At that time Jesus said, “I praise you, Father . . .” (Matthew 11:25) I was sitting in a Sunday service recently listening to my pastor talk about the importance of staying close to God, and my mind started comparing my spiritual walk lately to a car that just won’t start. The picture came so…
“But those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.”— Isaiah 40:31 When God created the earth, He didn’t make a single thing to stand on its own two feet forever. Not an…
As I type these words on a laptop with a dying battery, I recognize the familiar warning signs of a spirit running on empty. The headlines may have changed since the pandemic, but the anxiety we feel is just the same old song playing a different verse. We can continue to drain our energy on fear, or we can choose to plug into a source that actually sustains us. It all comes down to deciding which wolf you are going to feed.
I used to start every semester by asking my students to define economics in a single word, and they almost always got it wrong. We often make the same mistake in our spiritual lives, trying to balance a ledger of good deeds to outweigh our failures. It turns out that the math of heaven is different than the math of earth, and the debt was never ours to settle.
The phone rings. The voice on the other end is grinding stone and venom — a collector demanding payment on a debt you can’t cover. He knows your name, your failures, every zero on the ledger. He’s calling your boss, your mother, threatening prison. But sitting on the desk is a notarized receipt. The debt has already been paid. Every threat is a bluff. Every accusation is a lie. If your internal dialogue has ever sounded like that collector’s voice, this post is for you. The accuser is a con man — and the paperwork says he’s already lost.
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.
We’ve just finished trying to live inside a Norman Rockwell painting, and we’re already staring down the festive village of a Currier and Ives Christmas. But today is just the long, utilitarian bridge that connects the two—a quiet span where the turkey is gone, the feet are sore, and “active rejoicing” feels like it would require a long nap first. If you’re feeling a bit washed out between the celebrations, come read why the greatest gladness today isn’t found in the noise, but in the simple, steady grace of catching your breath.
I have a habit of checking my rearview mirror five times before a lane change, just as I’ve spent weeks scouring European forums before buying a single camera. This obsessive need to triple-check every detail makes the command to “walk by faith and not by sight” feel like a steep, misty climb for a man like me. If you’ve ever felt like your “what if” imagination is a ghost in your blind spot, you might find comfort in the fact that God treasures the cautious Thomases just as much as the bold Peters.
I sat alone in a cavernous surgery waiting room, watching a cheerful episode of I Love Lucy that felt like a cruel joke against the silence of the hospital. I was only twenty-one years old when the surgeon finally walked in, his face tight with the kind of news that shatters a young man’s world in a single sentence. If you’ve ever felt the “mud and mire” rising around your feet, come read how a Gideon’s Bible and a steady hand helped me find solid ground when I had no strength left of my own.
I grew up in a house where we built sandwiches on gummy white bread with ham sliced so thin you could practically see through it. My father, a man shaped by the Great Depression, treated real ham as a high luxury, yet those lean years were some of the most satisfying of my life. Today, I see folks on luxury cruises letting an under-toasted bagel ruin their entire vacation, and I’m reminded that contentment has almost nothing to do with the menu. If you’re waiting for an “upgrade” to finally be happy, come read why the secret to a full heart is found in trusting the Giver, whether you’re eating steak or tissue-thin luncheon meat.