Losing the Grace to Grieve
I read the comments following a recent tragedy and felt a deep chill at the gleeful cruelty on display. It seems we have traded the grace of grieving for the cheap thrill of turning our enemies' pain into a punchline. We are in danger of letting our politics harden our hearts into stone. The command to love our enemies has never been more difficult, or more necessary, than it is right now.
The Devil Works Like a Car Dealer
In this story, Allen recounts a maddening ordeal at a car dealership—complete with "missing keys," long waits, and managers who are perpetually "at lunch"—that taught him more about spiritual warfare than any sermon . He realizes these exhausting tactics of delay and deception aren't just for selling sedans; they're the exact same playbook the enemy uses to wear down our spiritual defenses . Sometimes the devil doesn't attack with fire and pitchforks, but with a smile and a promise that he'll be "right back" .
The Gifts Money Can’t Buy
I remember the 1996 craze when parents were fighting in toy aisles and paying $1,500 for a thirty-dollar Tickle Me Elmo. We often convince ourselves that a miracle in a box can make up for a year of missed bedtimes, but the older I get, the clearer it becomes that what children treasure most can’t be scalped or traded. If you're feeling the pressure to buy the "perfect" gift this year, come read why a twelve-dollar plastic spy kit and a firm "no" to a Cadillac were the greatest inheritances my fathers ever gave me.
The Worst News Isn’t on TV
I have started watching the news like a child watches a scary movie, peeking through my fingers and dreading what comes next. Between the government shutdowns and the violence in the streets, it feels like the whole world is anxious and exhausted. But I’ve learned that the headlines don’t actually contain the worst news—or the best news—that affects our lives. Real hope is found when you realize that grace is the only gift that doesn't come with a hidden price tag.
The Lie We Buy
I used to sit ten feet away from a tiny black-and-white TV, mesmerized by the lifelike masks on Mission: Impossible. It took me years to realize that the exotic worlds on the screen were just painted backdrops on a studio lot. We often fall for the same illusion today, mortgaging our peace to buy a version of the "good life" that turns out to be nothing more than a hollow prop.
The Day I Turned Pro
Standing in the chaos of a sixth-grade classroom, I realized the noise felt less like my old routine and more like a hurricane. That moment forced me to admit that I am no longer a teacher who writes, but a writer who occasionally teaches. It turns out that "turning pro" isn't about the size of your paycheck, but the internal decision to finally embrace the work you were called to do.
The Tsunami of Sixth Grade
I recently stepped into a sixth-grade classroom and was met with a literal tsunami of energy that made me thank God I spent most of my career teaching seniors. Watching kids with the attention spans of gnats on caffeine reminded me that while there is a beauty in staying "young at heart," there is a hidden danger in staying "childish in spirit." If you find yourself easily unsettled by the noise of the world, come read why spiritual maturity isn't about losing your joy—it's about gaining the stability to spot a counterfeit from a mile away.
Wrapping Paper and Mist
I remember sitting on the couch as a boy, staring at the Christmas tree and feeling like time had slowed to a crawl. Back then, the year 2025 felt like the year 3000—a distant, unthinkable future. Today, as I prepare to substitute for a teacher who was once a fourteen-year-old student in my own classroom, I realize that the circle has narrowed and the "mist" of life is moving faster than I ever imagined. If you’ve reached the season where you have fewer days ahead than behind, come read why the most important work we have left is learning how to wrap our chapters well.
Verbal Grenades & the Bruised Reed
I watched a string of crude profanity and a lecture on atheism land in my notifications like a wild pitch aimed right for my head. My first instinct as a former teacher was to lob a verbal grenade back, but then I remembered a specific promise about how Jesus handles a bruised reed. If you’ve ever felt the sting of an unfair insult, there is a better way to respond than swinging back.
The Betrayal of the Needle
His son stared up at the doctor with wide-eyed curiosity — right until the needle hit. Then he turned to his father with a look of pure outrage. How could you let this happen? It's the same look we give God when the job falls through, the prayer goes unanswered, the grade comes back at 52. But what if the needle is the protection? What if the closed door is the blessing? A retired AP Economics teacher looks back at crushed students, career disappointments, and a mother-in-law's quiet wisdom at a funeral — and finds a Father who never betrayed anyone.