During a recent presidential election year in my country, I found myself disappointed by the behavior of some of our Christian leaders. They told us to put our hope in Jesus, but their words and actions indicated they were putting their hope in “Caesar”—in political power.
Poets have long used the seasons as metaphors for our lives. Spring is seen as a time of new beginnings and potential; summer is a time of growth and success; autumn is the harvest season when we reap the fruits of our labors; and winter is a time of endings and rest.
Their faces are wrung with anguish. Bloodied survivors of a terrorist attack stumble out of their Kenyan campus. German families grimly gather at a crash site in the French Alps. Nepalese parents dig through rubble, desperately calling the name of their lost child. As long as we live in a fallen world, humans will have moments when it seems we can’t go on.
When I was a kid, my dad encouraged me to be courageous and not play it safe. He could see how tempted I was to overthink a situation or to hedge my bets. “Do something!” he would say. Then in jest, he would add: “Even if it’s wrong, do something!”
Not long ago I was certain that God was moving my husband and me in a specific direction. Two different sources, without consulting one another, encouraged us to pursue the same opportunity. So we did. Doors flew open as we kept moving forward. We were encouraged and excited, for what we never thought would happen was coming together right before our very eyes. As we bathed the whole process in prayer, God seemed to be honoring our requests. Until the eleventh hour, that is. That’s when the final door was slammed shut in our faces. We were shocked, and felt cheated and tricked by God. There was absolutely no way to make our dream a reality.
Pastor and author John Maxwell wrote, “People buy into the leader before they buy into the vision.” In other words, if we don’t believe in the character, wisdom, and vision of a leader, we face the challenge of following someone we don’t trust or respect.
Kim Nguyen was preparing for her doctoral exams in Old Testament when she learned that she would need surgery on her eyes. She should have recovered in 2 weeks, but 6 months later she still couldn’t see. She feared that her dream of teaching the Bible was slipping away. How could she write her dissertation if she couldn’t see? How would she find work to pay back her student loans?
As a newborn, Katheryn Deprill was abandoned in a Burger King restaurant. Katheryn’s mother, just 17, hid the pregnancy and gave birth in her bedroom. After kissing her infant daughter on the forehead, she left the baby where she was sure to be found. Twenty-seven years later, Katheryn Deprill met her birth mother and thanked her for giving her life.
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.
As a Chinese man, when I told my father that I was giving my children Greek names, he reminded me to make sure they would be meaningful and nice-sounding. Most important, my kids were to have the same family name. Ah, so many first names to choose from!
Have you ever been asked to do something you didn’t feel qualified to do—something you felt that God was asking you to do? I usually feel this way in the midst of a hard conversation. The moment truth-telling becomes necessary or when I feel compelled to speak to someone who has hurt me, I especially sense the nudging of God. I feel unqualified to do what He wants—to speak the truth in love in the hopes of winning the other person back (Matthew 18:15; Ephesians 4:15).
In November 2014, police found a 13-year-old boy who had been missing for 4 years. The heart- wrenching story grew even more shocking when police revealed that the boy’s father and stepmother had the boy all the time—hidden behind a fake wall in their house during most hours of each day. For 4 long years the boy waited to be found, waited to be reunited with his mother.
Theodore Bayley Hardy, a chaplain in the British Army, is one of the most highly decorated noncombatants of World War I. On his gravestone are etched some letters most people won’t understand: VC, DSO, MC. They reveal that Hardy—who died from battle wounds—received the Victoria Cross, Distinguished Service Order, and Military Cross for his service.
Looking back, some of the most stretching moments in my life came when I was asked to do something new—something I had never done before. Perhaps you can relate to being asked to do something way out of your comfort zone!
I never wanted to be the pastor of a church. So when I was approached by the elders of my congregation and asked to consider the role, I immediately refused—telling them quite clearly that being a minister was not my calling. There was no doubt in my mind that I would be no good at it. The whole idea didn’t appeal to me, and so—in my mind—God would certainly not require me to follow such a path.