The Lower Lights
I stood on the cold, gray granite of the New Hampshire coast, watching a lighthouse beam pierce through a biting wind that felt a world away from my Texas home. I realized then that while the great lighthouse marks the shore, it’s the smaller "lower lights" at the harbor’s edge that actually guide a ship safely through the jagged rocks. Our daily acts of kindness and encouragement are those smaller lights, and someone near you might be counting on your steady glow to find their way home tonight.
Beyond the Plastic Mask
I remember when the height of spectacular fashion was a fifty-nine-cent plastic Dracula mask held on by a single rubber band and two staples. Those cheesy costumes never really scared anyone, but as I grew older, I faced real terrors like a young wife’s tumor and the crushing weight of a mortgage I couldn't pay. If you are pacing the floor tonight worried about the future, come read why the best way to find peace is often to look back at the mountains God has already moved for you.
Toner-Fueled Armageddon
I stood in the teachers’ lounge, staring down a jammed copier while the ghost of Sulu counted down the seconds until the tardy bell. Between the "Red Alert" on Tray 2 and the empty box of crullers, my morning had all the high-stakes drama of a failing transporter room on the Starship Enterprise. If you’ve ever needed a "wee bit of a miracle" to survive the mundane battles of your day, come read how I channeled my inner Scotty to beat the machine.
The Giant in the Ditch
I was out for a pre-dawn walk when a massive, looming silhouette near a drainage ditch nearly stopped my heart. I braced myself to face a giant, only to realize that things aren't always what they seem when the light hits them just right. If you’ve ever felt too ordinary or too flawed to matter in a much larger story, come read how a walk in the dark taught me that the size of a shadow has very little to do with the person casting it.
When Statistics Find a Face
I spent years watching high school students roll their eyes at the grainy, black-and-white footage of The Grapes of Wrath, only to see them lean in when the story finally gave a name to the suffering. We treat modern tragedies the same way, scrolling past headlines until a specific face forces us to stop and feel the weight of another’s pain. It turns out that statistics are easy to ignore, but a neighbor in a ditch requires a decision.
Embracing the True Father
For years, I viewed God as a bit of a cold Dickensian schoolmaster—stern, corrective, and always ready with a hard lesson. But as a father of three, I realized that few things brought me more joy than surprising my kids with a candy bar or holding them close after a disappointment. If I, a sinner, could love my children that fiercely, how much more does a perfect Father delight in us? Come read why my old view of God imploded like a derelict skyscraper, and how the "good gifts" of a Father changed everything I thought I knew about grace.
A Worthless Religion
I once worked with a woman who felt the need to tell me, "I'm religious," despite admitting she didn't sound or act like it. It was a label she wore like a badge, but it got me thinking about how much the world loves a "religion" that mirrors its own attitudes and ignores the reality of sin. If your faith feels more like a coat of white paint on a crumbling wall than a deep, inward transformation, come read why a "worthless" religion is the one thing Jesus warned against most—and how a heart truly changed by grace doesn't need a trumpet to be heard.
Faith in the Forecast
I’ve spent sixty-five years living in a place where the air conditioning often runs straight through Thanksgiving and "autumn" is merely a theoretical concept we hope for in the humidity. This annual ritual of scanning the horizon for a promised cold front has become a masterclass in the spiritual discipline of waiting for relief that hasn't arrived yet. It turns out that faith grows best in the delay, though I wouldn't mind if the theology of patience didn't require quite so much sweating.
The Dam That Built Itself
Imagine standing before the massive Hoover Dam and announcing to the world's finest engineers that you built the whole thing yourself. Every turbine, every tunnel, every ton of concrete. The laughter would echo for miles. But what if you told them something even more ridiculous? What if the claim that followed made the first one sound reasonable? A retired teacher walks inside one of history's greatest engineering feats and makes an argument most people have already accepted without realizing how absurd it sounds.
The 5 A.M. Tug-of-War
Awake before the sun, my hand instinctively reaches for the nightstand to check a feed that is already angry about something new. This reflex triggers a conveyor belt of indignation, drowning out the stillness where God waits to speak peace into the chaos. The urgent is always loud, but the important is quiet—and in the age of FOMO, we risk missing the only presence we were actually made for.