Wisdom and strength require bootstrap-pulling and the placing of noses to grindstones.
“If the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed” (John 8:36).
How do the words “The righteous shall live by his faith” go from a context of hope in hopelessness to the cornerstone declaration of the chief doctrine of the Christian faith?

All Articles

The following excerpt comes from Chapter 7, “When Love Repents Us,” in Chad Bird’s new book, Night Driving: Notes from a Prodigal Soul.
Whether we realize it or not, all these online, self-editing actions are nothing more than our admission that we believe that we are so deeply flawed that no one will love us just as we are.
We’re by nature counters. So long as we can add, subtract, multiply and divide something, anything, we have some measure of control and comparison.
This book tells of my long and brutal journey. From married to divorced. From a seminary professor and pastor to a disgraced, bitter truck driver in the oil fields of Texas. From a man at war with God to a child redeemed by grace.
Samson knew what he wanted when he saw it, and most of the time, living by sight, he walked like a blind man straight into an ambush.
How strange and yet how comforting: God prays to God for us, the Spirit to the Father. He sees through the fog of our emotions to what we truly need.
Death is never natural. Death is abnormal. Death is not human. Death is the enemy.
There’s something very attractive about both the cross-ladder and the cross-crutches. In fact, there’s something about both of them that the woodworker within us finds eminently more appealing than the simple cross of Jesus.
When we say, “I’ve screwed up big time. I’ve betrayed my spouse, my family, my friends. I’ve hurt lots of people,” we don’t need to hear, “Yes, you have. You need to make that right, learn to walk the talk, and act like a Christian next time."
The only churches that live are churches that have died. That still die. And that rise to newness of life in Christ’s life alone.
Being a run-of-the-mill, mediocre parent is a gift to your children. It models for them what life is all about: the little things, the overlooked things, the minuscule elements of daily life that—in various ways—are God’s gifts to us.
He’s the Grandpa who goes on and on about how delicious these mud pies are that we present to him. He laughs, honestly and sincerely, at our stupid jokes.