Poems

All that I am 

LOVE 

Long dry spell … little inspiration … few healings …    a whole lot of turmoil … a DROUGHT.

Audio Collection

Anthology of classic articles III

Listen to this inspiring collection of articles.

From Overcoming grief

What death does not do

We go on gaining moment by moment in the understanding that God is the only real Life.

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A book on Christian healing,1 a new-old message revealingGod’s love for man and unsealingthe gates of New Jerusalem.

Write for JSH

Inspired by a poem? Consider writing and sharing your own! Find out more by visiting Writer’s Corner.

Write for JSH

Now 

Healing 

is not a distant promisenor hope for change someday;it is an eternal factof God’s harmony now in play.

Audio Collection

Shared reflections

Listen to this inspiring collection of articles or download the audio.

Audio Collection

A spiritual perspective on politics

We've gathered a variety of guests for this series, each with wonderful spiritual insights and proof that these spiritual ideas are effective—even for something that looms large, like politics.

From Conquering hate, enthroning peace

Love's triumph over hate

How can we love when others hate? Prayerful turning to God, divine Love, with the earnest desire to express His qualities under all circumstances will give us strength and ability to do right.

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From Freedom from addiction

LOST AND FOUND

I saw that in order to find my life, I had to first lose it—that is, lose all sense of life as material.

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Write for JSH

Inspired by a poem? Consider writing and sharing your own! Find out more by visiting Writer’s Corner.

Write for JSH

Today I prayed … 

Dear Father-Mother 

We are Your ever-eager nestlings,sheltered beneath heavenly wing;precious, guarded, clearly feedingfrom Your perfect Word, needingonly good that You’re bestowingfor our upward-forward going.

every face seen 

it is not a downfallthat i hope forhow would that suffice?

When shadows gather 

Dear Father-Mother God, I see my spiritual selfhood reflecting You, but oh, this shadow sense that pursues my weary faith—when will it grow beautifully less?

Rolling away the stone