Except for technological advances, the first century AD wasn’t much different than the 21st. The human condition can be depressingly consistent: injustice, exploitation, oppression, violence.
Albert Einstein may have suffered from Impostor Syndrome—the tendency for accomplished people to suspect they’re frauds. He said, “The exaggerated esteem in which my lifework is held makes me very ill at ease.” Few among us would question Einstein’s colossal contributions to physics. If he doubted his work, where do the rest of us stand?
When my friend received a traffic ticket for speeding in a construction zone, he decided to contest it in court. As he put it, he was driving below the posted speed limit when another vehicle raced past him. The police officer’s radar gun had recorded the other car’s speed. But the judge would have none of it.
My pastor deftly delivers his sermons with the logical approach of a professor. Going verse by verse through a passage of the Bible, he carefully references other Scriptures to provide historical context. Despite rarely raising his voice, his passion for truth is evident.
I have a confession to make (inhale deeply and hold breath):I’m not a dog person! But here’s another confession. Mywife is training a black Labrador Retriever as a service dog for people with disabilities, and . . . well, Snickers is absolutely the sweetest, most gentle and loving creature in the world—even though she’s so very doggish. You might even venture to say I’ve grown to love her.
When Tom Carlisle told his parents he didn’t wantto attend his high school’s prom (formal dance), they understood. Tom is a young man with special needs, and he knew he wouldn’t be comfortable in that social setting.
Occasionally I tell people that my wife attended university on a dodgeball scholarship. Some people naively react with, “Oh, really?” Others call me on it. “Dodgeball? Seriously? When did that become a scholarship sport?”
The 1965 movie Shenandoah stars Jimmy Stewart as Charlie Anderson, an authoritarian father of seven who farms in the Shenandoah Valley. Set during the American Civil War, the film explores themes of war, family, and restoration.
In early 2015, a fraternity at the University of Oklahoma in the US was caught on video singing a deeply offensive and racist song. Reaction by university officials was swift and stern, and rightly so. But what did Isaac Hill, president of the school’s Black Student Association, have to say? After all, the chillingly racist chant had targeted African-Americans.
Cameron, a friend of mine, didn’t share my spiritual beliefs. He openly opposed Christianity and some of its moral tenets. One day in my previous workplace, he led a seminar on domestic violence and used it as a chance to bash the Bible. His “correlation” was illogical and inappropriate. The book that tells husbands to “love their wives as they love their own bodies” and instructs fathers “Do not provoke your children to anger by the way you treat them” does not condone violence in the home (Ephesians 5:28, 6:4).
It’s a little cartoon with a simple plot. The Christmas pageant is approaching, and the boy-director can’t do anything right. Now, 50 years later, A Charlie Brown Christmas still draws excellent ratings in parts of the world. Why?
I sat riveted to the screen as my alma mater completed a stunning comeback in a big football game. Just after scoring in the waning seconds, a player knelt and offered a prayer. No grandstanding; no look-at-me celebratory theatrics. Just a quick, humble prayer of gratitude to God before his overjoyed teammates swarmed him.
It’s the kind of photo that compels even tough guys to use words like adorable and precious. And many women? They’ll say “Awwwww” in one long, heartrending syllable while clutching at their hearts and contorting their faces into maudlin expressions.
When I was asked to present the flag to the daughter of a Navy veteran at her father’s funeral, I readily accepted. As a veteran myself, and the son of a veteran, I knew the poignant power of a flag-draped coffin.
As a second-grader at a mission school in Ghana, I didn’t fare too well. Our two teachers gallantly juggled lesson plans for students spanning seven grades. This academic effort took place in a two-room cinderblock structure with an aluminum roof that began to broil us by noon each day. Distractions waged war on my 7-year-old attention span, and they were winning—handily.