Religion

Choose Better Words

Choose Better Words

Our four-year-old loves to sing. She comes home from church singing snippets of tunes she learned in Sunday school, and the other day she launched into a loud version of “Oh, Be Careful Little Eyes What You See.” I remember this song from my own childhood, as a simple reminder that it matters what Christians look at, what we listen to, what we say, what we do, and where we go. There’s something so sweet about hearing her singing this tune, knowing that she is actually unwittingly pointing me to a better way to live.

The Lost Art of A Wandering Mind

The Lost Art of A Wandering Mind

Statistics show that human beings are more bored than ever. We’re more bored during work interactions, more bored during social interactions, and we’re bored when cell phones are present. Thirty- five years ago, if you had told Gen X kids that the coming era of technology was going to be utterly boring, we would have laughed in your face. We knew what kind of excitement we had to look forward to: flying cars, robot maids, and hot gourmet meals at the push of a button. The technology boom didn’t exactly wind up creating the kind of world we had seen on The Jetsons. Instead of forming a fascinating world of automation that freed us up to pursue noble interests, technology built a new way of thinking that, sadly, has caused us to think less.

Waiting Before the Lord
Waiting Before the Lord

Waiting Before the Lord

During the rise of the Babylonian Empire, God sent the prophet Habakkuk to Judah with warnings of coming judgment. Babylon was becoming a dominant world power, and the days of Judah were numbered. God’s covenant people had given themselves over to greed, injustice, violence, and immorality. The law was being neglected, justice was perverted, and wickedness was spreading throughout the land.

We Are the Witnesses

We Are the Witnesses

A few nights ago I hardly slept. Lightning flashed every few seconds. Rain pelted the dusty ground and then filled all the dry places and then overflowed out of the flowerbeds and sloshed against the curbs in the low spots of our small town. Thunder rattled the seventy-five year old bones of our cozy house, and despite the fact that I was lying comfortably next to a husband who was holding vigil, watching over us, I couldn’t rest.

Pages