For those that don't know me, I'm Brian Cook, dad to three boys, Barry, Noah, and Jack, and husband to one wife, Gillian. Giving my testimony is something I've been praying about last year, as I've never done it before. It just seemed the right time in my life, which apparently was what God thought too. You see, I prayed that if someone asked me, I would agree to it. The months went by and I decided to leave it in His hands until one evening leading up to Christmas, we were out for dinner with Johnny and Sharon. It was when the conversation came to a natural change of topics that Johnny told me he'd something to ask me. I knew what was coming. Before he uttered another word, you see Joe, God had just decided it was the right time for me to give my testimony and I agreed immediately. I've heard quite a few testimonies over the years, and I always enjoyed them. I liked hearing how others had a story, a journey, an honest struggle in some cases, whereby God brought them out the other side. I often thought, what would I say? How would I articulate it so God would get the glory and not the devil? If I could just remind some people that along with God being real and Jesus being real, the Holy Spirit and Satan are real, too. It's those last two sometimes who get a little less press coverage, and I believe that's a mistake. My journey could be classed as averaged by some and maybe tricky by others. To me, though, I feel it had to happen that way, so I'd be who God needed me to be for the following legs of my journey. Getting saved and therefore having a testimony isn't the end. It's just an early phase of a Christian's onward journey. I'm standing here with notes that I've typed, read, re-typed, re-read again, and I honestly could have kept going until this evening, but I've asked God to help me. So with him and my production crew, here goes. One thing I've used from a friend's recent testimony example I've had the pleasure of hearing is a method of structure, so I've similarly copied what I thought was a good approach. There's roughly four stages. Me growing up, teenager and getting saved, backsliding, and the narrow path. I may not mention certain people or churches' names as it'll not serve God's purpose, so I hope you understand. I honestly enjoyed my growing up. My mum, dad, brother, and me lived in a small farm in Macrascoos outside Ballygown. The house we lived in and with was my great-uncle Barry's, who was a farmer back then. It could have been seen by some as a little unconventional, but to us it was normal. Our countryside was proper kid stuff, quiet roads and fields as far as you could see. We went to a wee local primary school where everyone knew everyone. and had friends on our road within easy cycle reach. We went to Sunday school in Church, Robbins, as it was known then, and BB, as Mum was keen for us to attend, so off we went. I've had a few good emotional happenings in my life, and I've had a few bad ones. The first one was to be a bad one. Uncle Barry, as we simply called him, died while out in the bar milking cows. This was 1983, and to save your mental mass task, I was seven. To put this bereavement process into some sort of context, it was like the passing of a dad for me. My real dad was one half of an agricultural contracting business then, and the farmers in the congregation will understand the hours involved with this. Maybe in the winter he was about a little more, but the other three seasons involved early mornings and late nights. I remember often going to sleep to the sound of the phone ringing. Sometimes on Saturdays or school holidays, I'd be taken with my brother to see Dad on a tractor or a combine if he was nearby working, or simply go in for a few days without seeing him at all. This meant that to me, Uncle Barry was my second dad. I remember the chair he sat on in the kitchen, his flat cap, and thick glasses he wore. I remember him taking me on evening walks up the road for ice cream, as one neighbor was in the catering business then. Sometime not long after his death, I remember going to bed and saying my prayers with Mum as usual one night and telling her I wanted to end up where Uncle Barry was. She told me, honestly, she wasn't sure if Uncle Barry was in heaven, and she never knew of him getting saved. This new information was a struggle for me then, leading me to pray for ages that God would make sure he was in heaven. As I got older and more biblically aware, I very sadly understood that wherever Uncle Barry was, that was where he would stay, and I couldn't continue to want to be with him if he was in the wrong place. Life continued for the four of us, and the farm changed to rear beef cattle. It was enjoyable being involved, although bedding straw in a house when you've high fever is not a nice job. Having an older brother has its physical downfalls, which only a younger sibling can perhaps understand. As I never sustained any typical hidings, I can say that I pretty much enjoyed being the younger. It meant I got the choice of any cool clothes, toys, and other things coming down the line. I have fond memories of him looking out for me, such as coming to my rescue when a local dog knocked me off my bike, or gently breaking the news to me that her own dog had to get put to sleep, or letting me drive a tractor to mum's horror, and subsequently teaching me to drive a car. This was also evident when we moved churches, or when he moved churches and started going to one with a friend of his. As I couldn't drive, the obvious choice was for me to go with him. More later. My brother's interest in mine turned to trikes and quads. This was something that would get a bad hold of me later, but at 13, I got my first farm quad. It was used a little about home, but as I got more confident, it ended up getting a rallied around the fields in earnest. Along with the weekly papers, we'd get an American magazine called Dirt Wheels. This was my window into racing. I'd pore over each magazine from cover to cover, reading race reviews. checking out the latest products, and inevitably coveting a proper eraser. It was also about this time that my love of milking cows developed. This will sound very strange to most of you, probably, but when my brother started relief milking on weekends, when he got his car license, I went with him, and I wasn't even getting paid. It was great, though. I took pride in milking them out properly, leaving a clean parlour, and satisfied that we'd a tank full and a job well done. This introduction to cows will also play out later, too. At school, I fell in with a couple of like-minded guys who lived in Cumber. If someone asked me what I left school with, it was simply these two guys' friendships. The three of us were on the same path, country kids pining for racing. Truth be told, quad racing was to be my master. It was my religion, if you like, and nothing else mattered. not school results or even girls, as I saw them as a distraction to my racing plan. Moved forward to me at 16, and the farm quad was traded for a 250 racer. Unfortunately, it wasn't a great example, but all I could afford. When I say afford, it was my brother who lent me the money, which I repaid the next summer. Life now had literally moved up a gear. I was racing, had good friends, and we were also knocking on the age where going out was on the cards. Around the same time, staying on at school for A-levels wasn't an option. I left school after my GCSEs and was accepted into Reece Heath College in Cheshire to study agricultural engineering. Back then, there were no courses for this here, so it had to be across the water. This leads me to the next part, teenager and getting saved. Going away to college for me can be likened to a calf getting out of the house. My first time away from home was at 16, done in some trepidation. Getting used to my surroundings, but doing good work and trying to get good results. As I settled in, though, the lure of nightlife took me in the wrong direction. Away from home for weeks at a time, being so young, my new friends and me settled into a routine, class by day and out by weekend. Sadly, my racing also suffered, as I could only partake when home, at half and end of terms. In my middle year out, I was accepted at Steenson's Ford New Holland dealership in County Tyrone, but this involved more time away from home, You might see a trend here. It wasn't a decision to look for things away from home, but I don't think I was made to be a home bird. So here I was living in a B&B off the Ballygully roundabout. On a nice note, the elderly lady who owned it was like a favorite granny. I actually had to ask her to stop giving me so much to eat. I'd get the bus down at the start of the week. A co-worker would lift and leave me to and from work. Then I'd get the bus home on a Friday. The real joy came when I turned 17 and started driving. Now having driven tractors, quads, and my brother's cars, you'd think I was a happy, confident driver. This is kind of true, as I would class myself as a good driver, but initially going up and down the M1 to Turin scared me. I started to fear dying. I'm normally an optimist and a realist, so this emotion didn't sit well with me, as you can imagine. I kept turning it over and over in my head with the inevitable question, if I die, what happens? I believe now this was the first time I can reflect on meeting with the Holy Spirit. I believe God was already looking after me at this stage as one unsettling night bears witness. I was returning from MoMA, where I'd visited the pictures. Sorry, cinema Jillian. And arriving back to the B&B late, there appeared a parked car outside the house. Getting out of my own car, I noticed a man followed me into the yard. He told me he had a puncture and would I help him. Now as a 17-year-old, I was aware this was the early 90s and the troubles were still going on. This was heightened as my hostess had also lost her husband some years earlier to the troubles. So I couldn't help wondering why a grown man needed my help outside. Anyway, what could I do? I went with him and found a seemingly real puncture. I duly changed his wheel whereby he thanked me and drove off, never to be seen by me again. This was another example of me harboring a real fear, I guess. As to be honest, I was quite scared through the whole ordeal. Going with my brother to this different church I mentioned earlier, I know, was part of God's plan. This was immediately different. I was hearing a completely new biblical message. The church family was new, too, still in a hot day and under the tutelage of a gifted preacher. In the beginning, nothing really spoke to me, though, so I just bobbed along. It wasn't until that driving fear I mentioned grabbed me that something clicked. I can remember getting so bad one evening that I went to my room and asked Jesus into my heart to save me. And here comes the good bit. My fear evaporated immediately. I knew Jesus had just done something that would forever change my life. I had become a Christian. In the early days, it was great. We went around in a group. two after church rallies, and that winter, we were flat out tracing the north in search of socials. It was new, and I was a new Christian, and it was everything I thought it was supposed to be. But unfortunately, it leads me to my next step, which is backsliding. What I thought was a secure path didn't last, unfortunately. From memory, it wasn't a defining moment, but simply a few things not working out. Going about with Christian friends and looking for a Christian girlfriend weren't to last. You see, my old friends were fellas that I will simply say I was comfortable around. We had connections in history. Yes, there's a difference. For example, I raced quads, listened to diastreates. The Christian guys' interests simply didn't mesh, and we drifted apart. My two lives were getting conflicting and starting to overlap, and it all got a bit confusing for me. I started to doubt was I even saved at all. In the end, my comfortable old life welcomed me back with open arms. I started going out at weekends again. The general routine was work hard and play hard. I was relief milking at nights and alternate weekends. I was at Bangor Tech on day release and working for my dad during the week, as they had diversified from contracting to engineering by this stage already, so I initially saw myself in that career. Cows, though, had other ideas. I soon decided I wanted to be a dairy farmer, and the only way I was going to do it, you guessed it, was overseas. There's two main dairy countries I wanted to go to, Saudi Arabia and New Zealand. New Zealand simply appealed to me more. I was 20 years old by now and wondering how to get my trip off the ground. I remember talking to Malcolm about it. He recalled a Kiwi company back in his old Greenmount days that took students in their year out. He suggested I contact the college and see what prevails. Now those of you paying attention will maybe see a concern here, as I wasn't a current Greenmount student. Enter Gode's hand. I called the college and got a nice lecture, who happened to say the company owner was visiting in several weeks, and I'd be very welcome to sit in on the occasion. As it happened, the meeting was very successful, and that summer I left for Auckland with a few others we would rendezvous with at Heathrow. Fast forward to the first farm, and it didn't go well. It appeared to me that nothing would please them, so I was swapped out for somebody else. Having had a near-perfect herdsman experience back home with countless farmers, I was left in a bit of despair on the other side of the world. God wasn't to leave me in this situation, though, as the next farm I went to could only have been seen by me as idyllic. It turned out that the managers were a Christian husband and wife team, And there are three of their four children. Jeremy, the oldest son, he worked further south. John and Gay, as their names were, will never maybe know just to what extent their input into my life has meant to me. Even though it was 30 years ago, to me, simply put, I class Gay as my Kiwi mum. It was while working in this farm, I suffered a car accident. James, the other herdsmen, and me were out in the town one Saturday night. In the small hours that came, time to return to the farm, when I decided to take his keys and drive us home. Getting happily well out into the countryside, it happened that I fell asleep on a particular lonely stretch, veering us off into the undergrowth. Those who believe in luck will say that's what it was. that we both survived with cuts, bruises, and my sprained hand, those who believe in the truth will say it was God looking out for us and deciding it was time to teach me a valuable lesson, as we could have easily ended upside down in a ravine. Only since lockdown have I got back in touch with them, and it'll continue to be my big regret that a large, missed span of time has passed. Knowing my early stumbling walk back then, I knew Gay was praying for me. I will always value their friendship. My life there, and subsequently in Australia before coming home, stayed the same. Work hard night and Saturday night. The Holy Spirit was at his work again, though, and I'd have his reinvolvement soon enough. I came back home the following June with the sole directive to get qualified to emigrate. That was where I wanted to go, and nothing was going to get in my way. Before Greenmount started in September, Malcolm found me applying job in Hertfordshire, as he was nearby on his break from Harper Adams. After my successful interview with the farm manager, he happened to mention he didn't want me smoking in the tractors. This was quite a habit of mine for the last five years or so, which I thought might be difficult to throw. On the plus side, my arsenal had prayer in it, and I always knew it to be powerful. Taking this problem before God, with the help of the Holy Spirit, prayer did, in fact, work. Never again did I ever have a cigarette. It was a clean break. Back home, I started racing again and fell in with a couple of Christian guys, which helped immensely. Others that I had something in common with. I wanted to race in GB, but they raced on Sundays, whereby our Ulster Championship was on Saturdays. I went to see my minister about this, as I was struggling if it was okay on a Sunday to race as a Christian. He gave me good advice, and I made the decision not to. I will add in here that I'm not a saint on a Sunday, and never portrayed to be, but I felt I had to draw the line somewhere. Coming back to the Lord, I'm not remembering the exact time or circumstances, but it happened. I had skipped my year out and was then in my final year at Greenmount and met a Christian guy from Balna Hinch. We got on well and had a lot in common. As it happened in our course, we were due for a farm trip over to England, which would strangely have us staying at my old college. Now, this made me nervous, given I'd only just sorted myself out, and I saw that place as part of my wayward past. I can start to say, though, that this time in my life was when I began seeing more of God's regular hand. The trip saw my new friend in me as the only ones not interested in going out, so we relied on each other to stay away from temptation, preferring to play pool or exploring the campus. I believe God had us both on the same trip to strengthen each other, That next Christmas, I was invited with Malcolm's to friend of his, which I wasn't going to go to due to milking early the next morning. I ended up going though, and that was where Gillian and me met for the first time. This was us in the starting gate for a considerable dating period before marriage. I'm going to add in here, and she knows what's coming, because history shows New Zealand was replaced with her and later Laurie's. I later believed God decided a path in New Zealand wasn't what he wanted for me. We were there for about five years before getting married. So you could say we got to know each other's families really well by that stage. We both came from similar backgrounds and that probably went the way to making the whole thing easier. As most people tend to think, we go through life with that thought that bad things won't happen to us. Unfortunately, though, a bad thing was to arrive at Gillian's family, which would devastate life as they knew it. I'm including this in my testimony due to the fact that although I wasn't a blood relative, I felt the tragedy myself, albeit in a lesser extent. Gillian's youngest brother had just started attending secondary school in Belfast and would use the bus for his commute to and fro. That autumn evening started like any other until having just got off the bus, he was knocked down and killed. I still remember where I was when I got Gillian's phone call. I also remember walking out of the hospital with Sandra and her saying, what are we going to do now? I remember being at the wake one night after the visitors had left, John saying, he's not standing here beside me, when commenting on how everybody told him Johnny was in a better place now. I used to think to myself that God took him for a special job in heaven. Truth is, we don't know at times like this, and it's so very hard to live through. I saw Gillian go through some very sad times where there are no answers. When I became a parent, I got a small glimpse into how life may look in their shoes. I saw, though, how their faith helped them. I saw God bring new family members and a new generation. I still don't really understand God's choices, though, which may be answered in time. Going out, we attended my church, which also led us to getting married there and continuing briefly before the commute and their change of minister led us to seek somewhere else. Upon one such visit, who should we bump into on the door but my old friend from Greenmount. It meant this visitation was slightly easier. We decided to stay, renewing old and forming new friendships in our pre-children days. This also led to an attendance in a house group for similarly aged newlyweds like ourselves. I can honestly say that these were very happy spiritual times, so much so that I literally took the plunge and was baptized. I agreed in my head and heart that it was a proper stepping stone in my walk and witness to others of my faith. Our first house together was in Dyer Cross, and for that brief time, it was nice. We had always wanted to move back to the countryside, though, when the time would come to start a family and properly put down roots. At this stage, property sales were quite good, and we were due to make that all-important profit. What we and thousands of others didn't realize, though, that this was the year the crash would happen. Our house went on the market over that summer, and the bidding turned out to be far better than expectation. As the current market trend showed, it got to a stage with two bidders and reached an amount we were very grateful for. The current high bid was a cash buyer and not in a chain. We settled with him, again very grateful of our circumstances, even though a few people said to let them bid on at it. A month after our deal closed, the crash happened. We weren't greedy and were truly blessed with the ability to build what would be our current family home. When we decided to build our house, costs depicted, we'd do it on the grip. Anyone who has done this will understand the pressure involved by an amateur. At the same time, Gillian was pregnant with Barry, and I also had decided to work for a promotion in work, which would take me off the road and put me behind a desk. It was around this time I experienced the start of severe lower back pain and sciatica down my right leg. This was to prove a physically testing time for both of us, where we'd rely on God. I secured my managerial post, which was to last through eight years of night shift and six years of day shift. My back pain has reduced to a manageable level, but it involved a vast amount of physio, traction, injections, and a constant use of tablets. I praised God, though, that I didn't need an operation. All through my life, I've seen God at work. I've tried to explain some of the detail. He's helped me, disciplined me, blessed me, and rightfully ignored me at times. But upon reflection, He's always been there. I firmly believe that. There's no doubt in my mind. Whenever my career turned to lorry driving, not long after we got married, don't read into this too much, I was away from home again, weekend to weekend. It was the way it was for most drivers wanting a decent wage. As well as being hard in a relationship, it was hard in me trying to do the job in the least illegal way possible. Those of you familiar with Irish foliage know that time is always against you, and that if you need to get somewhere, you aren't usually getting much sleep in the process. The obligatory 45-minute breaks sometimes mean deciding on whether you have a wash or a hot meal. Again, I know God was looking after me here. I recall all too often driving throughout the night trying to get a certain boat when tiredness was winning a hard-fought battle. Red Bull was bought by the carton back then, with the really bad times producing hallucinations appearing in the road in front of you. Jamming on the brakes for things that weren't there is not a state of events I relish. Reflecting on this is not something I'm proud of. It used to be done with a bit of crack and tall stories, but realization sometimes kicks in hard, as happened with me soon enough. A change of companies materialized, which took me to doing all Ireland work. This initially turned out to be very enjoyable, a slightly more relaxed pace, and a more personable customer supplier clientele. My big moment eventually came, though, when I was heading south late one night on the old Newry Road. I struggle to get the right words here, as I want to be respectful to those concerned. I was met by a car heading north, but which arrived upon me on my side of the road. You can't get out of the way quickly in a loaded lorry, so the inevitable happened. After stopping, I immediately ran back up the road to the car. I will never forget the sight or sounds that confronted me, but thankfully an off-duty nurse was in the traffic, and the emergency services arrived quickly, so I was ushered away to the side. There were three boys in that car that night, and none of them survived. Some might say why include others' fates in your testimony, and there may be grounds for that. I'm trying to say, though, how God looked after me in my life, so you'll have to please forgive me. I remember being secluded with a cop chaperoning me, and me pacing, always pacing for ages. I remember the horrendous guilt I felt, even though I knew I wasn't to blame. I recall the policeman saying to me, son, you need to think if you were in that car, too, you'd be the same. I believe God said those words to me because I wasn't coping at all. The time eventually came for me to be released from the scene, and I got home and collapsed into a sleep. Upon waking, Gillian, her mum, and mine were there, and I simply broke down. Fast forward to the legal side of things, which was still to be investigated. That meant so late me being the only one left involved. I can say I don't think I've ever been as terrified being interviewed for something like this. Thankfully, there was a witness and my driving was legal and my records were good, but there was still the coroner's inquest to go through. If I thought the police time was bad, then sitting in a courtroom with the bereaved families was truly a harrowing experience. I was told I'd miss the stand unless the families had questions. but of course they did have questions, and being innocent wasn't their reprieve in my head, so having to talk, having to talk to those relatives filled me with dread. Do you know who was there with me? My Heavenly Father. As I sat there in court with my head and my hands waiting, their spokesperson time came, And he simply said, they decided not to question me. I didn't have to go to the stand after all. Like I said, I know those three boys lost their lives in that, but that's part of their story. In my part, God walked with me the whole way. I never liked that piece of road after that, and was glad it was bypassed in the years to follow. The memories weren't bypassed so quickly though, and I still carried the guilt for what was years to come. My job path continued its route. Next stop was a Christian hauler running local tippers. Nearly a year in, and one of the other drivers saw an advert for Tesco and said we should apply. If successful, it would involve shift work and definite Sunday work, though. I've never had a problem milking cows on a Sunday, but don't agree with retail deliveries. I prayed about it and came to the conclusion, given there were so many hurdles to getting accepted, if God was OK with it, If God wasn't okay with it, I'd fail at one of those hurdles. I got through, though, and figured it was where God wanted me to be. Through my 20-year career with them, I've had some opportunities to witness and had great open conversations about faith. I think this was God's plan all along. Probably the saddest time for me, though, was a close friend from my night shift years passing away suddenly. We'd have spent hours over those years during the night while working, debating faith and other things. But his funeral turned out to be a humanist one, so I don't think my witnessing worked. That was another tough storm to weather. Never miss opportunities, though, as we don't know for sure what the results will be. Skipping back to church life, as it happens all too often, our happy congregation imploded due to a major internal rift. Even though we weren't involved, it had such an effect on us that we left. I never expected the hurt I felt that the wider congregation ended up as severe collateral. It's unfortunate certain individuals can have that effect. So the visitation started again, and although I wasn't immediately sold on here, Gillian and the boys seemed content. As the weeks drifted by, I also felt content, like putting on an old glove or a broken-in pair of slippers. Yes, that's the effect youse have on me. Involvement in helping out here kind of crept up on me and took me unawares. First it was Sports for Christ, then Children's Church, followed with a very surprising, slightly delayed agreement to do a few children's talks. Nobody as surprised as me, honestly. I do feel it has to be God's hand, though, as I usually am a background part of a congregation. The cherry has to be standing up here now, but this is definitely taking strength from God to settle my nerves, and no rotten veg being thrown from the congregation. The narrow path, the last bit, you'll be glad to know. What we sometimes don't understand is that being a Christian isn't plain sailing. I'm still a sinner, and I always will be, every month of every year, right up until the day I step foot home. I've always had a very childlike faith. I never really rocked a boat, never delved further than I was comfortable with. It worked for me, and I was initially fine with that. What I've grown to understand is that God educates us at a person's speed, and He didn't rush me out of my comfort zone before I was ready. It's taken me a long time to understand what my priority needs to be. God's so fit to put me in this earth. He's blessed me with a wife, our three boys, a nice home, and a good job. The very least He deserves is my further interaction. Until the last couple of years, I maybe felt like a cork bobbing on the surface. I was content to be a Christian, lead that life best I could, and answer any questions about my faith. If the situation landed on my lap, that was really it. I then began to pray more specifically about what God wanted me to do. I didn't want to be lukewarm and spat out by Jesus. This is partly where my volunteering has come from. It's also why I'm asking God what my path is, because I now understand I need to be like the disciples. If Jesus asked me to drop all and follow Him, would I? I think I'd still struggle, but it has to be a yes. Some folks don't think they need to go to church or Bible studies or read devotionals because their faith is strong. In my own opinion, I do it to worship my God, in a fellowship, to surround myself with like-minded believers, This is what strengthens my faith and my witness. I study to understand and do my devotions to get me through the week. Just last summer, I decided to stand down and return to driving, as the shifts, workload, and pressure wasn't worth it. I now have a job I've always enjoyed, with shifts that are more family and faith friendly. God helped us. God helped us through those months and years and landed me with a great position with a rotor to match. Question is, what do we fill our hearts with? The Bible says you will be where your heart is. I used to fill my heart with racing, career, books, movies, cows. I'm now trying to fill my heart with God because I believe that's what's required. Everything else will find its own place after that. I look at it like one of those fancy Italian fountains that flows from the top into catchments below. If my heart is the top one to be filled with God, he will fill the others after himself, family, friends, hobbies, and career. People sometimes say they've the day from hell. It's one of those cliche statements that get used. There is no day, though. we could experience in this earth that we'll even get a snapshot of the real hell. Not only that, but it's for eternity. I heard a good example of trying to fathom eternity in our human brains. It went a bit like if a bird has to move the sand from Torello Beach to the Gold Coast in Australia, using its beak, taking only one grain at a time. And once he has done that, he has to return it all. That still isn't anywhere near an eternity. We're called to be disciples, and I see Paul as a great example. I'm nowhere near the person he was, but I try to learn and act as best I can, which is where I admit still struggling. It's difficult. That's why we need to make it as helpful as possible. Surrounding yourself with like-minded Christians gives us fellowship, and reading the Bible gives us knowledge, and prayer meetings and studies gives us learnings and wisdom. It all linked up, folks. Gillian bought me a study Bible years ago, and as I read it, I started to write verses I wanted to remember inside the covers. I quickly ran out of room. I find now that the more I read and study, it's starting to sink into my brain and stay there. When going to bed each night after my prayers, I thank God for His grace, as that is enough for me now. My hope and prayer here tonight is that no one leaves without understanding your need for salvation. I want to leave with you two of my favorite verses. Romans chapter eight, verse 38 and 39. For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor demons, neither the present, nor the future, nor any powers, neither height, nor depth, nor anything else in creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Jesus Christ our Lord. 2 Corinthians 4, verse 18. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but what is unseen. for what is seen as temporary, but what is unseen as eternal. Thank you very much.