“This is how we know what love is. Jesus Christ laid down his life for us. And we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers.” I John 3:16 For centuries, the people living in villages clustered along the south coast of Java have lived in terror of Nyai Loro Kidul, the …
When I served as a youth worker back in California, we asked the kids at our church to give a Saturday a month to serve at a convalescent home. We’d scatter through the hallways, going into the rooms of the elderly, sitting down next to their beds and listening to their stories. We’d often strum our guitars …
Continue reading ‘Joy Ride (Embracing the Seasons of Life)’ »
I LOVE IT WHEN CHURCHES send short term workers here to Southeast Asia. It’s our chance to serve those in America who have sacrificed for us to be here. We are committed to giving the folks back home a life-changing glimpse of the world beyond America’s borders. Over the years, we’ve seen some Spirited teams, and one group stands out in recent memory.
HAVE YOU EVER BEEN EMBARRASSED to hear yourself laughing exactly like a good friend laughs? Our voices often imitate someone we love and admire. This is because God has created us, his image bearers, to adopt the mannerisms of the objects of our worship. The Creator designed us to be worshiping beings. We simply can’t
THIS WEEK OVER FOUR HUNDRED children and youth from around our city converged on our school Charis. And so, a new academic year begins. Over 400 stories being created in the fusion of our CREATOR, his creativity, and his creation. Every sentence spoken, every kick of a ball, every conversation, and warm greeting another stroke of holy ink scrolled across the Creator’s canvas.
From the time my children were very small, they begged me to tell stories. No matter what story I conjured up, nor how improbable the events in my stories, Katie, Josiah and Stephen were enraptured. My stories rarely had much of a plot. They went nowhere. They were created spontaneously. But my kids clung to every word. Why?
Years ago, I was exchanging emails with a coworker regarding some important decisions in the organization where we both served. This friend and I did not live with the same aspirations for the organization, and our communication was deteriorating from friendly warm to irritatingly chilly; icy enough, that is, to burn a permanent scar into the landscape of our friendship.
Feeling nervous about this downward spin, I went to my brother Steve for help. Steve is one of those rare individuals who consistently offer beneficial advice. His counsel was simple, penetrating and life altering.
All American writers since the mid 20th century stand in the shadow of Ernest Hemingway. Known for punchy sentences and muscular verbs, Hemingway established the standard for American story telling. He wrote, “Prose is architecture, not interior decoration, and the Baroque is over.” Leery of adjectives, Hemingway was a minimalist who dragged paragraphs through fire until …
By Paul Richardson
To me, wine tastes about as delicious as gasoline. Yet, having been a waiter for six years, I understand the wine drinking ethos. Most folks who order a glass of wine with dinner are simply casual wine drinkers. Their motivation is to impress their dinner companions, and they really don’t have a clue as to whether they are drinking something exquisite or worthless.
Some rare people, though, don’t just casually drink wine. They are actual connoisseurs. Now, I must point out that you should not be allowed to say the word connoisseur unless you can pronounce it with a French accent, which counts me out. Wine snobs … I mean, connoisseurs, don’t just put wine in their mouths and guzzle it down like a dog standing over its dish. For wine connoisseurs, drinking wine is really more of an experience.
Skipping stones is sort of like this.
IN THE SUMMER of my 21st birthday, I adventured to the damp outpost of Koropun, in the magnificent highlands of Irian Jaya. Those were the most significant two months of my entire life. Each morning, my friends and I rose up out of bed at 5 am, ate a quick breakfast and went outside to gawk at the towering, breath taking, rugged mountains and breathe in the crisp air. Our primary task was to complete the construction of a church. We had to work fast, knowing that at about noon, dark storm clouds would come rolling up the valley and bombard our village with intense rain, sending every one of us running indoors. The afternoon rain would often continue through the cold nights.