You’re permitted to call on “Our Father, who art in heaven” at all hours of the day and night with whatever you like.
Here is the true story, the one worth remembering: You are a gift.
The following entries are excerpts from Chad Bird’s upcoming book, Untamed Prayers: 365 Daily Devotions on Christ in the Book of the Psalms (1517 Publishing, 2025), pgs. 32, 52.

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There was another criminal next to Christ the day he died. He was aware of who Jesus was, and why he was there.
I'm afraid of dying. I am a Christian and I am horribly afraid of falling bridges, crashing planes, turned over cars and anything else that you can think of that would include my body being mangled into a mess of bones and flesh.
Fairy tales are but one chapter in the book we call storytelling. We may prefer reading other kinds of stories (mystery, science fiction, and so on).
Imagine if Zacchaeus posted on Jerusalem's Facebook a selfie with Jesus. The top dog among the tax-gougers with Christ at his dinner table. Oh, the outrage! The puritanical zealots would have been tweeting and blogging about it for months.
Not long ago I was having a conversation with a friend. She was facing a big decision about her career with a deadline looming for a decision.
We see someone driving a fancy car, owning a big home, having healthy children and an attractive spouse. Instantly, almost without a second's thought, we assume they are successful. Life is good for them.
It is often the case that when dealing Divine, we find ourselves befuddled. For as relatable and surprisingly vulnerable God is as the man Jesus, he seems, at times, to retain a certain aloofness, a type of distance.
I love books. I love authors. I love the way putting words down on paper incarnates ideas that might otherwise remain ghosts of the mind, flitting here and there in our gray matter.
Music is an inherent part of our humanity as image-bearers of God. And like all gifts, it is meant for the good of the receiver.
If you know me in the least, then you know of my fondness for the 2010 film Inception.
Before long I was deeply involved in the trilogy (the reader is invariably "drawn into" the story in a unique way, and for a good reason as we shall see).
To forget ourselves is to remember another, that is, to act in such a way that benefits them. That’s the problem: we don’t.