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The Armor of God

My daughter reached for the third shelf on tiptoe, tossed her paper in the general direction of the others and then landed off balance on one foot. Which was fine, except for her brother occupying the same square foot and getting a wild arm across the shoulder blades.

My daughter was quick to apologize.  “Sorry, buddy,” she said.

At which time my son paused from taping his pennies to a piece of paper and said, “That’s okay, sissy.  Jesus always protects me.”


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