Yesterday I read an article that inspired me to the core. Someone has invented a new kind of soccer ball. When the ball is kicked, it stores up energy within. The ball can be brought home and plugged in to an extension cord. Fifteen minutes of soccer stores up enough energy to light up a house for three hours. The ball has been designed to provide electricity for poor villages in developing countries.
Talk about creativity! My head is spinning with admiration.
We have a bit of that spirit around here. I really don’t mean to brag, but
One morning when I was a little boy, I noticed my mom in her chair near the window. She sat quietly, staring into empty space. She was longing for something … desiring, hungering. I asked her what she was thinking about. I will never forget her answer.
In “Now faith is being sure of what we hope for …” (Hebrews 11:1) In the closing weeks of World War II, the American cruiser U.S.S. Indianapolis was churning westward in the Pacific Ocean en route to the Philippines. Just after midnight, an enemy submarine emerged into the balmy air and launched two torpedoes into …
THE GREATEST IMPROVISATIONAL ATHLETE in my generation was Ervin “Magic” Johnson, the great point guard of the Los Angeles Lakers. When Magic was gliding down the court no one in the world had any idea what he was about to do with the ball. Whatever he did usually shocked everyone, including his teammates, and it almost always generated baskets.
As great as he was, it would be impossible for Magic Johnson to
Each morning, we are offered the chance to rise up and worship the Creator. He is so vast and glorious, and yet he is concerned today with the smallest details of our lives. Nothing is beyond the reach of the Artist’s paintbrush. Woven into the entire fabric of divine revelation are tantalizing glimpses of
KIERKEGAARD WROTE that, “Christianity does not at all emphasize the idea of earthly beauty …” When I read this statement, I was at first left to wonder how such a brilliant mind could write something so off target. He had to be wrong. I began to read once again through the Bible, particularly the Psalms, looking to prove Kierkegaard’s error. Eventually I had to close my eyes and think for awhile. Slowly I began to grasp Kierkegaard’s words.
WHEN I WAS AN 8TH GRADER, OUR SCHOOL’S DRAMA TEACHER suggested that I try out for the school play. I signed up and was given a part. My role was to carry a ladder onto the stage, climb to the top, and pretend to change a light bulb. From atop that ladder I was to speak two lines.
WEEKS BEFORE THE PLAY, my imagination began to conjure up disastrous scenarios.
IN JUNE 1944, WHILE WAITING TO BE EXECUTED in a Nazi prison cell, Dietrich Bonheoffer wrote some of the most soul searching poetry I’ve encountered. The marching boots of certain death approached with each tick of the clock. In this condition of unimaginable anxiety, his words plunged with unmasked veracity into the freedom of truth. In one poem called Who Am I? he wrote the following lines:
Paul spends some time with villagers deep in the jungles of Borneo, where he uncovers the story of a massive man-eating crocodile that once terrorized the community. But the village chief took care of the problem …