Nora Gwen was born and raised as a strong believer who later went astray as a prodigal, struggling in sin and suffering its consequences as a result. Since repenting and being born again, experiencing a spiritual awakening, Nora has returned home to Our Heavenly Father (by inviting Jesus into her heart forever-literally) who has blessed her with a new name “Grateful Gwen” and a clear purpose to be salt and light through reading, writing, praying, counseling, and mentoring. She knocked and the door opened. She continues to seek and find, more is revealed one day at a time! YouTube: @GoodReadsChannel Medium: @GratefulGwen Facebook: Nora Gwen Support her work: Buy Me a Coffee Want to read more from Nora? Visit her page: From Nora Gwen Or start with these: Spiritual Wilderness: Have You Walked Through One? I Want to Interview You Why Religion Gets a Bad Reputation & What Faith Really Means Why Did God Create the Devil? Wrestling with Free Will, the Adversary, and Authentic Faith

I’m a Christian student at SNHU, currently majoring in Anthropology, minoring in professional writing and serving as editor of Faithful Writers. My biological CPU also often breaks down, glitches, and crashes often, making life interesting and different from an average healthy person. My entire health journey since I was 11 is a testimony to God and His love, power, and mercy. He gave me the love for learning and an interest in other cultures and ways of life. He has made it clear that there is no singular right way to live for Him, everyone is different, from different backgrounds, with different spiritual gifts. My goal is to bridge faith and scholarship by writing articles that bring Christian values into conversation with anthropological concepts. There's more than one way to serve Him, and I think we can learn a lot by seeing how people from different cultural backgrounds do just that. Medium Want to read more from Nathan? Here are a few places to start: How Can I Not Believe in God? The New Testament is indeed God Breathed.

I am a 19-year-old Christian student at DePauw University, majoring in communications. In the past, I wrote about New Age spirituality, but after an encounter with Jesus during a breaking point in my life, I gave my life to Him. He took away the depression and gave me a purpose in life. I now focus on Christian-based writing to spread the word of God to as many people as I can. I became a Christian in the winter of 2025, and now I am incredibly passionate about planting seeds to both nonbelievers and believers. Through this, I've learned that God has blessed me with the gift of working with multimedia, including writing, photography, and podcasting. I also have my own website where I publish my works. I want to help others see His reckless love and His incredible power. He saved me. He can do the same for you. Sienna Krieg www.siennakrieg.com Want to read more from Sienna? Here are a few places to start: Women of the Bible: Their Faith, Strength, and Importance Stop Idolizing Your Political Party Staying True to Jesus in College: My Journey of Faith and Growth

I write Scripture-anchored devotions and theological reflections for the quiet pursuit of Jesus. I’m the creator of Rooted Devotionals, simple printable guides that help tired hearts build 10-minute rhythms in real life. Medium Rooted Devotionals on Etsy Want to read more from Nathan? Here are a few places to start: Why Abundant Choice Feels Like Less Freedom The Gospels Don’t Match And That’s Exactly the Point When the World Defines You, Remember Who You Are in Christ

Do I believe this question directly impacts our salvation? No. Do I think it’s a good and fun question to ask to help our understanding? Absolutely! So let’s see what the Bible tells us. First, I’ve decided to use the terms “being” and “angel,” because there are different created entities mentioned in the Bible. So what we know from Scripture is that angels can look human, and even more fascinating is this: “Do not neglect hospitality to strangers, for by this some have entertained angels without knowing it.” Heb 13:2 Talk about keeping you on your toes. At least that's what I read from this verse. Who’s to say how many of us have hosted or come across an angel unknowingly? Think about this one for a moment, how would you defend yourself to God on judgment day when asked why you turned away a stranger in need or treated someone poorly when in fact it was an angel? Just food for thought. Anyway, Angels & Wings The Bible does not explicitly state that angels have wings, and I also don’t believe that references to wings for other beings are purely symbolic, especially considering the numerous physical descriptions of Cherubim in the Bible. This honestly makes sense to me because every kind that God created has unique differences and roles within that kind. The beings we commonly know about from Scripture. First up is Gabriel, who is only thought to have wings, based on the passage from Dan 9:21, “Gabriel, the man I had seen in the earlier vision, came to me in swift flight.” He is described as a human in appearance, but no literal mention of wings in any verses he is in, not referred to as an archangel, and scared the poo out of Daniel because of his appearance when he saw him. (Mary and Zechariah, too.) Not a clue exactly what kind he is because we are never told that explicitly, we just know he is referred to as an angel, and delivers a lot of messages. Then we have Michael, the only archangel mentioned in the Bible, btw, and he is never said to have wings either. But he is a warrior and protector angelic being; words such as “one of the chief princes” and “great prince who protects your people” are used to describe him. (3) Here Are 3 Fun Nuggets Here is when we learn that Michael is not the only “chief prince,” but he must be a pretty awesome baddy because he has already taken satan on once about Moses' body (4) and will again when he leads his army against him in the future. (5) Michael only says four words in the whole Bible. “The Lord rebuke you!” (well, in Greek it was actually three words) And Michael and Gabriel are the only two named angelic beings in the whole Bible, except Abaddon, from the book of Revelation, but that is also a title, not just a name, and a whole different conversation. We see many other divine messengers of God throughout the Bible who looked human, didn’t have wings, and delivered messages to people, but weren’t named like Gabriel and Michael; instead were simply called angels (messengers). For example, in Gen 19:1 “The two angels arrived at Sodom in the evening,” the Hebrew word is “malak”, which literally means “angel, messengers, messenger” but they didn’t have wings. And in Acts, we have an angel (same meaning as malak, just in Greek), no wings, committing some B&E and getting Peter and his disciples out of jail. So, What Does Have Wings? We know for certain that the Seraphim have six wings, which are their own distinct kind (1), and Cherubim, also a distinct kind, have four wings. (2) Remember, church tradition and Jewish tradition consider the Cherubim and Seraphim as types of angels, not the Bible per se. Now the question should be going from "Do Angels have wings?" because that is a loaded question to asking the question with the right word first. Angel,Seraphim, Cherubim, or Archangel? Angels are the messengers of God (literally, that is the definition), and the winged beings are their own class of something, but are never called angels in the Bible. Michael and Gabriel are never specified as having wings, but are called angels, not Cherubim or Seraphim, with Michael being the only Archangel. Winging It The wing culture comes from a blending of the verse, “came to me in swift flight,” the Cherubim and Seraphim descriptions, what angels are capable of doing, and artwork over the centuries that kept it going. Could they all have wings, and somehow the angels are able to keep theirs invisible? Absolutely, why not? These are beings who can pack of heck of a spiritual punch, and God loves to give us mysteries to ponder on, but at the same time, we are told which beings do have wings. Like I said in the beginning. Does this affect your salvation if you believe angels have wings? No, but it is fun, fascinating, and helps a person see the Bible, not tradition. © Jane Isley Want more content like this? Explore more articles in Exploring Scripture. Sources: (1) Isaiah 6:2 (2) Ezekiel 10:21 (3) Biblestudytools: Archangel Michael in the Bible. (4) Jude 1:9, (5) Revelation 12: 7–9 (6) Acts 5:17–22 Biblestudytools: Bible Verses about Cherubim Cherub | hak-kə-ru-ḇîm | kerub Seraphim | śə-rā-p̄îm | saraph Press Ctrl + P (Windows) or Cmd + P (Mac) to print this article or save.

"A champion named Goliath, who was from Gath, came out of the Philistine camp. His height was six cubits and a span.” 1 Samuel 17:4 Awesome.👍 So, how tall was Goliath in American terms then? I’d love to tell you it is one simple answer, but I learned it wasn’t quite that simple. So, typically, a cubit was the length between the elbow and the tip of the middle finger. But there are other sources that say it can also be an elbow to the little finger and an elbow to the outstretched thumb. Then I discovered that there were two types of cubit lengths in the Bible. Now, Goliath wasn’t measured using the “cubit of the sanctuary” (1) measurement, which is the longer one. I just wanted to throw that little nugget in there because I didn’t even realize there was a difference till Ezekiel popped up in my searching. Putting all that aside, and not wanting to conduct an extensive hair-pulling analysis, let’s try to clarify the general consensus on what a cubit and span are. According to Britannica.com a cubit is “generally taken as equal to 18 inches” and “In some ancient cultures it was as long as 21 inches.” We’ll be conservative and go with 18." Then we have a “span,” and that is considered to be from the tip of the little finger and the thumb when you fully extend your hand. From sources, it is generally 8” — 10”, but I’m going with one source’s conservative decision because hand sizes can vary. We’ll go with 6" for a span. So 18” and 6" 6 x 18” = 108”, then we’ll add another 6” for span, and we come to 114". Doesn’t sound like a lot, but for a visual comparison, I’m 69” (5’9”) and my husband is 75” (6’3”), we are both tall for our genders according to our national average standards and worldwide average standards. Goliath trumps both of us. Using the conservative numbers, Goliath comes in at a whopping 9’ 5”. (at minimum I would say, in my personal opinion) www.heightcomparison.com Yeah. He really was a big, big guy, who got taken out by a young kid. Never underestimate the power of God when He sets you to a task; there is no mountain or person who can stand in His way. © Jane Isley Sources: (1) The Cubit: A History and Measurement Commentary thegaurdian.com; How long is a biblical cubit? Goliath’s Spear: What is a Cubit?

unsplash.com She had spent months slowly counting down the days till she would have to say goodbye. Slowly counting down the memories, moments, and time left until the time arrived. Even though there had been 39 weeks, 273 days, 6,570 hours, and 394,200 minutes for her to prepare, she still hadn’t been prepared to feel such a loss. As she stood still in a room so empty that it made her breathing echo, the young woman held back her tears as she noted the strange yellow stain on the ceiling and then the cracked drywall that was causing dust to fall onto the creaky floorboards. Gently, her fingers glided across the smooth white wall that was closer to gray, stained from the lives that had lived in this home before her. They fell to her side as her blue eyes met the bay window, the feature of the house that made her want to claim the place as her own. The room had claimed so many late nights- working on projects, laughing with long-distance friends, movie nights, and late-night chats. This was the room where she read, learned, and prayed to God. This was the room where she began to explore what their relationship looked like — where she could let her walls down and let Him see who she really was. After a long while, she opened the creaky door that would never stay shut. Teary-eyed, she stood in the door frame which led into the rose red and tan colored living room, soaking in the nice furniture that was her roommate’s. In that moment, another little piece of her cracked as she had always hoped that she’d get to say goodbye to this little run-down apartment with her roommate. For a moment longer, the brunette soaked in the school like ceiling tiles and how the paint was chipping off the walls. Her mind wandered back to all the late nights with her friends watching movies, the Mario Party nights with her roommate, and the long Bible studies that the two had. How thankful she was in that moment that God had blessed her with such a beautifully fun roommate that she got to talk about Jesus with. How many long laughs that the two had in the strangely small living space that she would dearly miss. The empty room then got filled with her friend’s presence with a soft creak of the oak floorboards, and her blue eyes met her friend’s green ones. It was time. Time to say goodbye. Silently, the two moved towards the kitchen, the dark brown walls, the green counters, and the very crooked floor filled her sight as she looked around. The kitchen that held so many Jesus jam sessions and dance parties with her roommate. So many conversations and tears where the two had talked about their dreams, futures, and curiosities about where God would take them. It was the room where she had made many new friends through filming a mayo commercial. The young woman would dearly miss how the floor was so loud that it could wake someone up. She stood there for a few moments before asking her friend if the two of them could go and pray over the five rooms that made up the house. The two started with the bathroom, then moved to the living room, her roommate’s bedroom, and then her room. They took their time as she prayed to God about whatever was on her heart, part of her was trying to avoid the inevitable. Sooner or later, the two had made their way back into the large kitchen where she spoke her final prayer that she would ever pray in that house. As she finished praying, the tears that had been welling up in her eyes for the last fifteen minutes began to fall, knowing that her time in that house was up. Her hands trembled as she struggled to get the key that was used to unlock the front door off its chain. The more she struggled, the more the tears fell because she knew she was saying goodbye to the house that had become a home in the last three years. And while the curly-haired woman knew that a house was just walls and windows, she felt like she was saying goodbye to the memories that had made that house a home. It was the house where she had come to Christ, where she had made so many new friends, and gotten to experience so many things that morphed her into the woman she now was. It wasn’t the walls that she was going to miss; it was the people, moments, and relationships that had developed because God had placed her in that house. That house was a small glimpse of the season of life that she had gone through, which was now coming to a close. With a sunken heart, she set the house key onto the green countertop and made her way to the front door. With the softest click, she closed the door to her home one last time. © Sierra Loew; UW Stout 2025 Graduate

(Caution that this article discusses childhood sexual abuse.) Springtime invites the promise of flowers yet to be seen, green grasses coming out of hiding, and stormy nights. I readily embrace the new flowers and budding grass, often bringing out my camera to get up close and capture the beauty of those fresh moments so I never forget them. But one thing the summer brings that I can never forget is the promise of nighttime storms that steals my breath and tangles my heart. For so long, I have fought and battled to win my freedom from many childhood memories, but this one is the constant; this one I haven’t won yet. Each spring, when I have had my wintertime reprieve and it is but a distant fading memory, the first storm claps its hands and screams its mayhem. Like the boogie man in the closet, it comes out just when you're ready to sleep, believing you’re safe and it’s only your imagination. In the distance, I hear the rumble. I look outside and see that it is darkening; the evening is coming faster than the storm, and I can’t stop the clock racing to sunset. When it gets here, I am trapped, trapped by the moon. As the claps get closer, I feel the panic rising, my heart races, and my body revolts. With each new clap, I’m dragged backward in time. I try to stop the fall. I kick and scream, flailing my arms out, but I’m not able to hold on to the here and now. I don’t want to go back there. I open my eyes and I find I have reached the bottom of time. I stand naked in blackness, trembling, breathing too hard, heart pounding, screaming to be let go of. I can fight my way through time, distance, and memory, but not this one. This one was the one that broke me, and the deepest wound I have. A wound that changed the very essence of who I should have been. I stand there peering in the darkness, alone and naked. As each clap hits, the room becomes brighter, I can see more coming into focus. I want to close my eyes to what I know is coming, but how can one leave a child so young, so alone? I can’t, but I am also conflicted in my reactions, but I need to be the strength I have fought for and won, even as her world crumbles before me. I am both forced to be her witness and need to be her witness. I need to respect the terror, the pain, and the innocence ripped from her body. She is me. I stand rooted in place as each thunderclap bring more light into our memory. I stand on the blackened outskirts of our memory and watch her as she leaves her body and comes to stand next to our bed. She is so young, so innocent, so beautiful. I watch her as she watches the moment our innocence is violently robbed from us. How he used a thunderstorm to hide the sounds and his presence from the rest of the household. She glances around and watches the storm light up the room, looks to the door, hoping for help, then back again. No one is coming; she is alone, and her body loses its rigid stance, and she accepts her fate that night. I am behind her, she doesn’t know I’m there, silently witnessing this moment again with her. I want to reach out and touch her shoulder, reassure her that this, too, shall end. Turn her so we are looking at each other, not our memory of that thunderstorm, to show her who we have become, the strength we hold, the memories we have already conquered together. But I can’t, not yet, at least. Her pain is too raw; she still feels that night, but we are separated from it. I know this because I still come to her naked at each thunderstorm; that is why I don’t turn her around to show her who we have become. So I stand behind her and whisper words of love, beauty, and hope. Words she doesn’t fully understand yet, but one day will. I will come to her, clothed, and turn her around. Together, we will finally be able to put our worst memory aside, I will no longer be dragged into the pits of hell every time I hear a thunder clap at night. Until that day, I will stand behind her silently, witnessing and acknowledging the horror that was done to us that night, never pretending it didn’t happen, and continue to whisper words of hope and healing to us. The need to write this out has never come before, it was so strong it stopped me at every turn. I was unable to focus on anything else I was writing; I even dreamed of it and felt the words on my fingertips just waiting for release. And now I know why: she wasn’t holding onto the memory; I was. I had to step away many times, writing this because the tears wouldn’t stop, and the sobs that would hit me hurt my body. She was looking around in our memories for me, waiting for me to clothe myself. She knew all along I was there, but it wasn’t her who needed to heal, her time in the distant past is just that. The past. I needed to heal, I needed to release this memory that I was keeping her trapped in. I needed the courage to clothe myself and turn her around. That is what I have been fearing this whole time. I see it now, I feel it now. I was afraid of what her face would tell me. Would I see fear, anger, disappointment, or blame? I turned her around, I saw a smile. © Jane Isley First Published in Know Thyself, Heal Thyself on Substack. From the writer: Since I have written this I have been through a couple of thunderstorms. This memory I held onto for my entire life is now a faded thin memory, if that makes sense. I am still not a fan of the surprise loud thunder that shakes the whole house. (who is, really?) But, I no longer feel the dread, the sickness, or fear that used to come with the sounds of distant rumblings heading our way. That is all gone, I do still have some PTSD remnants left inside my body that I believe may always be there to some extent because my body remembers that night, but I haven't thought of that night since I wrote this. Ironically I'm uploading this as a giant thunderstorm is coming in and I'm excited to get to enjoy seeing the brilliant lighting light up the sky, watch the clouds rolling in and waiting to rush around if I need to bring stuff indoors. Healing from childhood sexual violence does not come over night. I was 4/5 years old when this happened to me and I am know 42, but I always keep myself open to God's timing when it comes to healing pieces of me that are still stuck in the past, I know there's a few more in me and their time will come, He will let me know. The peace from healing far out weights to fatigue of holding them all in. And yes, when I'm curious and think of me back then, I still see a clothed, happy and smiling little girl.

Something from the textbook "Invitation to World Religions" (anthropology student here) that I thought was incorrect or should have been explained as having other points of view was on p. 460, where the authors talked about “God-breathed” and “divinely inspired” Scripture. The textbook asserts that the reference made in 2 Timothy 3:16, "All Scripture is God-breathed and is useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting and training in righteousness," was only talking about the Old Testament, or Jewish scriptures, because the New Testament, or the letters and text written by the apostles, was not yet recognized as Scripture. I disagree with this statement, and I feel many other Christians would as well because the New Testament works were inspired by the Holy Spirit. The next sentence in the textbook acknowledges that 2 Peter 1:21 describes the prophets of the Old Testament as being men who “spoke from God as they were carried along by the Holy Spirit.” This passage follows into the argument of why the New Testament is considered God-breathed, as the apostles and those who believe in Jesus’ resurrection are baptized by the Holy Spirit (NIV, 1973/2011, Acts 2:38–39), therefore receiving the gifts of the Spirit (NIV, 1973/2011, 1 Cor. 12:1–11). This, along with the events in all of Acts 2, proves to me that the texts of the New Testament are indeed God-breathed, as the writers had the Holy Spirit within them. © Maia Vashti Reference: Brodd, J., Little, L., Nystrom, B., Platzner, R., Shek, R., & Stiles, E. (2021). Invitation to World Religions (4th ed., pp. 475, 492, 494). Oxford University Press Academic US.

Stephanie M. is a Christian writer, mother, and founder of Rooted in Reason on Medium, a publication dedicated to exploring the Christian faith with honesty, clarity, and truth. At the heart of her work is a simple conviction: faith was never meant to be blind, but to be lived, examined, and rooted deeply in Scripture. Through Rooted in Reason, Stephanie invites readers into conversations about faith, doubt, discernment, and what it means to follow Christ in a world full of competing voices. She unpacks difficult questions, addresses cultural confusion, and encourages believers to build a biblical worldview that can withstand both personal struggle and external pressure. Her writing often explores the quiet but real tensions of life—motherhood, spiritual warfare, emotional struggle, and the challenge of staying grounded in truth when everything around us feels uncertain. She writes not from a place of distance, but from lived experience, blending Scripture, reflection, and honest observation. With a conversational and thoughtful tone, Stephanie seeks to create space for clarity and reflection. Her goal is to help readers slow down, think deeply, and return again and again to the steady foundation of God’s Word, finding both direction and hope in Christ. Stephanie M. Rooted in Reason Want to read more from Stephanie? Here are a few places to start: Trauma, Sin and Breaking Cycles Reflections on Pride Month: A Christian Response in Turbulent Times The Spiritual Battle I Never Saw Coming