Cursed?
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Cursed?

It’s not every day one is cursed by a gypsy.  It wasn’t me.  It was my wife.  I was sitting in a park in St. Petersburg, Russia.  It was a glorious day and my wife had drifted off a way to take a picture when a 50ish woman, garishly dressed with bangles and beads, approached me and took my hand.  Turning it palm side up she began slowly chanting something in Russian.  About this time my wife returned and intervened before I was relieved of my wallet.  As my wife shooed the sorceress away she was rewarded with a spewing of words and arms waving signs of incantations finished off with a spit on the ground.  We didn’t need to know Russian to imagine what was just said.  For the next week I carefully watched my wife scanning her for any disturbing signs of deterioration or incoherency.  The palm reader would be highly disappointed as my wife just keeps getting better and better with each passing day.
 
Don’t you just love Romans 8?  “If God is for us, who can be against us?  He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all—how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things? Who will bring any charge against those whom God has chosen? . . . For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers,  neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”
 
That is just about the best thing anyone has ever written.  Praise God.