This week’s Free Stuff Fridays is sponsored by Crossway, who also sponsored the blog this week. They are giving away the new ESV Concise Study Bible. There will be five winners this week and each will receive a copy of each of these Bibles.

Here is how Crossway describes it: 
The ESV Concise Study Bible was created to help readers explore the essential meaning of the Bible. Inspired by the best-selling ESV Study Bible, this robust Bible offers fresh content for new believers and seasoned saints alike, explaining difficult phrases, defining key terms, identifying important people and places, and highlighting links between biblical passages. 
Featuring 12,000+ study notes; 150+ maps and charts; 15+ illustrations; and an introduction to each book that outlines its setting, background, and key themes, the ESV Concise Study Bible is rich in content yet approachable and easy to carry—perfect for studying God’s Word in any context.

Enter Here
Giveaway Rules: You may enter one time. By entering, you will be added to Crossway’s mailing list. As soon as the winners have been chosen, all names and addresses will be immediately and permanently erased. Winners will be notified by email. The giveaway closes Saturday at noon. If you are viewing this through email, click to visit my site and enter there.

The world was still new, the earth was still young, humanity was still barely east of Eden. And deep in virgin forests, unseen by human eye, untrod by human foot, a gentle fern was summoned forth from the soil. Its fronds were perfectly symmetrical, its leaves were vibrant green, it was uniquely patterned with the most delicate of veins.

When the sun broke through the trees above, it illumined the fern with beams of gold. When the dews fell in the quiet of night, they topped it with crowns of silver. When the winds blew upon it, it fluttered and danced with joy. It was but a little fern, but it was the delight of its Maker.
But a day came when the thunders rolled and the rocks split. A day came when the earth quaked and the mountains heaved. A day came when the skies above and the deeps beneath broke open in mighty torrents and floods. That little fern succumbed to the waves and was buried and compressed, encased in clay. Like all humans and like all animals, it perished.
Yet the clay that encased that fern also protected it. As the clay dried and hardened, it preserved the shape, the lines, and even the gentle traces of the veins. A living work of art gave way to a petrified one.
And then it rested. It rested through the centuries as nations rose and fell. It rested through the millennia as kingdoms waxed and waned. It rested in hardened rock.
But then, at last, a day came when a young man drew near—a young man who was searching for secrets hidden in nature. Deep in a fissure he gently withdrew a single stone and carried it up into the bright light of the sun. And as he gazed at that stone he marveled to see, as if drawn with the finest of pencils, the tracings of stems and leaves, of fibers and veins. He rejoiced in the fossil that told of the existence of that fern, that bore its memory, that testified that it had never been forgotten by its Maker.
And as I ponder that petrified fern—hidden through the ages to be revealed at last, forgotten through the ages to be a source of wonder at last—I find myself considering that perhaps God has kept secret from our eyes the salvation of some of his people.
Perhaps he called them to himself after we lost track of them—we assumed their hardened rebellion against Christ continued indefinitely, while only God knows it eventually gave way to the sweetest submission. Perhaps he allowed some to commit terrible deeds toward the end—we were certain they had turned away, but God never loosened his grip on them. Perhaps he called them to himself at their final gasp—we were certain they had gone to judgment, but in the very last moment God brought them safely to glory.
And so I wonder. As I consider that petrified fern I wonder what marvelous secrets God has stored away, what wonderful surprises he has kept hidden from our eyes, what beautiful blessings he has left undisclosed in our day so he can reveal them in that last and wonderful day—so he can reveal them to the delight of our hearts and the praise of his name.

(Inspired by a poem I discovered in an old anthology.)

The old adage may be trite, but that makes it no less true: Absence makes the heart grow fonder. There is something about being apart that stirs our affections, that causes us to understand and articulate what we might otherwise have taken for granted. It is often only through a time of separation that we come to understand how much another person means to us.

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder” is true when our loved ones leave us for extended periods or when they depart for distant lands. But “absence makes the heart grow fonder” is equally true when our loved ones depart this earth altogether. We learn that death does not cause love to die, but that in its own way, it fosters and amplifies love all the more.
And why shouldn’t it? In the distance that death interposes, we come to overlook old vices and delight in former virtues. Offenses begin to fade from our minds, replaced by memories that are sweet and delightful. A loved one was never so virtuous and never so much a Christian as she is in our memory. And then there’s this: our hearts are naturally inclined toward those who are weak. And who could be weaker than one who is drawing his final breath, one who lies in a coffin, one who is buried in the cold ground? Death displays the ultimate weakness and it moves our hearts in pity and love.
And so, though our loved ones are gone, we love them still. Though our loved ones have been taken, we love them all the more. Their absence makes our hearts grow ever-fonder.
But what of their love for us? Do our loved ones continue to love us even when they have gone to that Land of Love, even when they have finally come face to face with the God of Love?
I am convinced that they do love us still and I am convinced that their love, too, grows all the more. I am convinced that absence makes their hearts grow fonder, just as it does ours.
After all, they are still sentient, still conscious, still human, still themselves. The lives they lived are real, the relationships they formed are genuine, the experiences they enjoyed are authentic. Though torn from this world and separated from their bodies for a time, they are not torn from who they were. They are not whitewashed into new beings, not reset into people radically different from the people they were on Earth. The bonds of marriage may be severed by death, but not the sweet friendship of a husband and wife. A man’s son here will still be his son there, a woman’s mother here still her mother there. There is much we wonder about heaven and much we discuss or debate, but not the continuity of relationships, not the continuity of love.
And so, if we treasure all the sweet memories we once made together, wouldn’t they? If our hearts yearn to make new memories with them, wouldn’t theirs? If our mouths are crying out “Come, Lord Jesus,” wouldn’t their mouths sing the same?
It is a beautiful thing to ponder that even as we remember our loved ones with such tender affection, they are remembering us with hearts just as warm. Even as we long for the day when we can throw our arms around them, they long for the day when they can throw theirs around us. Even as we yearn for the time when what was severed will be restored, they are yearning for it too. Their love for us continues and their love for us grows, for absence truly does make the heart grow fonder.