The Kingdom and the Power and the Glory

 Now and forever

“Yours is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever” (Matthew 6:13 NKJV).

When I recite this line from the Lord’s Prayer in church or during my personal devotional time, that last word, “forever,” grabs my attention.

Forever. That’s a long time. An endless eternity. Unimaginable. As I think about the implications of forever, I find myself contemplating a God who is so far above my minuscule human mind and mortal human body that I will never come anywhere close to understanding Him in this life. I need this reminder of His greatness and my smallness.

But one day, while meditating on this sentence, I realize that that little word “forever” can take me too far down a certain road. I seem to be thinking: not Yours is, but Yours will be. Looking to the far-off future in awe and wonder, anticipating that day when God really will have the kingdom and the power and the glory. As if He doesn’t have them right now. As if I’m waiting, and will have to continue waiting, for these words to be fulfilled. As if this is a prophecy, not a statement of the current reality.

When I look at my world, when I see the rebellion and violence and sin, do I honestly believe that God is the all-powerful, glorious king right now? And yet that’s what this prayer, spoken by Jesus Himself, is saying. Is. Not will be. Both now and forever.

My warped view of God

How do I reconcile this idea with what I see around me? How do I really believe, not just shut down the part of my brain that wants to question it, but truly, firmly, undoubtingly believe that God’s is the kingdom and the power and the glory right now?

To my human eyes, God can look like a lax dad who lets his children get away with too much. He has the title and the presumed authority, but everyone knows that he’s not really in control. When I’m feeling discouraged and doubtful, when Satan is shooting his flaming darts at me, is this how I think of God? Is this how I explain the trials and tragedies all around me? Am I imagining that He isn’t ruling very well just yet, but one day He’ll get it right, and then everything will be fine?

Or do I see Him as being like a superhero facing off against an almost-unbeatable foe? The villain strikes. Our hero comes to the rescue. But the bad guy shows unexpected strength or creativity. Sometimes he even captures the one we’re rooting for. Who will win? How will he do it? The outcome is uncertain. It could go either way. But then, just barely, at the last possible moment before total destruction occurs, the good guy pulls it off.

If God is really all-powerful right now, then why is there so much suffering on this planet? Is He just slightly stronger than Satan, who wins many of the battles by his might and ingenuity in spite of whatever attempts God makes to stop him? Do I sometimes imagine God hanging on by the skin of His teeth until the ultimate battle, when He will finally draw on His last ounce of strength and overthrow evil once and for all?

It doesn’t seem like He has much glory now, either. Especially in our Western culture, where we worship actors and musicians and athletes. They’ve captivated and awed us with their talents and their performances. Haven’t they earned the glory that we give them? What has God done that can rival their accomplishments? It’s so easy to think that He doesn’t really have or deserve much glory now, but when that future forever comes, then He’ll show us what He’s got.

His kingdom and power and glory

As I’m wrestling with these ideas, as I’m trying to understand what I know to be true—that God’s is the kingdom and the power and the glory right now—several thoughts come to mind.

First, I know that everything that I see and think and feel and believe is distorted by sin, Satan, the fall, and the curse. God has revealed enough of Himself in His Word for me to be secure in the knowledge that I can trust Him for my salvation. But absolutely everything that my fallen mind can focus on is tainted, even my view of His character and His actions.

Second, I consider the wonder that this holy and righteous God, who brought into being all that exists, has granted His feeble creatures true freedom to make real choices. Why would a sovereign, all-powerful God do such a thing? Why would He allow His creation to be ruined by petty little humans when He could make it perfectly good and beautiful forever?

The only answer I can find is that He does it out of His love for us. A wise and loving father desires guided freedom for his children, not total control. He knows that that’s what’s best for them and delights in providing it. He freely chooses to restrain his power, to allow them to learn and grow by making their own decisions.

Every day, by my own will, I can behave in ways that impact God’s priceless creation for better or for worse, for good or for evil. I have the power (within the limits that He’s set) to bring joy and gladness or pain and sorrow. When I’m questioning His power, I’m forgetting that He, in His sovereignty and His love, freely allows me to make bad decisions in spite of the consequences.

Third, I realize that, in our fallen state, we cannot gaze on His glory in all its fullness and live. Our mortal bodies are too weak and too corrupted by sin. That was the message behind God’s response to Moses’ request to see His glory in Exodus 33:18-23. God couldn’t allow Moses to look on His full glory (His face); it would destroy him. He could only grant him a partial view (His back).

God has all the glory. Today. Right now. His glory is complete—just as it always has been and always will be. I get a glimpse of it in His creation, His Word, and His actions in my life, but I don’t see all of it because my vision is, by necessity, limited.

And finally, my thoughts circle back to that humbling truth: God is so far above my minuscule human mind and mortal human body that I will never come anywhere close to understanding Him in this life. His is the kingdom and the power and the glory right now. If I have trouble believing that, it’s because of my shortcomings, not His.

 

A Very Human Mary

Mary’s strengths

Mary was human. I know that. And yet my mental image of her verges on superhuman perfection.

Her faith was so much greater than mine. She was so quick to accept God’s will for her life. Her poem in Luke 1:46-56 reveals a depth of understanding of both God’s character and His Word that few teenage girls of her time or any other time have ever achieved. (My thanks to a wise mentor who recently pointed out to me the numerous Old Testament references in this song of praise. She knew her Scripture amazingly well.) At her age, I was just a baby Christian with a great deal to learn.

Mary must have gone through many challenging, puzzling, and painful experiences from Jesus’ conception to His resurrection, yet her faith remained strong. My sense of her personality from the first two chapters of Luke is that she genuinely wanted to please God and follow Him, even when she didn’t understand what was happening. She trusted Him. I’ve always had great admiration for her. But reading through Luke chapter 1 this time around, the main characteristic that strikes me is her humanity.

Gabriel’s visit

One day, the angel Gabriel appears to Mary, presumably as she’s simply going about her normal routine. She must be alone (which would make the situation more difficult) or the story would likely read a little differently. She’s “greatly troubled” by the angel’s greeting. Human. If she was the perfect saint that I want her to be, surely she would humbly and graciously accept his visit with a calm and peaceful heart. In awe, but not troubled.

Gabriel informs Mary that she has nothing to be afraid of and that she’s found favor with God. He tells her that she’s going to get pregnant. This is where her thoughts get stuck. Does she actually hear his next words, describing the incredible child that she’s going to bear? Her response is a confused, “How will this be, since I am a virgin?”

Her entire focus is on the physical logistics: How can a virgin have a baby? She’s probably also thinking about, and fearing, the social and legal repercussions of getting pregnant before being married. She seems to have missed the entire message about Who her Son will be. So human.

Even after Gabriel gives a brief explanation of how Mary’s pregnancy will occur, and reassures her with the words, “Nothing is impossible with God,” Mary seems to be thinking about the immediate, short-term issue, not the great and glorious future. She replies, “I am the Lord’s servant. May it be to me as you have said.” As if she’s still thinking about the difficulties of her pregnancy, not the joy of the coming Messiah.

My focus

How often do I forget the wonder of God’s promises because I’m too focused on the pesky little details, and the possible shame and suffering, involved in getting there?

Do I think ahead to the miracle of seeing a friend come to salvation? Or do I lock up, hesitating about witnessing to her, because of my fear of looking foolish or being rejected? Do I approach a difficult subject with a family member at the Holy Spirit’s prompting, knowing that our relationship will be strengthened by working through our differences? Or does that seemingly irresistible desire to avoid conflict hold me back?

My Bible study leader is doing a brief series on 2 Thessalonians. Much of the book deals with the Second Coming of Christ. The teacher has warned us right from the start that we need to keep our eyes on the promise and the joy of His appearing, rather than getting bogged down in the details of the specific events. His question: At the end of my days, do I want to be known as one who made the best arguments on social media for a certain interpretation of the end times, one who shut down all the other voices screaming to be heard—or as one who lived a life of love and grace in anticipation of Jesus’ return?

In a recent blog post, Philip Yancey mentions hearing about “congregations torn apart by anger and fear over vaccines and masks.” Are they so concerned about these minor issues, which will mean nothing an eternity from now, that they can’t see the greater, more profound and far-reaching truths concerning the very character of God and His love for all mankind? Sounds like a more extreme version of the short-term thinking that Mary experiences.

My hope

But she also shows a very human ability to learn and grow and remember. Even better than that, she shows a greater-than-human ability to quickly turn her eyes from her own immediate and fearful situation to the far more worthy view of the eternal God and His work in human history. Luke makes it a point to let us know that not much time passes between Mary’s shock at Gabriel’s announcement and her proclamation of God’s wisdom and grace. She might have gotten stuck early on in her conversation with Gabriel, but she didn’t stay there very long.

This is where I find hope for myself and for people everywhere. As long as I can learn and grow and remember even in these difficult times, even when my country seems to be irretrievably wrapped up in venomous disputes over minor questions, I can change for the better, and maybe be a part of changing this world for the better.

Like Mary, I can shift my mind from self-concern and worrying about the little details to the great good news of who God is and how He is fulfilling His promises for this planet. Just as Mary accepted her challenging role in God’s plan, I can live out my life following Jesus’ example by loving my enemies and drawing others to Him regardless of the cost.

 

Thankful Like Paul

 Paul’s example

“I thank my God through Jesus Christ for all of you” (Romans 1:8).

“I always thank God for you” (1 Corinthians 1:4).

“I have not stopped giving thanks for you” (Ephesians 1:16).

“I thank my God every time I remember you” (Philippians 1:3).

“We always thank God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, when we pray for you” (Colossians 1:3).

“We always thank God for all of you” (1 Thessalonians 1:2).

“We ought always to thank God for you” (2 Thessalonians 1:3).

Here’s how I want to interpret these verses in the letters Paul wrote to various churches: “I thank God for those of you who are saved and growing and displaying His fruit in your lives.” Sometimes the context seems to imply that idea. Sometimes Paul goes on to include the reason that he’s grateful for a particular group. That reason usually applies only to Christians who are doing the right thing.

In many Bible studies of individual New Testament epistles, I’ve been told that the author is writing to believers alone. Everything in the book must be understood accordingly. Maybe I’m right in wanting to think that Paul is only addressing those who are saved when he says that he’s thankful for them.

But then I see those words “all” and “always.” I don’t like it, and I don’t have much hope that I can live up to it, but the implication seems to be that Paul thanked God for every person in every church all the time. Not just the believers. Not just those who were learning and growing. Not just those who were being good Christians at the moment. And I should do the same thing.

My struggle

Who am I actually grateful for in my local church? The leaders who teach the lessons that touch me in a meaningful way (even when it hurts). Those who are doing their best to follow Jesus—who treat others with kindness and respect, who have strong healthy marriages, who minister to those in need. The good people with the good hearts. I can be truly thankful for them.

I can even be somewhat thankful for those who aren’t yet Christians but are seeking the truth. There’s a certain excitement in hoping and praying that they’ll accept Jesus’ offer of salvation, and in being a part of that process.

But I struggle to be grateful for the majority of the people in my church. I have an especially hard time with those who claim to be Christians and yet who live such unChristlike lives that I have to question whether they actually believe the gospel. I try to be careful not to make myself the judge of who is and who is not saved. I try to remember that God alone knows the hearts of men. Therefore, not many people fall into this category in my mind. Do I have to be thankful for them anyway? It sounds like I do.

Next on my hard-to-be-thankful-for list are the ones whose salvation I don’t question, but who have certain quirks that go against all the Bible’s teachings and who show no signs of overcoming those quirks even after thirty years or more of new life. The ones outsiders call hypocrites and use as an excuse for rejecting the gospel.

The husbands and wives who bicker over every trivial issue, who’ve forgotten their vow to cherish each other, who are eager to blame and accuse rather than understanding and forgiving. Do I have to be thankful for these people? It sounds like it.

The gossip. The one who complains to me about something a mutual friend said or did, rather than forgiving that friend. Do I have to be grateful for the gossips in my church? I think so.

The man who experiences God’s provision when life is hard and “learns” that God will always take care of his needs, but goes right back to worrying intensely about his finances the next time his income drops off a bit. No change. No growth. Do I have to be thankful for this guy? Yes.

The elderly woman who condescendingly wonders what a twenty-something with purple hair and multiple tattoos and piercings is doing in our Sunday school class. I can be grateful for the younger one. I know something of her past and how much she’s wrestled with life’s challenges. Church should be the best place for her, among believers who can demonstrate God’s love and help her find healing. But am I thankful for that old lady, as Paul would have been? Not yet. I need to learn how to do that.

Why be thankful?

Part of my problem is that I feel like I have to have a specific reason to be grateful for a particular person. Maybe he’s a good Bible teacher. Maybe she always seems to call me just when I need someone to talk to. In all those verses cited above, Paul’s words of thanksgiving are often followed by “because. . . .” But in 1 Corinthians 1:4, he’s thankful for them “because of his grace given to you in Christ Jesus.” Not because of who they are. Not because of what they’ve done. But because of who God is.

How can I be grateful for the irritable spouses, the gossips, the ones of little faith, the critics? Shouldn’t I try to show them the error of their ways? Wouldn’t my attempts at correction imply that I’m not yet thankful for them, but if they’d just shape up, then I would be?

I’ve been mulling over this question for several weeks. How do I thank God for others without simply glossing over the habitual sin in their lives? I’ve been struggling in my attempts to offer honest prayers of thanksgiving for all of the people in my church. I’ve been laying my heart bare before God, asking for His mercy and guidance so that I can develop an attitude that would be more pleasing to Him.

And He’s begun to answer that prayer. He led me to the conclusion that I have at least two reasons to thank Him for each individual person in my church: that person bears the image of God, and God loves him more dearly than I can ever imagine. How could I not be thankful for God’s image walking around right in front of my eyes? How could I refuse to give thanks for someone God loves so deeply?

 I can understand this idea in theory, but it’s hard to put it into practice, as Paul did. How could Paul always be thankful for all of the people in any given church? Maybe he could do it because God had loved him and reached out to him even when he was viciously attacking Jesus’ followers. Maybe his heart was so filled with gratitude after his experience on the road to Damascus that he could be thankful even for the most difficult people within each church.

Maybe if I was more deeply grateful for God’s grace and His revelation of Himself and His sacrifice in making His salvation available to all, I would be thankful like Paul for every person in my church all the time.

 

Praying for Healing

 Prayer and healing

Getting out of bed with a nauseous stomach and a stuffy head as I slowly recover from a flu bug. (Thank You, Lord, that my COVID test came back negative.) Streaming obsessive thoughts about me and my misery. Longing for healing. And feeling like a self-centered Christian who disappoints God and drives nonbelievers even further from the gospel.

Staring in the bathroom mirror, thinking back on the book about prayer that I was reading in bed last night. The author* questions our American tendency to focus the majority of our prayer requests on our physical comfort. Shouldn’t we be more concerned about peace and justice and caring for God’s creation? My heart sank as I waded through page after page of examples and illustrations. People interceding in ways that go far beyond anything I’ve ever done. After what I’ve just read, how can I even consider asking God yet again for renewed health?

Then I remember that the writer also points out Jesus’ loving concern for the physical wholeness of the people who surrounded Him as He walked this earth. It’s not like He doesn’t care. It’s not like we shouldn’t ever pray for ourselves when we’re sick or injured.

After looking at the issue of supernatural healing from different angles, the author provides some suggestions for how to pray. One in particular springs to mind now: It’s good and right to bring our heart’s desires to God’s throne. He already knows them better than we do, but it helps us to express them honestly and openly to One who loves us deeply. So I pause in the middle of my morning routine and give it a try.

My heart’s desires

I would love to be stronger and healthier for my own sake. This is my desire. But is it my greatest longing? Would I be truly satisfied and fulfilled if I could experience normal energy levels for my age, but nothing more? No. Here, God, are the deepest yearnings of my heart:

I desire to better serve You as You’ve called me to do. To spend more time writing. To get my first book published so that my readers may find Your healing, and so that I would have the funds to help others in need. Especially that one young man mired in medical debt. You’ve impressed his situation on my soul in a special way, and I’m doing what I can to help him out, but it’s so very little compared to the enormity of what he owes. If I had more strength and energy, I could do so much more to serve You in the ways that You’ve led me to.

I desire to better serve others by spending more time with friends. Between COVID closures in 2020 and new health issues in 2021, I’ve only sat one-on-one with a companion a handful of times in the last two years. Yes, I need this fellowship for my own mental health, but I also long to be there for someone else. I remember past visits and the look of contentment and pleasure on my friend’s face after sharing our burdens, our joys and our sorrows, our struggles and our faith. If I had more strength and energy, I could do so much more to minister to my friends.

I desire to stop weighing down my loved ones with my needs. I’m younger than most of my friends, and they have enough troubles of their own. Several months ago, when I was going through a bout of gastritis and looking for help, nearly everyone I talked to was either awaiting medical test results or scheduling minor surgery. If I had more strength and energy, I could lighten the load of worry and of requests for assistance that I’m placing on my family and friends.

It helps to voice these thoughts to God. It turns my focus from selfish desires to compassion for others. So often my prayers for healing are just brief pleas for relief.

But maybe . . .

Then a series of new ideas enters my mind and my prayer continues:

Maybe I can better serve You as I identify more fully with others who are suffering. I tend to think that I’ve been through enough different kinds of pain that I can empathize well with those who are hurting. But maybe my current challenge will tweak my character in just the right way so that I’ll have just the right words to say to the next person who crosses my path.

Maybe I can better serve my friends by allowing them to minister to me. Maybe they experience the same desire to help others as I do. Maybe my self-reliance is actually a hindrance to Your loving intention to bless those friends by giving them the opportunity to sacrifice for me.

Maybe I could better witness to unsaved family members by letting them see my weaknesses and how You strengthen me, instead of hiding my needs in order to prevent them from worrying.

I’m filled with a deep sense of peace as these thoughts flow through my mind. God’s will is always higher and better and richer than mine. My greatest longing is for His will to be done. I don’t always remember that. (And I don’t always remember that He has grown these desires within me. I can’t take credit for them. Thanks, Sam, for reminding me of this truth.)

Your will be done

A few months ago, I read two best-selling novels in the same genre written within the last ten years or so by two different authors. The first was deeply satisfying. Each character was unique, believable, and well-developed. The plot was intriguing, with some humor and enough twists to keep me wondering what would happen next. The author’s creativity and imagination jumped off of every page. I didn’t want the story to end.

The second book was entertaining and full of action. The characters were interesting but kind of flat. The plot and the bad guys were pretty standard for the genre. I didn’t finish the book.

After returning both novels to the library, I thought about the analogy between good vs. great authors and my will vs. God’s will. At its best, having my will is like reading that good author. It can be fun and entertaining. It can meet some of my emotional needs. It can provide warm memories for years to come.

By contrast, having God’s will done in my life is like reading that great author. Every event, every encounter will have its perfect place. Everything will tie together to create a beautiful, artistic whole. Pain and conflict will occur along the way, but the end result will be intense pleasure and lasting fulfillment.

Thank You, Lord, for leading my mind back to that book on prayer and the author’s wise advice about bringing our hearts’ deepest desires to You. May my greatest longing always be for Your gracious, creative, profound, and fully satisfying will to be done.


*I’m leaving the author unnamed because I’m not sure that I’m representing his views accurately. My thoughts here are merely my impression, which could be influenced by my emotional state and my difficulty thinking through the fog in my head.

 

The Fruit of the Spirit

 The fruit

The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control (Galatians 5:22-23).

Who are these verses describing? Us, as followers of Christ? Yes, to some extent. The Holy Spirit is growing these characteristics in us. But like the produce in my grocery store, every piece of my fruit is imperfect—unripened, bruised, or broken. There is only One who always, eternally displays this list of virtues: God. And yet there are fruits listed here that I just don’t think about very often in regard to Him, other than His action in developing them in us. And there are some that the Bible rarely uses to describe Him.

Love, patience, faithfulness

The Scriptures frequently associate three of these words with His nature: love, patience, and faithfulness. Without these qualities, there would be no possibility of my having a personal relationship with Him.

God’s love is expressed in His willingness to go to the greatest lengths to save me.

He demonstrates His patience every time I defy or disappoint Him. He doesn’t just zap me on the spot or instantly revoke my salvation; when I repent, He patiently forgives me and draws me back into His loving arms. Over and over again.

In His faithfulness, He provides for my deepest needs. Daily. Sometimes moment by moment.

Goodness

God’s Word often says that He is good, especially in the Old Testament. But it seems like the only time I hear Christians make this claim is when He says yes to a particular prayer or provides for our needs in unexpected ways. Do I only remember His goodness when He does something good for me?

God is always good. He cannot be anything else. He’s good in the sense that He has no capacity for doing evil. He never sins. He never does wrong. All that He does springs from His total goodness—even in His judgment, even when He allows terrible things to happen. Because of His innate goodness, He can fulfill His promise that all that we witness and experience—including that judgment and those terrible things—will work together for good for His followers (Romans 8:28).

These four words are used throughout the Bible to describe God’s character and actions. But what about the other five fruit?

Joy and peace

I understand that our God must be a God of joy and peace or I wouldn’t be able to bear this fruit. But when I’m struggling and hurting and suffering, I focus on, and I need to know, His sympathy, His sadness, His aching heart. It’s hard to imagine God smiling away in perfect peace as He sees my pain and the brokenness of His creation. And yet, somehow, he always dwells in joy and peace. Maybe because He sees below the surface to the good stuff underneath.

When I’m mourning a loss, He knows that I only grieve for those I’ve loved. That love was deeper and longer-lasting than my grief will ever be. My broken heart heals with time, but the years can never erase the blessings I experience because of the love that I’ve shared with someone else.

When I’m sick or injured, it feels like my whole life is wrapped up in my agony. But it’s actually only one small part of me. I’m still His child, reflecting His image, growing into His fruit-of-the-Spirit likeness. Much of that growth comes because of my suffering.

Maybe God is rejoicing in the good in my life even during my bad times. Maybe His peace stems from looking ahead to see how my light and momentary troubles will bring greater love and joy and hope and faith into His creation. Maybe He really can be filled with unspeakable joy and unshakable peace even as He shares my sorrow.

Kindness and gentleness

I like the idea of a kind, gentle God. One who treats me with tenderness and understanding and concern for my well-being. This is the God I turn to when I’m hurting.

But I can only find a few verses that explicitly state that these qualities are a part of who He is. God’s kindness is meant to bring us to repentance (Romans 2:4). Jesus describes Himself as gentle (Matthew 11:29). Most of the other references to these two traits are reminders that we need to exhibit them.

Illustrations of God’s kindness and gentleness appear throughout the Bible, though, especially in the person of Jesus. His actions speak louder than many thousands of words ever could.

Self-control

When I first started reflecting on the fruit of the Spirit as aspects of God’s character, I wasn’t sure that self-control applied to Him. I was thinking of it as something we fallen humans must exercise to keep from destroying ourselves and our planet. We need it to resist the evil around us and within us. But God is perfect. And perfectly good. Why would He need self-control? How do we see Him demonstrating it?

Then one day while I was reading from the prophets, I had one of those “Well, duh!” moments. In His mercy, God is continually exercising His self-control as His precious but rebellious creatures despise and defy Him. The books of the prophets are full of descriptions of His intense and well-justified wrath. Without His self-control, He would have destroyed this planet long ago.

Wrath

But that potent word “wrath” bothers me. How can a God of wrath also be the source and the prime example of the fruit of the Spirit? Isn’t there some kind of contradiction here?

I look to Jesus’ example in the Gospels for an answer to this dilemma. And here’s what I see: Jesus violently removing the money-changers from the Temple courts. Twice (John 2:13-17, Matthew 21:12-13). Jesus scathingly humiliating and reprimanding the religious leaders of His day in front of large groups of people. Many times (e.g. Matthew chapters 12 and 23). Jesus displaying His wrath.

And how did the poor, the weak, the weary, and the down-trodden respond? The Bible indicates that they were initially puzzled as they marveled at His audacity. But He attracted many followers from among this group. They must have come to realize that His wrath was turned against those who were abusing and tormenting the vulnerable and the helpless. Those who claimed to speak for God while coldly enforcing the letter of their laws and ignoring the spirit of His laws. The common people could see, and delight in, the absolute fairness of Jesus’ wrathful judgments.

One of the biggest struggles I have with the God of the Bible is the concept of hell. How could I ever be at peace in heaven, knowing that someone that I loved in this life was suffering through eternal torment? Maybe, just like the poorest people who followed and worshipped Jesus when He scolded the Pharisees and cleansed the Temple, maybe in the next life my eyes will be opened to see God’s perfect fairness, and I will experience His perfect peace.

Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. These aren’t just character traits that the Holy Spirit is growing in us. Together, they make up a beautiful description of God Himself.