The Solution in 2026?!

“In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” John 33:16b

“The solution for what?” you might ask. The world is so full of problems, our first impulse is to throw up our hands, get back in bed, and pull the covers over our heads. (Maybe I should just speak for myself.)

I have no quick solution for the troubles we see around us, but here’s my diagnosis and a few suggestions for a couple of them. We can’t fix everything, but maybe with God’s help, we can make the world a little better by 2027.

I posted this comment during the big shutdown, when many were in a panic, and seemingly everyone was intent on blaming the other side:

“It’s probably way too late to point this out, but biblically speaking, caring for the poor was never the government’s job, it’s the Church’s job. I remember reading an article by a mathematician (or economist?) who had calculated that if all the people in America who called (important distinction) themselves Christians were to give a tenth of their income (the minimum) to the Church, and the Church used it to help the poor, we would have no need of government programs. The Church could be the ones who meet people’s needs and give them hope. But obviously most “Christians” don’t do that. A lot of churches don’t even take up a collection these days. I’ve heard the excuse, “Sure I give to the poor – I pay my taxes.” Consequently, too few Christians are giving what they should, and too many needy people are forced to look to the government to meet their needs.

“My son had an idea, and Marty and I followed suit. We went to Costco and filled our cart with cases of some non-perishable basics (canned chicken and tuna, vegetables, soup, mac and cheese, applesauce, spaghetti noodles and sauce, etc.) We loaded it all into the car and took it to a church that’s feeding hungry people…”

What if every Christian (or “Christian”) did that this week?”

Take it a step further: What if everyone who’s had the urge to get on social media and argue about whose fault it is that people are in need, instead, bought a basket of groceries to donate?

Better yet, what if every Christian (or “Christian”) who wanted to get on social media and attack someone they think is “evil” prayed for that person instead? After all, we know who the real enemy is (Don’t we?) and should never consider “hopeless” anyone who still has breath in their lungs. Consider some of the despicable people God has saved in the past. Is He any less powerful today than He was then? Imagine the impact on the world if some of the most visible “bad guys” got radically transformed by God’s grace?

It makes me sad when random people are asked, “What is a Christian?” to hear so many nonbelievers say, “Christians are people who hate gays,” or something equally appalling. I would love to do something that makes more people say, “Christians are people who helped me when I was in trouble,” or “Christians are people who loved me when I was unlovable and prayed for me when I seemed beyond reach.”

Just some thoughts. Let’s meet up next New Year’s Eve and compare notes.

Prayer: Dear Lord, thank You for being a God of new beginnings. Thank You for forgiving us when we fall short, which we do daily. Thank You for never giving up on us. Help us never to give up on anyone else, either, especially those we have ill feelings toward. Lord, the problems of this world seem overwhelming – are overwhelming to us when we try to solve them on our own. But, halleluiah, we are not on our own! Thank You for a brand-new year to trust You, obey You, and then watch with great expectations as You work in our lives. We are forever grateful. In Jesus’ name, amen.

Christmas Angel, Answered Prayer, and Lesson Learned

It is more blessed to give than receive. – Acts 20:35

In less than a week, I went from taking a long, brisk walk with my husband to barely being able to walk across the room. They say the purpose of toes is to find furniture in the dark, and I have one that is quite good at it.

I call it “the little piggy that should have stayed home.”

It’s a long story, but the bottom line is, I have a couple of bones in my feet that are severely dislocated. (They would rather be side-by-side than end-to-end, as they’re supposed to be.) This makes it difficult to impossible to bend my foot in the way it needs to bend in order to walk normally. Consequently, I have been hobbling around like an old lady.

(I know, I am an old lady, but I would still much rather be walking with a spring in my step the way I was.)

Time for another lesson in humility.

The morning before Christmas, I was tired. With not enough sleep, too much to do, and being unable to move very quickly or painlessly, I was confiding in (complaining to) the Lord about all the things I wanted to do for the people in my life that I was afraid I’d be unable to do. The tiredness must have started taking over my brain, because these thoughts gave way to thoughts of the future. I mean, like the rest-of-my-life future. I have always believed I would stay in this world for as long as the Lord could use me, and I didn’t want to stay a moment longer once I became more trouble than I was worth.

That’s where the Lord cut in and reminded me of something He had made clear to me numerous times before. (I seem to be a slow learner.) If I belonged to Him, I would always be able to glorify Him in one way or another. It may not be the way I would like – being the giver, the helper, the strong one. The fact is, His power is made perfect in weakness (II Corinthians 12:9).

Now I don’t like to be the weak one, but if someone is going to be the helper, logically, there’s got to be one who is helped.

It’s easy for me to see that when it comes to other people. I don’t know how many times I have said to a giver who resists a gift, “Hey, if it’s more blessed to give than receive, let somebody else be blessed for a change!” I realize that in all my “good deed doing,” I was always the one who was more blessed than the hospital patients, the nursing home residents, the people being served at the food kitchen, etc. At the same time, there was a good chance the sin of a self-sufficient attitude had sneaked into my soul.

Maybe this season – or that day, at least – was my time to be on the receiving end. What did I have to lose, really, except my pride, which was starting to get unwieldy, anyway? I quietly dedicated my day to the Lord, for whatever He wanted to do with me, and set out on the errands I had to do before Christmas Day.

My daughter had announced that Christmas morning brunch would be a waffle bar. I don’t eat gluten or sugar, hence the trip to the health food store, resisting the urge to be resentful. I had to remind myself that there would be seven people at breakfast. Why should everyone else plan their meal around my stupid limitations? As this additional detail subtly added to my feelings of being isolated and burdensome, I realized that my normal Christmas cheer was in jeopardy! I began silently – and purposefully – giving thanks for the anticipated gathering of loved ones, the gifts I got to watch them open, the beautiful Christmas music, and most of all, the Savior whose birth we’re celebrating.

At the checkout counter of the health food store, I was aware of just one other customer, a young-to-middle-aged man who was also waiting to check out. When the clerk rang up my purchase, a voice came from behind me.

“I’ll get that.” I looked around, and the man was smiling. He wasn’t holding anything, just seemed to be there to pay for my purchases. “Merry Christmas,” he added.

I started to protest, but he looked so happy, I just said, “Why, thank you so much!”

As the clerk handed me my bag, the same kind voice said, “And I want to buy a $100 gift card for her.”

Again, I looked around to see who “her” might be – another recipient of this man’s kindness? But he was still smiling at me. For a moment I was speechless.

“Really?” I stammered. … “Why?” His smile got broader.

“It’s Christmas,” he said.

I smiled back with mock suspicion. “Are you a Christian?” I asked quietly.

He gave me a look I couldn’t read. “I don’t know what that means…” he said. Was he quizzing me, or trying to find out I would define “Christian”?

I asked, simply, “Do you love Jesus?”

“I do!” he declared.

“So do I!” I confirmed.

I asked him his name. He wouldn’t tell me.

I asked if he was human. He laughed and said he was.

I asked if I could hug him, and he consented.

Finally, I asked if he like to read. He said “yes.” I asked if he’d like some of my books. He said “sure!”

I fetched a copy of each of my books from my car (always prepared!) and came back into the store as he was buying a gift card for someone else. I offered to sign the books, and He said yes but still wouldn’t tell me his name. So, I just signed them to “Christmas Angel.” As I was signing the copy of BARRIERS, he showed me a picture of his beautiful wife, and I signed that book to her, although he only gave me her initials.

I offered to sign “Grumpy to Grateful” for his kids, and he said “They’ll love that!” and did give me their first names. I gave him the books, we hugged one more time, and he was off to bless other people that Christmas Eve.

So, yesterday I was on the receiving end of a blessing I didn’t “need” – or maybe I did. I realized on the way out that I hadn’t quite perfected the art of being on the receiving end yet, since I just had to give the man something in return.

(Baby steps.)

Twice more that day I found myself not being charged for something I’d thought I needed to pay for. Meanwhile, the protein bar I had offered the homeless man on the corner had been rejected with a rude lecture about how “those things’ll kill you!’ or something.

So, I finally got the message. I don’t always have to be the one giving. Remembering the look of joy on the “angel’s” face as he bought gift cards for random strangers, I realized that sometimes I can contribute to other people’s joy simply by accepting their gifts. Besides, as it’s often been said, “You can’t outgive God.”

Yesterday my daughter’s family gave me my Christmas gift, a jar with Scripture verses in tiny scrolls that I’m to take out and read according to the emotion I’m feeling. Since yellow is the color for joy, the first scroll I took out was yellow. Tears filled my eyes, as I read,

Until now you have not asked for anything in my name. Ask and you will receive, and your joy will be complete. – John 16:24

I guess it makes God happy to give to His children, too.

Prayer: Father of all good and perfect gifts, we thank You for this blessed season, not just for what we get from others, or even what we can give to others, but what You have given to us, the ultimate Gift of Your Son. May we live every day of the year with an awed awareness of Your grace and live accordingly, whether by being generous givers, or humble and grateful receivers, for both give You glory. In Jesus’ name, amen.

“Good Christian Men,” Repent

To some who were confident of their own righteousness and looked down on everyone else, Jesus told this parable: “Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. The Pharisee stood by himself and prayed: ‘God, I thank you that I am not like other people—robbers, evildoers, adulterers—or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week and give a tenth of all I get.’

“But the tax collector stood at a distance. He would not even look up to heaven, but beat his breast and said, ‘God, have mercy on me, a sinner.’

“I tell you that this man, rather than the other, went home justified before God. For all those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.” – Luke 18:9-14

This was found on X recently. I don’t know who wrote it, but it is a good reminder/wakeup call:

Satan is not opposed to good morals.

He’s opposed to Jesus Christ.

Read that again because most Christians miss this completely.

Satan doesn’t care if you’re a “good person.” He doesn’t care if you volunteer at the food bank, recycle your trash, and help old ladies cross the street. He doesn’t care if you’re kind, generous, and well-liked by everyone in your community.

He cares that you don’t bow the knee to Jesus.

Here’s the deception that’s damning millions:

Satan has convinced people that morality equals spirituality. That being a “good person” is the same as being a Christian. That if you just live right, treat people well, and avoid the “big sins,” you’re acceptable to God.

This is a lie straight from the pit of hell.

The Pharisees had impeccable morals. They followed the law meticulously. They were respected, disciplined, and religiously devoted.

Jesus called them children of the devil.
Why? Not because their morals were bad. Because their morals replaced Christ.
Satan’s greatest trick isn’t making bad people worse. It’s making good people think they don’t need a Savior.

Think about it:

The atheist who feeds the homeless thinks he’s good enough without God.

The Buddhist who meditates and practices compassion thinks she’s enlightened without Christ.

The Muslim who prays five times daily thinks he’s righteous without Jesus.

The moral Christian who goes to church, pays his tithe, and avoids scandal thinks he’s saved without surrender.

All of them are headed to the same place: eternal separation from God.

Because morality doesn’t save. Jesus saves.
“For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God: Not of works, lest any man should boast.” Ephesians 2:8-9

Satan loves moral people who reject Jesus. They’re his best advertisement for the lie that you can earn your way to heaven.

They’re living proof that you can:

•Be kind without Christ
•Be generous without God
•Be disciplined without the Holy Spirit
•Be respected without redemption

And still be lost.

The most dangerous people in hell won’t be the murderers and rapists. They’ll be the moral, upstanding citizens who thought their goodness was good enough.

Their morals became their idol. Their goodness became their god.

And Satan smiled because he’d accomplished his goal: Keep them from Jesus.

Here’s what most Christians don’t understand:

Satan doesn’t need to make you do bad things. He just needs to keep you from doing the ONE thing that matters: surrendering to Christ.

If he can get you to:

•Trust your morals instead of Christ’s sacrifice

•Rely on your goodness instead of God’s grace

•Believe in your works instead of Jesus’ finished work

He’s won.

You can live a moral life and still die lost. You can be a good person and still face judgment. You can avoid all the “big sins” and still end up separated from God forever.
Because the only sin that damns you eternally is rejecting Jesus Christ.

“He that believeth on the Son hath everlasting life: and he that believeth not the Son shall not see life; but the wrath of God abideth on him.” John 3:36

Not the murderer who repents and believes in Christ is damned.

Not the thief who turns to Jesus on the cross is damned.

Not the prostitute who washes Jesus’ feet with her tears is damned.

The moral, religious person who rejects Christ is damned.

That’s why Satan loves morality without Jesus. It sends people to hell with a smile on their face, convinced they were good enough.

Stop trusting your morals. Start trusting Jesus.

Your goodness won’t save you. Your works won’t redeem you. Your morality won’t justify you.

Only the blood of Jesus Christ can wash away your sin and make you acceptable to a holy God.

Everything else is just Satan’s distraction from the one thing that actually matters.

(Annie) So, as we finish up buying, making, wrapping, and giving our gifts this Christmas, let’s remember what Christians are really celebrating, which is the greatest gift of all – eternal life through God’s Son – Emmanuel, “God with us,” “the Way, the Truth, and the Life” – Jesus.

Blessings to you all.

So Thankful for Them

This story was posted by a man named Paul Widener. It moved me to tears, and I just had to share it with y’all. This Thanksgiving let’s show our gratitude and love for the generations who came before us.

I stopped breathing at exactly 10:15 AM inside a Goodwill on the south side of town.

I was only there because my daughter, Sarah, is moving me into “Sunrise Meadows” next week. That’s the polite name for the place old people go when their kids run out of patience and spare bedrooms. Sarah was three aisles over, aggressively sorting through my life, tossing things into donation bins while talking loudly into her AirPods about square footage and “decluttering.”

I let her do it. When you are eighty-two and your knees click like a rusty gate, you learn that fighting takes too much energy. You just become a passenger in your own life.

I wandered off to the men’s section to escape the noise. The store smelled like other people’s laundry detergent and forgotten dreams. I was shuffling past a rack of oversized hoodies and flannel shirts when the room suddenly started spinning.

There it was.

Olive drab. M-65 Field Jacket. The zipper was still busted on the left side, stuck halfway up. The right cuff was frayed—I did that, chewing on the fabric during the monsoon season of ’69 when the rain didn’t stop for three weeks.

Someone had slapped a neon yellow sticker right over the breast pocket: $14.99.

My chest tightened. I reached out, my hand shaking. The moment my fingertips touched that rough canvas, the fluorescent lights of the thrift store vanished.

I wasn’t an old man with a pacemaker anymore. I was nineteen. I was standing on red dirt, the humidity thick enough to drink, feeling invincible because I had a rifle in my hand and three brothers at my back.

I pulled the jacket off the rack. It felt heavy. Heavier than I remembered.

I turned it inside out. My breath hitched.

There, on the inner lining, written in black permanent marker that had faded to a ghostly gray:

MAC. RIZZO. “DOC” MILLER. ARTHUR.

We wrote those names forty-eight hours before the ambush near the border. We passed that marker around, laughing, making jokes about who would get the girls when we got back to the States. We thought we were writing in a yearbook. We didn’t know we were signing a last will and testament.

I was the only one who came home.

And now? Now Mac, Rizzo, and Doc were hanging on a discount rack between a stained polo shirt and a ugly Christmas sweater. Priced cheaper than a DoorDash lunch order.

“Yo, that fit is fire.”

The voice snapped me back to 2024.

I turned around. A kid was standing there. He couldn’t have been more than seventeen. Curly hair falling over his eyes, oversized jeans that dragged on the floor, phone glued to his hand.

He reached out, not asking, just assuming. “You buying that, Pops? ‘Cause if you aren’t, that’s a serious find. Vintage military is trending right now on TikTok.”

I held the jacket tighter. “I… I’m just looking.”

“Let me see it?” The kid stepped closer. He didn’t look mean, just fast. Everything about his generation is fast. Fast scrolling, fast talking, fast fashion.

I handed it to him. My hands felt empty and cold immediately.

He slipped it on. It was too big for his skinny frame, but he popped the collar and turned toward the smudged mirror at the end of the aisle. He pulled out his iPhone, snapped a selfie, and swiped.

“Sick,” he muttered. “Actual authentic wear. Look at that distressing on the cuffs. You can’t fake that.”

“No,” I whispered. “You can’t fake that.”

He shoved his hands into the pockets. He paused. He felt the uneven lining. He took the jacket off and looked inside. He saw the names.

“Whoa,” he said, his thumb tracing the faded ink. “Who are these guys? Previous owners?”

I stepped into the reflection of the mirror with him. The contrast broke my heart. A boy with his whole life ahead of him, and an old man whose life was being packed into cardboard boxes.

“They weren’t owners,” I said, my voice cracking. “They were brothers.”

The kid looked up, phone lowered for the first time.

“We were your age,” I told him. “Mac—the first name there—he wanted to be an architect. He drew sketches in the mud with a stick. Rizzo could fix any engine with a paperclip. And Doc… Doc wrote letters to his mom every single day.”

The store went quiet around us. The hum of the vending machine seemed to stop.

“What happened to them?” the kid asked softly.

“They stayed nineteen forever,” I said. “I’m the only one who got old enough to shop at a thrift store.”

The kid looked down at the jacket. He looked at the $14.99 sticker. Suddenly, the “vintage aesthetic” didn’t seem so cool. It seemed heavy.

He started to take it off, peeling it from his shoulders with a sudden reverence. “Here. Take it. I didn’t know. You should have it, sir. It’s yours.”

I looked at the jacket. If I took it, I’d just hang it in a closet at the nursing home. It would sit in the dark, smelling of mothballs, until I died. Then Sarah would donate it right back to this same rack.

History dies when you lock it away.

“No,” I said.

The kid froze. “What?”

“I’ve carried the weight of that jacket for sixty years,” I said. “It’s heavy. I’m tired, son. Maybe it’s time for it to go on a new adventure.”

“I can’t take this,” he shook his head. “It feels… wrong. Like stealing.”

“I’m okay with you taking it,” I said, locking eyes with him. “On one condition.”

He straightened up, pulling his shoulders back. “Name it.”

“If anyone asks you about that jacket—if anyone compliments your ‘drip’ or asks where you got that ‘vintage look’—you don’t tell them you got it at Goodwill for fifteen bucks.”

My voice stopped shaking. It became the voice of a Sergeant again.

“You show them the names on the inside. You tell them that Mac wanted to build skyscrapers. You tell them Rizzo loved classic cars. You tell them Doc loved his mother.”

I poked a finger at his chest, right over where the heart is.

“You tell them that the freedom to stand here, scrolling on your phone, safe in a warm store… it was paid for by boys who never got to come home. You make them real again. Can you do that?”

The kid didn’t look at his phone. He didn’t look around. He looked at me.

“I promise,” he said. And he meant it.

He walked to the register. I watched my youth, my pain, and my friends walk out the door with a teenager who listens to rap music and probably has never held a rifle.

It hurt. But it healed, too.

Because that jacket isn’t collecting dust anymore. It’s walking down the street. It’s going to concerts. It’s living.

As I walked out to the parking lot to meet my daughter, I passed a bin of old photo frames. $1.99 each. Beautiful black and white wedding photos, pictures of babies laughing, soldiers saluting. Someone once loved those people more than life itself. Now, they are just clearance items.

We all end up on the clearance rack eventually. Our favorite songs become “oldies.” Our clothes become “costumes.” Our stories become “too long” for the younger generation to listen to.

But here is my favor to you:

The next time you see an old man moving slow in the checkout line, or staring a little too long at a coffee cup in a diner… don’t look through him.

We aren’t invisible. We aren’t just obstacles in your busy day.

We are walking libraries. We are holding onto names that no one else remembers.

Say hello. Ask us how we are. Give us ten seconds of your glowing, buzzing, high-speed life.

Because one day, sooner than you think, a kid will be trying on your favorite hoodie and calling it “vintage.” And you will pray to God that someone, somewhere, still believes your name is worth more than $14.99.

(Annie) The older I get, the more I appreciate stories like this. This is the kind of respect I tried to instill in my students when I showed them the black-and-white pictures of my parents, looking like movie stars of the 40’s, and telling them a little about the history they had lived through. This was shortly after we had taken my mom home from Florida after the fall and head injury that ended up taking her life. I remember when we were wheeling her through the airport and getting her on the plane, I saw the way most of the airline staff treated her. It wasn’t mean, it just made me want to scream, “Hey, this is not just some old lady, this is my mom!” Thanks for this beautiful reminder that every wrinkled face we encounter is telling a story. Now I’m seeing a wrinkled face in the mirror, and I guess one of the reasons I write is to keep from becoming invisible.

Are We Forgetting Something?

Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good. His love endures forever. – Psalm 136:1

So, it’s been ten days since Halloween, and some of our neighbors still have skeletons in their yards. Remnants of jack-o-lanterns can still be seen withering on some porches.

Meanwhile, every store in town is decorated for Christmas, encouraging us to jump into the season of “Buy-buy-buy!” lest we find ourselves falling short, come December 25.

(What’s wrong with this picture?)

So far, I have seen one lone house decorated for Thanksgiving. I walked past a couple setting up an inflated, smiling turkey, wearing a pilgrim’s hat, and a sign saying, “THANKS.” (I resisted the urge to tell them it might be more appropriate for a chicken or cow or pig to be thankful – thankful they aren’t turkeys.)

All kidding aside, what happened to Thanksgiving, that special time to reflect on our blessings? Between the season of celebrating death and what seems to have become the season of greed, has giving thanks been lost in the busyness?

It’s easy to point to the kids, who now have their own app for posting lists of what they want for Christmas. But a lot of us adults can fall into the same trap. Commercials on TV and internet are designed to make us covet stuff we don’t have, at least the ones that aren’t trying to persuade us to take the newest drug. And for those less selfish, we’re told we should be getting our loved ones more stuff! applying the strategy of the guilt trip.

Can we all just slow down and be thankful for what we have? Can we sit back and enjoy a holiday whose main focus is bringing people together and being grateful, before the “Black Friday” sales – which used to be on Friday but now are starting to encroach even on Thanksgiving evening?

At the risk of this post’s being seen as yet another commercial (Please read to the end!), I do want to tell you/remind you that my children’s book, “Grumpy to Grateful,” is available on Amazon (A search for “Ann Aschauer” will take you to my book page.) and can be ordered now to arrive by Thanksgiving. It’s written to remind kids (and adults) how blessed we are when there’s food on the table, clothes to keep us warm, and loved ones to share our lives with.

If ordering the book seems like “just one more thing to do!” – I understand! Please feel free to read your children or grandchildren the story right from this blog. My point isn’t to sell books, but to focus our attention on being thankful, even if it’s just for the time it takes to read the story of Jackson, the grumpy boy, and what it took to make him appreciate the life God has given him. Whether you order the book or read it here, I would love to have you share how the Lord used it in your children’s (and your) lives.

From Grumpy to Grateful (A Story of Thanksgiving) Chapter 1

From Grumpy to Grateful (A Thanksgiving Story) Chapter 2

From Grumpy to Grateful (A Story of Thanksgiving) Chapter 3

From Grumpy to Grateful (A Story of Thanksgiving) Chapter 4

From Grumpy to Grateful (A Story of Thanksgiving) Chapter 5

Happy Thanksgiving, friends. ❤

Prayer: Dear Lord and Creator of all good things, forgive us for the way we pass up what You’ve already given us in the pursuit of more. We do thank You now for the gift of life here, with all its blessings, both the material gifts and the intangible gifts of love, laughter, joy, and peace. And when life is less than joyful, thank You for Your promise that we never are never alone. Fill us with Your Spirit and make us blessings to the people around us, both those we know and those we are meeting for the first time, because we know that we are all made in Your image, to be vessels of Your love. Keep us from succumbing to the evil one’s attempts to corrupt our hearts by making us proud, selfish, and ungrateful. Make us more like You, Jesus. In Your name we pray. Amen.

Nyah-nyah! … and I Mean That in the Best Way.

For to me, to live is Christ, and to die is gain. – Philippians 1:21

Sandy was one of the first kids in my youth group in Manistee when I started it back in the late 70’s, and we have kept in touch all these years. Since we first met, Marty and I have had three children and four moves. Sandy has gotten married (I wrote a song and sang it at their wedding.) and had one child and two moves.

Sandy and Paul’s present house in Indiana is at about the halfway point in my drive between Louisville and our family summer home in Manistee, and often I would break up the trip by staying there. Sandy and I will stay up ’til the wee hours of the morning, “catching up.” Sometimes when Sandy was back in the Manistee area to visit her family, she would carve out some time so we could take a long walk and “catch up” some more.

Lately, Sandy’s mom was taken to a medical care facility in Traverse City after a fall. Sandy asked me to go to “T.C.” and sing for her, and I said sure. Sandy spoke to the director, and I wound up singing a concert for all the residents. I was chatting with Sandy’s mom afterwards when her other daughter Sue popped in. Sue was fighting cancer at the time and was a little weak, but she still seemed in good spirits. The three of us had a nice talk about music, God, and our faith, and how the older we get, the more precious the idea of heaven becomes. I shared with them a couple of encouraging dreams I’ve had lately related to our eternal home, and I think they were encouraged, too. I later told Sandy that I would love to sing for her mom again; maybe we could do it together next time she was in the area.

A couple of weeks ago I got a text from Sandy, saying Sue was in hospice care and was close to the end. Sandy was planning to come up to see her that Saturday to tell her goodbye, but she wasn’t sure she would get there in time. She asked if I would be available go and sing to her before Saturday, and I said of course. Because Sue was being given morphine, Sandy wasn’t sure when she would be awake, but a few phone calls later, we determined that I should go sing to her, anyway; even if she was sleeping, she could still hear and be blessed by the music of Scripture.

When I got to the little house and the friend let me in, I found Sue lying on the couch, pale, skin-and-bones thin, head wrapped in a scarf, and eyes closed. I sat by her and took her hand. She opened her eyes, and when our eyes met, her face broke into a huge, almost smug grin.

The words she whispered were barely audible, but I understood them clearly.

“I’m going to get there before you do,” she breathed, smirking as if to say, “Nyah-nyah, I get to go to heaven soon, and you have to wait!”

I faked a pout. “Oh, I don’t know about that,” I said defiantly. (I’d almost gotten into an accident on the way over. – None of us is promised tomorrow, are we?) We both chuckled, and I got out my guitar and sang her some songs about the peace of God, His incredible love, and the promises He always keeps. Sue drifted in and out of sleep, but she seemed not only peaceful but also, in a strangely wonderful way, excited. I could almost envy her.

Sandy did make it in time. I think Sue was waiting for her. She went to be with Jesus at about 8:30 Saturday night. And now her whole being is full of life and light, along with that smile that remained radiant until the end of her earthly existence.

Today it seems there’s more trouble, more lies and hatred in the world than any time in history, that I can remember in my lifetime, anyway. I started this blog in an attempt to spread “divine perspective” and get readers’ minds on the things that really count – eternal things. If our minds are on those things, we won’t have so many battles with rage, discontent, frustration, and despair.

These are the things to remember and focus on: That we were created in the image of our Creator, to reflect His glory. And even though we have all failed miserably to live up to our divine purpose, we can be forgiven, washed clean, and given a new heart, a renewed mind, a new body, and the “abundant life” we were created for. Because even though justice demands a penalty be paid for sin, God loved us so much that He gave His only begotten Son to pay it, so we don’t have to. When Jesus was nailed to the Cross, all our sins were nailed there with Him. If we accept His sacrifice as our atonement, we can be forgiven and start a brand-new life – “born again” – adopted into God’s family as His child. And as Jesus was raised to life on the third day after His death, we (those who have placed their faith in Him) will be raised with Him, to eternal life!

That’s what put that beautiful smile on the face of a woman on the threshold of eternity, the joy of knowing that “death” for her would be temporary – then real life would start and never end.

It’s my prayer that everyone reading this has that kind of faith, and if not, that we can discuss it. (My email is bascha3870@yahoo.com.)

Prayer: Lord Jesus, we are not our own, we were bought with a price – the price You paid. We could never thank You enough, but we will praise and serve you throughout eternity, in the life You died to give us. Until then, keep our faith strong in this life, in Your name. Amen.

Attention Health Care Workers

Recently I was very pleasantly surprised to read a post on the blog “Wearing Two Gowns,” reviewing my book BARRIERS from the perspective of a health care worker. I wanted to share with all of you (not just health care workers) what “Nurse Will” wrote. He even wrote a study guide!

https://wearingtwogowns.com/2025/10/26/minibook-review-when-god-heals-the-neighbors-cat-but-not-your-daughter-a-book-every-healthcare-worker-needs-to-read/

Thanks, Will, not just for the review, but for all you and your people do for those who are suffering. You are angels on earth! ❤ – Annie

Have We Learned Anything?

Always be prepared to give an answer to anyone who asks you to give a reason for the hope that you have. But do this with gentleness and respect.” I Peter 3:15

Every Christian I know (including myself) struggles with this verse.

Being prepared to discuss spiritual matters involves diligent study of Scripture, and we often neglect this important discipline. We’re distracted, we’re “too busy,” or we’re just plain lazy. It also helps to know how to approach a subject logically and be informed about recent discoveries.

Those of us who want to be “nice” all the time are often not prepared to speak up and “give an answer” about our faith. We freeze up, afraid we’re going to “offend” someone, as if offending is the cardinal sin of Mankind. (Whatever the world may tell you, it is not...)

Others of us fall short of gentleness and respect. We’re bold and ready at any time to speak up, whether or not the audience is ready to hear us. We fail to take into account the person’s background, where (s)he may be emotionally, or even what (s)he is interested in. Often, we forget to pray for wisdom and sensitivity, so we plow full speed ahead with our speech, forgetting that “They won’t care how much you know, until they know how much you care.”

So, does anyone have all three of these qualities mastered? Probably not, but the person who seems to me to have come as close as anyone I know is the late Charlie Kirk.

Everyone, it seems, is talking about (ranting about, arguing about) Charlie. Whether or not I agree with absolutely everything he said (I doubt anyone does.), I do admire the way he lived out his faith in the way described in the opening verse.

*”Always being prepared” certainly involves doing one’s homework. Charlie never went to college, but he read hundreds of books and showed up prepare for an informed and intelligent discussion. He alluded to his knowledge of history, science, and statistics and used logic rather than emotional manipulation to persuade. He was ready to give a (valid) reason for the hope he had.

*He wasn’t lacking in courage to give an answer when asked about his faith; on the contrary, he went into environments where Christianity was met with disdain or downright hostility by the majority. (I wonder how many pastors would be willing to do that.) He didn’t avoid the other side, he reached out to them, engaging in civil discussion whenever allowed to do so.

*As for sharing the gospel with gentleness and respect, Charlie displayed the spiritual gift of self-control. In his Q & A sessions, most were polite in their questioning, some were rude, sarcastic, or unruly. But Charlie never (to my knowledge) lost his temper, yelled, or resorted to name calling or demonizing his opponents. He didn’t cut off, cancel, or shout down his opponents. In fact, anyone who disagreed with him was invited to the front of the line. (Kirk has been called a fascist, but I looked up the definition of “fascist,” and fascists do not give the mic to dissenters.)

The young man who shot him may or may not have had illusions of silencing him, but Charlie Kirk’s videos have gone viral. People who had never heard his name are listening to him share his beliefs, the most important being the way to God through Jesus Christ. What excites me is the number of people saying, “I’m an atheist, but today I bought my first Bible,” or “I stopped going to church years ago, but I’m going back this Sunday.” These comments are coming from all over the world. What Christian wouldn’t want to have that kind of impact?

Those of us who desire to evangelize our world can learn from watching and listening to him, whether we need more education, more heart, or more backbone.

Maybe you have criticism regarding some of the things Charlie did or didn’t say or the way he presented himself.

First, he wasn’t trying to present himself, he was trying to present Jesus.

Secondly, if you have a better way of doing it – by all means, get out and do it!

Prayer: Lord, we are so quick to judge others, whether out of irritation, pride, defensiveness, or envy. Take our eyes off the faults of others and onto You. We submit to You our own faults and thank You for forgiving us and giving us a fresh start every day. Help us to follow every good example in those who have gone before us and leave good examples for those who come after us, in Jesus’ name, amen.

Some Things Don’t Change

Then Jesus told his disciples, “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it. For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world and forfeits his soul? – Matthew 16:24-26

Stephen was a faithful follower of Jesus. He wasn’t one of the original Twelve. In fact, we don’t know whether he had ever encountered Jesus in the flesh. We do know that he was “full of the Spirit, faith, and wisdom,” and “God’s grace and power.” (Acts 6:3,5,&8)

Stephen had been one of seven men chosen to wait on tables, because the Grecian Jews had been complaining to the Hebraic Jews that their widows were being overlooked in the daily distribution of food (6:1) But he also “did great wonders and miraculous signs among the people.” (vs 8) We aren’t told what these were, but he got the attention of men from different provinces who gathered to oppose him. But as much as they argued with Stephen, “they could not stand up against his wisdom or the Spirit by whom he spoke.” (vs 9)

Since debating Stephen didn’t succeed, their next tactic was to stir up false witnesses against him. Their accusations spread quickly (Today we would say they went viral.). When the people were stirred up, they seized Stephen and took him to the Sanhedrin. (vs 12) There the false witnesses came forth and repeated their lies.

When it was finally Stephen’s turn to speak, he gave a lengthy and eloquent speech. He recounted the history of the Jewish people, beginning with God’s call to Abraham and continuing up to the building of the Temple by Solomon, after which he stated, “However, the Most High does not live in houses made by men,” (vs 48) quoting Isaiah for emphasis.

One could wonder why Stephen was allowed to speak for so long uninterrupted, but he was stating the truth right from the Scriptures – what could his opponents say?

But when he turned to the leaders and confronted them personally, he sealed his fate:

“You stiff-necked people, with uncircumcised hearts and ears! You are just like your ancestors: You always resist the Holy Spirit! Was there ever a prophet your ancestors did not persecute? They even killed those who predicted the coming of the Righteous One. And now you have betrayed and murdered him— you who have received the law that was given through angels but have not obeyed it.” (vs 51-53)

That was all it took. The infuriated leaders stoned Stephen for what he said. Even so, his last words were in prayer for those who were killing him, just as Jesus had prayed on the cross for His executioners.

Up until that time, for the most part, the fledgling Church had remained in Jerusalem, “praising God and enjoying the favor of all the people. And the Lord was adding to their number daily those who were being saved.” (Acts 2:47) Some call this the Church’s “honeymoon stage.” Life was pleasant and easy.

But after Stephen’s death, persecution broke out against the Church. As a result, believers scattered in all directions, taking the Gospel with them, telling the Good News wherever they went.

Which was what they were supposed to be doing do in the first place!

Charlie Kirk reminds me of Stephen, whose enemies could not refute what he said. Charlie always showed up prepared. He knew the Scriptures (in context!), he was logical, and he challenged opponents without losing his temper or resorting to name-calling or yelling. He clearly had self-control, one of the fruits of the Spirit. It wasn’t long before lies about him were being spread online, but one had only to watch a complete interview or Q&A session to see the kind of person he was – not perfect but living out his faith with everything he had.

Like the Church in the earliest days, the Church in America, unlike any other place or time in history, has enjoyed a rare level of freedom and, if not favor, at least a modicum of respect from the general population. As a result, many of us have grown complacent and spiritually lazy. If we doubt that, we have only to ask ourselves, “When was the last time I shared the gospel with an unbeliever?”

(But the Great Commission does not have an expiration date.)

Charlie Kirk was one of the exceptions. He didn’t wait for unbelievers to come to his church. He went to where they were, in an environment where people were open to new ideas and not afraid to challenge and be challenged. In a world where nastiness is too often the norm in “discussions,” Charlie encouraged civil discourse. And among Christians, millions of us watched his debates and cheered him on.

But just as Stephen was murdered by those who weren’t able to defeat him with words, Charlie Kirk was killed by one man who resorted to a gun instead of words to make his point. And from the level of public rejoicing over his death, it is apparent that there are many who believe violence is an acceptable way of solving differences. For us spoiled American Christians, this is a disturbing wakeup call.

But just as the persecution ignited by Stephen’s martyrdom caused the Church to finally carry out the Great Commission, Charlie Kirk’s assassination has awakened today’s sleeping, complacent Church. Countless believers, especially the young, are coming forward, inspired to be more like him and carry on his work of sharing the gospel boldly, respectfully, and intelligently.

We’re finally ready to start doing what we all were supposed to be doing all along.

The world hasn’t changed much in the last two thousand years. The Gospel hasn’t changed. Human nature hasn’t changed. And the Great Commission hasn’t changed.

Are we ready to get to work?

Prayer: Jesus, You have called us to take up our crosses and follow You. You ask us to do what takes strength and courage – more than we have in ourselves. But Your Spirit lives in us, and as You empower us, we are ready to be obedient. May the pain of last week’s tragedy be the birth pangs of revival in our nation and the world, in Jesus’ name. Amen.

The Cross Still Offends

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. – John 1:5

The Cross Still Offends

by Pastor Rich Bitterman

The bullet tore the air in half.

A folding chair rattled. A Bible dropped. A young man slumped sideways beneath a white event tent, eyes wide with the weight of eternity.

It was supposed to be a conversation. A “prove me wrong” segment. But this time, rebuttal came not with words, but with a rifle.

Charlie Kirk didn’t get to finish his sentence.

I got the news just before prayer meeting. I contemplated this death as I prepared to lead the saints in prayer. But I didn’t feel like praying. Not tonight. My hands were still. My mouth was ready. But my soul was pacing. Angry. Grieving. Tempted.

Tempted to grow quiet. Tempted to sit this one out. Tempted to wonder if any of this, faith, boldness, public gospel witness, is still worth it.

Because hatred in this country isn’t simmering anymore. It is boiling.

Europe is trembling. Israel is burning. Rockets lit the sky over Gaza again. And now, here on American soil, the blood of a Christian apologist paints the pavement of a university quad.

What do you do with that?

What do you say when courage gets gunned down in daylight?

Charlie Kirk was no perfect man. None of us are.

But he had backbone where most of us don’t anymore. He was a believer. Unashamed. Unafraid. He understood that real conversations only happen when truth is welcome at the table. And the truth he carried most was Christ.

He brought the gospel into public space on purpose. Because the gospel isn’t supposed to stay in church basements and private Bible studies. It is meant to confront. It is supposed to offend. It was not made for safety.

The Word became flesh and they nailed Him to a tree.

So of course they came for Charlie.

Of course they reached for a gun.

This is what evil does when it runs out of arguments. It doesn’t reason. It kills.

That’s the part that catches in my throat. Not just the sadness, but the strategy of hell behind it.

The Enemy wants us afraid. He wants us to see what happened to Charlie and backpedal. He wants the rest of us to whisper, to soften the message, to believe the lie that faith should stay private.

But Christ never whispered. He preached in temples, on hillsides, in courtrooms, at dinner tables. And when they told Him to be quiet, He picked up His cross.

Not a symbolic one. A real one. Heavy. Bloody. Splintered.

When Jesus said, “Follow Me,” He didn’t hand out maps. He handed out crosses.

That’s what I remembered tonight.

I sat in our prayer space, surrounded by saints who had brought prayer lists and worn Bibles. And I realized I didn’t want to lead them in mourning. I wanted to lead them into battle. Not with banners or fists, but with open Bibles and tear-stained prayers.

The kind of war that kneels in gravel beside the wounded, hands them living water, and refuses to leave. The kind that speaks both mercy and judgment without flinching. The kind Charlie died for.

This world is not a friend to grace. But grace isn’t fragile.

“Who shall separate us from the love of Christ?” Paul didn’t leave that question unanswered.

“Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or danger, or sword?” —Romans 8:35

He piles up every fear you and I carry and then sets them on fire.

“No. In all these things we are more than conquerors.”

That means bullets don’t win. Slander doesn’t win. Prison bars don’t win. Death doesn’t win.

You can lose everything in this world and still walk into glory with your head lifted high. Because the love of God in Christ Jesus isn’t suspended by headlines or gunfire.

There are two worlds unfolding right now.

The one you see. And the one you don’t.

One is filled with chaos. The other is filled with crowns.

I believe that when Charlie Kirk’s body slumped to the concrete, his soul stood upright in heaven. Not limping. Not silenced. Not stunned. But crowned.

He didn’t fall. He crossed.

The great cloud of witnesses gained another voice. And I wonder if Stephen met him there. The first martyr. The man who got stoned for preaching what the crowd didn’t want to hear. The man who, in his final breath, saw the heavens open. The only time in all of Scripture we see Jesus standing at the right hand of God, rising to receive one of His own.

I like to believe He stood again.

Are you afraid?

Do you feel the tremble in your spirit?

Do you wonder if it’s still worth it to speak boldly, to carry your Bible, to preach the gospel in a world that doesn’t just disagree but wants you gone?

You’re not alone.

You’re not weak for feeling that. But you are called to something stronger than silence.

Don’t let fear become your theology.

The cost is high. But the reward?

The reward is Christ. And He’s not a concept. He’s a King.

Heaven is not empty.

It is filled with scarred saints who refused to bow to fear. Men who were stoned. Women who were burned. Children who sang while the flames climbed.

And every last one of them arrived.

There is no difficulty that can cancel the promise of God. There is no persecution that can derail your destination. There is no sniper’s bullet that can separate a soul from Christ.

Your life is not measured by how long you live on earth, but by how much of it was spent pointing to heaven.

Paul said, “I have fought the good fight… I have kept the faith.” Then he looked toward the reward. Not a monument. Not a mention in history books. But a crown. Handed to him by the One with nail marks still in His hands.

So let me say this clearly. We do not mourn like the world mourns. We do not write eulogies dripping with sentiment. We sing songs of resurrection. We carry the banner of a Kingdom that does not tremble.

Charlie Kirk did not die for nothing. He died carrying the same message you and I must now carry forward.

The cross stands tall. The tomb is still empty. And the gospel has not lost one ounce of power.

So pick up your cross. Wipe your eyes. And keep going.

The crown is worth it. The King is coming. And there’s still time to speak.

Even if they shoot.

Lord, give us courage. And if not safety, give us joy. For we carry not just the message, but the marks. And You are worth every bruise.

Prayer: Lord of eternity, give us the strength not to shrink back, not to slow down, but to follow You wholeheartedly, fearlessly. Help us to walk with You, run with You, and finish well. We thank You for the promise of eternal rewards in Heaven, most of all the promise of meeting You face to face and hearing the words, “Well done, good and faithful servant.” In Jesus’ name, amen.