David, the one who famously took down the Philistine giant, now finds himself in the heart of enemy territory. Paralyzed by the realization of his situation, David resorts to deception, acting insane to survive. It is a humbling sight. It reminds us that even the most faithful among us can be tempted to rely on our own craftiness rather than God’s protection when the pressure mounts. Finding Rest in the Wilderness These moments in David’s life serve as profound reminders for our own journeys. Even in our own "runaway" seasons, when we feel most desperate and alone, God’s providence remains a steady hand, sustaining us both physically and spiritually. David’s feigned madness reveals a deep human frailty—a tendency to rely on our own craftiness and deception when the path ahead seems dark. Yet, the beauty of this story is that God’s faithfulness is never contingent on our perfect performance or our ability to maintain a facade of strength. Instead, we are invited to set aside our frantic attempts at self-preservation and find true refuge in Him. Today, as you face your own "wilderness" moments, take comfort in the fact that you are known, you are sustained, and you are held by a God whose grace is far greater than your own tactical errors. You can stop running; you can stop performing. You can simply rest in His care.
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In the grand narrative of Scripture, 1 Samuel 20 stands out not because of a military victory or a prophecy fulfilled, but because of a profoundly human moment. It is the chapter of the covenant—a quiet, intense agreement made in the shadow of a murderous throne.
When we read the story of David and Jonathan, it is easy to view their relationship as a simple friendship. But the text describes something much deeper, something sacred. We are told that "he loved him as he loved his own soul" (1 Samuel 20:17). This wasn't just a casual camaraderie; it was a covenant of the soul. The Complexity of Loyalty As I reflect on this chapter, I am struck by the immense emotional burden Jonathan carried. He was caught in the impossible space between the king he was expected to honor and the man he knew God had chosen. Most of us will never face the literal spear of a king, but we all face the challenge of competing loyalties. We live in a world where family expectations, professional pressures, and cultural norms often demand our total allegiance. Jonathan’s example teaches us that true integrity sometimes requires us to stand against the expectations of those we love most, in order to stand for the truth of what is right. Jonathan chose the path of righteousness over the path of inheritance. He recognized that his father’s erratic, violent behavior was a corruption of the very kingdom he was meant to protect. In protecting David, Jonathan was essentially forfeiting his own claim to the throne. That is the cost of a true, covenantal friendship: it demands that we prioritize God’s purposes over our own comfort or position. Refuges in the Storm It is a sobering reality that God often provides the people we need just before the darkness sets in. David was facing a terrifying unknown; his life was hanging in the balance. God didn’t just send David a survival strategy; He sent him Jonathan. This reminds me that we were never intended to walk through our most difficult seasons in isolation. The "arrows" we fire into the dark—our prayers for guidance, our desperate cries for clarity—are often answered through the faithful presence of others. Do we have people in our lives whose souls are knit to ours? Are we cultivating the kind of relationships that are sturdy enough to bear the weight of our struggles? The Quiet Courage of Sacrifice The end of the chapter—the tearful, desperate farewell—is heart-wrenching. It signals the end of their visible partnership. Jonathan and David would rarely see each other again. Yet, there is a beauty in this ending. It acknowledges that even the best human relationships have limits. Jonathan could protect David, he could advocate for him, and he could love him, but he could not walk the rest of David’s journey for him. This is a lesson for us as well. We are called to be "Jonathans" for the people in our lives—to be the shield, the advocate, and the loyal friend who helps them navigate the threats they face. But we must also learn to release those we love into God’s care. Our loyalty is profound, but it is not the ultimate source of safety. That belongs solely to the Lord. A Challenge for Today As I close this reflection, I am left with a simple question: How can I be a better covenant friend? Am I someone who is willing to sacrifice my own reputation or convenience to stand up for the truth? Am I cultivating the kind of depth in my relationships that can withstand the tests of time and conflict? May we be a people who are quick to form covenants of the soul—friends who watch out for one another, speak the truth in love, and hold each other up, even when the spears are flying. And may we find our ultimate rest in the knowledge that while human friends are a precious gift, the Lord is the true Protector of our souls. Reading through 1 Samuel 19, the atmosphere feels thick with tension. If the previous chapters were about the rising sun of David’s life, this chapter is the moment the storm clouds finally break. Saul has moved from internal jealousy to open, unbridled hostility. It is a sobering, even jarring chapter to read, but it offers a profound look at the anatomy of fear and the relentless nature of God’s providence.
The Volatility of Fear One of the most striking things about 1 Samuel 19 is Saul’s inconsistency. One moment, he is listening to Jonathan’s pleas and swearing an oath: "As the Lord lives, he shall not be put to death" (1 Samuel 19:6). The very next moment, the "evil spirit" returns, and he is throwing a spear at David with the intent to pin him to the wall. It is a stark reminder of what happens when we let fear take the driver's seat. Fear is a terrible counselor; it makes us unstable. It causes us to make promises we don't intend to keep and to act in ways that contradict our own better judgment. Saul thought he was fighting for his throne, but in reality, he was fighting against his own character, his own peace, and ultimately, against the will of God. It serves as a warning for us: when we let insecurity dictate our actions, we lose the ability to remain consistent, honest, and grounded. The Unexpected Protection of God While the chapter focuses heavily on Saul’s rage, it is equally a story about the creative ways God protects those whom He has called. David’s survival doesn't come through his own military might or through a calculated rebellion against his king. Instead, his safety comes through the intervention of others—Jonathan’s courage, Michal’s quick-thinking deception, and eventually, the Spirit of God Himself. The scene where Saul’s messengers are sent to capture David is perhaps the most ironic of the entire book. Every time they get close to David, they are overcome by the Spirit of God and begin to prophesy. Even Saul, when he finally goes himself, is stripped of his dignity and his intent, falling down in a prophetic trance. It is a vivid demonstration that no amount of human authority or malice can bypass the purposes of God. Saul held the spear, he held the army, and he held the throne, but he did not hold the final word. When God determines to protect someone, He can turn the hearts of messengers and disarm the enemy in ways we would never anticipate. Finding Safety in the Storm As I reflect on this narrative, it challenges me to consider how I respond when the "spears" are thrown in my own life. It is easy to be paralyzed by the threats we see in front of us. We often focus so intently on the one who is angry or the situation that is spiraling out of control that we forget who is actually holding the future. This chapter encourages me to stop looking at the threats through the lens of my own limited strength. David was not a match for the king of Israel, but he was under the covering of the King of Kings. Today, if you feel like you are dodging spears or waiting for a window of escape, remember that God’s presence is not fragile. He is not surprised by the volatility of the world around us, and He is fully capable of intervening in the most unexpected ways to accomplish His plan. We don't have to live in a state of frantic self-preservation; we can live with the quiet confidence that we are held by a God who sees, who intervenes, and who ultimately reigns. In reading through 1 Samuel 18, I find myself struck not by the politics or the military victories, but by the quiet, powerful moments that happen behind the scenes of a crumbling throne. It is a chapter of sharp contrasts: the rising sun of David’s life and the setting sun of Saul’s reign. Yet, the most compelling part for me is the texture of the relationships that define this chapter.
The Power of Covenant Friendship We see a sudden, transformative bond form between Jonathan and David. The text tells us that "the soul of Jonathan was knit to the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul" (1 Samuel 18:1). In the context of a royal court—where you would expect rivalry, caution, and guarded ambition—we find an anomaly. Jonathan, the heir apparent, doesn't view David as a threat to his future; he views him as a brother. He strips himself of his robe, his armor, his sword, and his belt, effectively saying, "What is mine is yours." It’s a sobering reminder that God often provides the covenant support we need just before we face our greatest challenges. David didn’t know the intensity of the storm that was about to hit him, but God had already placed Jonathan in his path to steady his heart. Do we have those kinds of friendships? Do we have people in our lives whose souls are knit to ours, who see the call of God on our lives and choose to celebrate it rather than compete with it? The Trap of Comparison Conversely, we watch the tragedy of Saul. His life becomes defined by what others are saying and by the arithmetic of comparison. "Saul has struck down his thousands, and David his ten thousands" (1 Samuel 18:7). That’s all he hears. He becomes a prisoner of public opinion and his own insecurities. It is a devastating picture of what happens when we stop looking at God and start obsessing over our status in the eyes of others. Saul’s fear isn’t actually of David—it’s a fear of the truth he can no longer suppress: "Saul was afraid of David because the Lord was with him but had departed from Saul" (1 Samuel 18:12). The Presence of God This is the hinge upon which the whole chapter turns. The presence of God is a comfort to the faithful and a terror to the resentful. David, despite his successes, remained a man who walked with the Lord. Saul, despite his position, became a man who walked in the shadows of his own mind. I am left with this thought: Are we so consumed by counting our "thousands" versus someone else’s "ten thousands" that we miss the presence of God right in front of us? Comparison is a thief of joy, but more than that, it is a thief of our mission. It causes us to lash out at the very people God may have placed in our lives for our protection or growth. My prayer this morning is to be like Jonathan—a person who celebrates God’s work in others without fear of losing my own place. And I pray to remain like David—a person whose reputation is managed by the Lord, not by my own defensive maneuvering. May our hearts be knit to the right things, and may we live with the confidence that when the Lord is with us, we have everything we need, regardless of the throne, the spear, or the song of the crowd. The shadow of a giant can feel all-consuming. When I read through 1 Samuel 17, I am struck not just by the battle, but by the paralysis that came before it. The armies of Israel stood on the hillside, watching the champion of the Philistines mock them day after day. It is easy to look back with judgment, but in the quiet moments of my own life—when I face an obstacle that feels immovable or a fear that seems to grow larger the more I look at it—I recognize that same trembling.
We have a tendency to measure our problems by our own capacity to solve them. When the "Goliath" in front of us is stronger, louder, or more imposing than our own resources, the natural response is fear. We start calculating the odds, and the math never looks good. A Change in Vantage Point David’s arrival on the scene changes the vantage point. He doesn’t walk onto the battlefield with the confidence of a seasoned warrior, but with the posture of someone who has a completely different frame of reference. While everyone else is calculating the giant's physical threat, David is reflecting on the character of God. He isn't concerned with the giant’s height; he is concerned with the giant’s defiance against the Living God. This distinction is everything. Reflecting on this today, I am realizing how often I try to "suit up" in armor that doesn't fit, hoping to match my enemy’s strength with a version of myself that isn't authentic to my relationship with God. I try to prepare in ways that the world tells me are necessary, only to find myself restricted by expectations that aren't mine to carry. David reminded me that trusting God means operating from the truth of who He is, not from the fear of who we are standing against. Fixing Our Eyes on Sovereignty The lesson for me isn't that I need to be a giant-slayer. It’s that I need to stop fixating on the size of my problems and start fixing my eyes on the magnitude of God’s sovereignty. The giants in our lives—whether they are anxieties, broken relationships, or uncertain futures—are real, but they are not the defining factor. The defining factor is whose side we are on and whose name we are leaning into. When we shift our focus from our own inadequacies to the reality of God’s presence, the fear begins to lose its paralyzing grip. It doesn't mean the fight becomes easy; it means we are no longer fighting it as if the outcome depends solely on our own limited strength. We fight with the assurance that we are walking in a story much larger than ourselves. In the narrative of 1 Samuel 16, there is a powerful tension between what is visible and what is vital. When Samuel arrives in Bethlehem to anoint the next king of Israel, he is immediately drawn to the eldest son, Eliab. Everything about Eliab—his height, his stature, his confidence—screams "leader" by human standards. It is a natural reaction; we are wired to assess value based on the metrics of the world around us.
Yet, God’s response to Samuel provides a piercing corrective: "For the Lord sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart" (1 Samuel 16:7). Beyond Outward Appearances This chapter serves as a profound disruption to our own tendency to prioritize the external. We often curate our lives for display—our successes, our public roles, our visible achievements—hoping that these will validate our standing. But this passage reminds us that God is completely unswayed by the "resume" we present. He is interested in the interior architecture of our character, the private reality of our devotion, and the sincerity of our spirit. Faithfulness in the Unseen What strikes me most is David’s position when he is called. He was not jockeying for position, nor was he present at the ritual feast. He was out in the field, doing the work of a shepherd. While his brothers were being considered, David was occupied with the humble, often overlooked tasks of his calling. He was faithful in the small, invisible moments long before he was ever recognized in the public ones. There is deep encouragement here. We often fear that our contributions go unseen, or that because we are not currently occupying a "high-profile" role, we are missing our moment of significance. But David’s story teaches us that being "unseen" by people is not the same as being "unknown" to God. He knew exactly where David was. The Lord was watching David’s faithfulness in the pasture, preparing him for the throne long before he ever held the horn of oil. A Challenge to Our Metrics As I reflect on this, it challenges me to stop looking at my own life through the lens of human metrics. Am I so busy trying to look the part of a "successful" Christian that I’ve neglected the quiet work of guarding my heart? Am I so concerned with being recognized that I’ve undervalued the importance of being faithful in my own "field"? God is not looking for the most impressive candidate; He is looking for a heart that is fully His. May we be people who are more concerned with what God sees in the quiet of our private lives than with what the world sees in our public ones. 1 Samuel 15 brings us face-to-face with a difficult, sobering reality about the nature of true worship. As we watch King Saul engage with God’s explicit command to utterly destroy the Amalekites, we are forced to look inward at our own habits of partial obedience. Saul’s error wasn't that he did nothing; it was that he did "almost" everything. He left Agag alive and kept the best of the livestock, rationalizing his choices under the guise of religious sacrifice.
It is a haunting reminder that we, too, can be quite busy with religious activity while simultaneously bypassing the actual heart of God’s instruction. We often find ourselves "sacrificing" time or energy while holding onto the things God has specifically asked us to release. The Mask of Rationalization We often mask our reluctance to fully yield behind the language of stewardship or wisdom. We tell ourselves that keeping a "little piece" of what should be discarded is simply being practical or preparing for the future. This subtle rationalization is a dangerous form of spiritual negotiation, where we attempt to maintain control while appearing to follow God. It is in these quiet justifications that our hearts drift from true submission, prioritizing our own comfort and logic over the absolute authority of His word. The Trap of Blame-Shifting The conversation between Samuel and Saul is perhaps one of the most painful in all of Scripture. When confronted, Saul’s immediate instinct is to shift the blame. "The people took," he says, distancing himself from the decision. How often do I make excuses when I am challenged? How quickly do I point to external circumstances or the influence of others rather than owning my own lack of surrender? Samuel’s response—the eternal truth that "to obey is better than sacrifice" (1 Samuel 15:22)—cuts through the noise. It serves as a stark correction for anyone who thinks they can negotiate with God. We cannot compensate for a lack of submission by adding more "religious" deeds. God is not interested in our bargaining; He is looking for a heart that is fully yielded, even when the command is difficult or requires us to let go of something we value. The Fear of Man Deep within Saul’s blame-shifting was a paralyzing fear of man. He cared more about maintaining his status before the people than his standing before the Lord. This same instinct often drives us to prioritize our public image over our private integrity. When we allow the opinions of others to dictate our responses to God’s calling, we effectively crown the crowd as our king. This fear blinds us, making the immediate pressure of human expectation seem more real and urgent than the eternal weight of God’s quiet command. A Call to Undivided Surrender Today, I am challenged to examine those areas where I am settling for partial obedience. Am I holding onto a remnant of something I should have surrendered? Are there excuses I am crafting to justify my own path? My prayer is that my life would be defined not by the "sacrifices" I offer as a cover-up, but by a genuine, undivided heart that seeks to obey Him completely. Ultimately, the cost of such surrender is high, yet it is paid in the currency of the heart. True, deep obedience is rarely a public spectacle; it happens in the quiet, unseen places where no one is watching but God. It is in the middle of the night or the silence of a difficult decision that we choose to let go of our pride, our plans, and our "Agags." These hidden victories of the soul are where real spiritual authority is born, transforming us from those who merely offer sacrifices into those whose lives are the sacrifice. 1 Samuel 14 stands as a striking study in contrasts. As I read through this chapter, I am repeatedly drawn to the visual difference between the two main leaders: King Saul, who sits idly under a pomegranate tree with his six hundred men, and his son Jonathan, who scales a dangerous cliff with nothing but his armor-bearer and a conviction that the battle belongs to the Lord.
The "May" of Faith It is easy to misread Jonathan’s actions as reckless, but there is a profound theological depth to his approach. He doesn’t claim to know the future; he doesn’t have a written guarantee of success. Instead, he speaks the language of holy hope: "It may be that the Lord will work for us, for nothing can hinder the Lord from saving by many or by few" (1 Samuel 14:6). This is a powerful distinction. Jonathan wasn't acting on a hunch or a feeling; he was acting on the character of God. He understood that God’s power is not contingent on human strength or numbers. In my own life, I find that I often want the guarantee before I take the step. I want to see the "many" on my side—the resources, the support, and the clear path—before I move forward. But 1 Samuel 14 challenges that desire for control. Sometimes, the most faithful place to be is on a jagged cliff, trusting that the God who saves is greater than the obstacles standing in the way. The Paralysis of Passivity While Jonathan is moving, Saul is waiting. The contrast is sobering. Saul has become stagnant, seemingly more concerned with maintaining his position than engaging in the mission God had for him. There is a danger here that we all face: the temptation to retreat into the shadows of comfort while the work of the Kingdom remains undone. Saul’s passivity reminds me that spiritual stagnation often masquerades as caution. We can convince ourselves that we are just "waiting on the Lord," when in reality, we might be hiding from the challenges He has called us to face. Jonathan’s boldness doesn’t mean he was ignoring God; it meant he was actively seeking to participate in what God was already doing. The Sovereignty of the Outcome The most encouraging takeaway from this chapter is the reminder of who ultimately wins the victory. Whether the breakthrough comes through a small group of faithful believers or a great army, the credit belongs to the Lord. Saul’s rash oath later in the chapter serves as a stark warning about the danger of human zeal detached from God’s wisdom. It highlights how even those who claim to serve God can get in the way of His work when they prioritize their own arbitrary rules over His grace. It is a humble reminder that our own efforts, even when well-intentioned, must always be submitted to His sovereignty. A Challenge for Today As I close this chapter, I am left with a question that lingers: What is my "garrison of the Philistines"? Where am I hesitating? Where am I waiting for a guarantee when I should be stepping out in faith? God is not looking for human perfection or massive numbers. He is looking for hearts that are convinced of His power—hearts that believe "nothing can hinder the Lord." May I have the courage today to leave the comfort of the shade, climb the cliff, and trust that He is the one who ultimately wins the battle. There are moments in life where the pressure feels insurmountable. The walls seem to be closing in, resources feel scarce, and the people we are responsible for are looking to us for an answer—or at the very least, a move.
Reading through 1 Samuel 13 this morning, I couldn’t help but be struck by Saul’s situation. He was at Gilgal, surrounded by a terrified army that was slowly deserting him. The Philistines were massing for war, and Saul was waiting for Samuel to arrive to offer the burnt offering. The text tells us Saul waited the seven days that Samuel had appointed, but when Samuel didn’t show up, the pressure broke him. He didn't wait any longer. He took matters into his own hands, offered the sacrifice himself, and in doing so, stepped over a line he shouldn’t have crossed. The Trap of Holy Panic It is easy to judge Saul from the comfort of our own lives. We look back and say, "He should have waited." But how often do I find myself in that same state of "holy panic"? When a situation is spiraling, when the outcome is uncertain, and when God’s timing feels sluggish compared to the urgency of the moment, the temptation to take control is almost irresistible. Saul’s mistake wasn’t just a logistical error; it was a crisis of trust. He prioritized the immediate need for a military advantage over the fundamental requirement of obedience. He convinced himself that he was doing something "necessary" to save the day, failing to realize that obedience to God is always more significant than the immediate solution we think we need to engineer. Prioritizing Obedience Over Outcomes Samuel’s rebuke is devastatingly clear: "You have done foolishly. You have not kept the command of the Lord your God." It’s a sobering reminder for anyone in a position of leadership or influence: the goal is never just to get the job done. The goal is to walk in obedience while the job is being done. When we operate out of fear or impatience, we often trade our integrity for a temporary sense of control. We prioritize the "results" over the One who gives them. As I look at this passage today, I’m challenged to examine my own heart for areas where I am taking control because I’m afraid of what might happen if I wait on God. Am I willing to trust God’s silence and God’s timing, even when the pressure is mounting? The end of the chapter mentions that God was seeking a "man after his own heart" (1 Samuel 13:14). It is a profound contrast to the scene at Gilgal. While Saul was busy managing the optics and the immediate crises, God was looking for a heart that was aligned with His—not a heart that was preoccupied with its own competence, but one that was centered on His character. May we be a people who are less concerned with "fixing" our circumstances and more concerned with keeping the command of the Lord. May we learn to wait, to trust, and to remember that true stability isn’t found in our own frantic activity, but in the steadfastness of the One who holds the future. There is a unique gravity to a farewell. In 1 Samuel 12, we find Samuel at the end of his long, faithful tenure as judge. He stands before all of Israel, not to celebrate his own resume, but to clear his conscience. He asks a piercing question: "Whose ox have I taken? Or whose donkey have I taken? Or whom have I defrauded?" (1 Samuel 12:3).
It is a striking moment of transparency. In a world where leadership is often defined by accumulation, power, and prestige, Samuel’s final act is to hold up a mirror to his own integrity. He wasn't perfect, but he was blameless. He stands there as a man who finished well, ready to hand over the mantle because he had served the people without exploiting them. But the tone of the chapter shifts quickly. While the people affirm Samuel's integrity, the underlying tension of the narrative remains: they have demanded a king. They are standing at the threshold of a new era, having decided that the security of a human monarch is preferable to the invisible, sovereign rule of God. The Illusion of Human Security Samuel recounts the history of Israel—not to punish them, but to show them the pattern of God’s rescue. From Egypt to the wilderness, through the periods of oppression and liberation, Yahweh had been their King. When they were in trouble, they cried out, and He delivered them. The tragic irony in this chapter is palpable. The people asked for a king because they wanted to be "like the nations," believing that a visible, earthly ruler would provide the stability they lacked. They were essentially trading the Creator for a creature. They believed that by controlling the variables—by putting a person in charge who would fight their battles—they could finally be safe. It is easy to judge the people of Israel for this. Yet, I wonder how often I do the same thing. How often do I look for security in the wrong places? When I feel anxious about the future or uncertain about my circumstances, my first instinct is rarely to rest in the unseen sovereignty of God. Instead, I find myself looking for a "king"—a strategy, a resource, a specific outcome, or a person to blame or rely on. I look for visible structures to provide the peace that only God can offer. The Call to Fear and Serve God’s response to their demand is both sobering and deeply merciful. He sends thunder and rain in the wheat harvest—an unnatural, alarming sign—to show them their wickedness in rejecting Him. Yet, even in this rebuke, there is a path forward. Samuel tells them, "Do not be afraid; you have done all this evil. Yet do not turn aside from following the Lord, but serve the Lord with all your heart" (1 Samuel 12:20). There is so much grace in that "Yet." Even when we have strayed, even when we have insisted on our own way and rejected God’s better plan, the invitation remains: don't turn away. Don't let your mistake become your destination. Instead, return to the One who has been faithful through it all. The final charge is simple, yet it requires everything: "Only fear the Lord and serve him faithfully with all your heart. For consider what great things he has done for you" (1 Samuel 12:24). This is the antidote to the anxiety of living in a world that feels unstable. We don't need to craft our own kingdoms or seek security in "the nations." We simply need to look back at what He has done, acknowledge His power, and commit to serving Him with an undivided heart. Today, that feels like a quiet, steadying challenge. It’s an invitation to stop looking for other kings, to stop building my own security, and to center my life—once again—on the King who has proven His love through every season. |
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Office Hours: Mon-Fri, 9am-3pm. | (c) 2024, Dryden Full Gospel Church