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They were two branches off the same Vine.
Designed in the Vine’s image, each a was unique expression of the nature of its Creator. One was tender and sensitive, with stunning intuitive wisdom. The other was strong and masculine, with a compelling view toward the horizon.
They loved being branches of the Vine. And they loved each other. But they’d cut themselves off from the flow of the Vine’s life. They believed the lie that they could thrive on their own. The result: An odd combination of life and death in the same form.
Form without flow.
Image without reality.
As they dreamed of a future together, they asked one another, “How can we shape ourselves so our offspring can know our love and be fruitful?” [click to continue…]
Okay I need your feedback. Now. Humor me, it’s easy. Scroll down to the comments section. Or click on the article title if you’re reading this on the feed or email, then scroll down to comments.
When you get there, give me your first response to this question.
Think of someone who is in a leadership position over your life – work, church, nonprofit, political. How does that leader most often make you feel?
One word answers are fine. Diatribes are fine. Rants are fine. Gushing is allowed, too. First names are OK. Give your answer, then click “submit” and come back to the top.
I’ll wait right here.
(This is me waiting.)
Okay. Back? Let’s talk. [click to continue…]
Jackie Mays was a legend. Maybe not everywhere, but certainly in some of the circles we roamed in when our kids were small. And to a couple of four-year-old twin girls, Mrs. Mays was larger than life.
Sending your kids off to school for the first time is a big adjustment. Especially when they’re your oldest, and they’re the ripe old age of four. Enter Mrs. Mays. Not only was she a faithful member of our church in Birmingham, she was one of the K-4 teachers at Grace Christian School. And a legendary gift she was, to both parents and their little darlings.
“Daddy, Mrs. Mays says…”
“Daddy, that’s not how Mrs. Mays…”
In Mrs. Mays’ class they learned the basics of reading and writing and that other “r.” They learned the pledges and the Star-Spangled Banner. (Cassie used to come home with that wistful, “I just love America.”) They learned to love God’s word, and learned the gospel and about heaven and hell and the price Jesus paid to snatch us from the one to take us to the other. And they had fun learning it all.
There were no assistants, aides, or volunteers. Just one amazing woman and a room full of four-year-olds, who most days sat mesmerized or did what was expected.
I want to tell you one of her not-so-secret secrets. [click to continue…]
Change your nation instead. Or your community. Or your neighborhood. Or in those really desperate cases, change yourself.
Changing the world has become a cliché.
“This generation will change the world.”
“You have the power to change the world.”
“That [insert role of another person] you [insert action you perform] may just change the world someday.”
Maybe they can. Maybe you will. And yes, it is possible.
And no, you probably won’t. [click to continue…]
As I give thanks to You at the end of the day or greet this day with hope, the one thing lately that I want above all else is to live with a full heart. The one thing I fear most is passing through what’s left of my days with sterile laughter, superficial comfort, or counterfeit gladness.
I don’t want to say, “I love you” and not mean it. I don’t want see your handiwork in all its glory and not be moved by it. I don’t want to chase a life of ease and catch up to an empty heart.
So I come to You, knowing there’s no one who can fill my life with that kind of love, or free my soul from that kind of passionless bondage, like You do. And I pray that just as the morning sun fills the earth with light even on a cloudy day like today, that You would do what only You can do: [click to continue…]
Guided by a clear vision of what could be, and wisdom and skill known only to master craftsmen, the glass blower takes raw, shapeless material and goes about his work.
Molding.
Forming.
Bending.
Shaping.
A beautiful form begins taking shape, made possible by the searing flame. [click to continue…]
Hey. Glad you’re here for the tour. I have something I want to show you. Well, actually, lots of things I want to show you. And it’s a little weird because you know more about this stuff than I do. You see, this building – and all the rooms in it – is actually your life.
That explains why the upper floors are still under construction.
It also explains why many of the lower floors are being renovated.
Yes, it explains why some of the floor and rooms are dark, dark, dark – and why many others are very bright and festive.
Now before we begin the walk-through, I have some things for you to keep with you at all times. First up – your hard hat. Hey, it’s a construction zone. Hard hats are required. Sure, you can call it the “helmet of salvation” if you want. I don’t care what you call it – just wear it.
Safety glasses are also a must. It’s important that you protect your eyes, and also that you see clearly. Some people say these are a rose-colored. I like to think of them as shades of grace.
Also, keep this little container with you. You’ll see why later. Inside you’ll find some bread (unleavened, of course) and wine.
One more thing to notice is the inscription on your container. After all, this is the Gratitude Tour…
always giving thanks for all things in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ to God, even the Father (Ephesians 5:20).
Finally, I have a bonus surprise for you. [click to continue…]
He was careless in the conflict, and a bit presumptuous in the battle. Unaware of the schemes or the true power of his enemies – unaware at times of who his enemies actually were – he went down, wounded in the battle.
This is not your typical military operation. This is a spiritual battlefield, known for its invisible armies and stealth weapons. Known also for its enormous array of spectators – some cheering you on from heaven, others just watching a battle they themselves should be engaged in.
Lying there, ashamed, in pain, and afraid, it’s easy for discouragement and fear to have the final word. But deep in his spirit another wounded soldier’s testimony from long ago begins to stir his broken courage and will: [click to continue…]
Alexander's Bridge over Chickamauga Creek
Imagine throwing a little backyard barbecue and inviting 12,000 of your closest friends. And even closer enemies.
It happened nearly 125 years ago, in 1889, at a place called Chickamauga, near Chattanooga, TN. And it took place where these friends and enemies had once gathered 26 years earlier to kill each other.
You don’t hear as much about the Battle of Chickamauga as you do Vicksburg or Gettysburg or Shiloh. But in two days, 66,000 Confederate and 58,000 Union troops staged two days of hell – desperate, often hand-to-hand combat. Somewhere around 18,480 Confederate and 16,240 Union soldiers were killed, wounded or missing when all was said and done.
One side won the battle. The other won the war.
Then as time passed, something remarkable happened. [click to continue…]
I know a guy named Garrett who has completely changed my impression of him in a matter of a couple of years. When I first met him, he came across as a slacker – lazy, unmotivated, and a pretty bad student. But the last time I saw him he had rewritten his story – at least the one that played out in my head. Truth is, Garrett is sharp, actually quite brilliant as a communicator, and a potential world changer.
What made the difference?
Time. Perspective. A little experience. In Garrett’s case, he never stopped anything or changed anything. I just had more time to get to know what he was capable of. The one who needed changing was me.
Sarah and Ben were a different case. [click to continue…]
They were two branches off the same Vine.
