There was nothing remarkable about the morning itself. It began with the same quiet routine I’m used to. The hour was 6 AM. Four out of the six members of my household slept warmly in their beds. I was up nursing my baby, I cradled my son with one arm and held a devotional with the other. My reading was from a lesser known corner of the Old Testament. I was immersed in the turbulent world of 2 Kings 22 when God used my routine morning reading to do something special: He pierced me with the double-edged sword of Scripture.
