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.

Taking the Guesswork out of Big (and Small) Decisions

“Follow your heart.” – 21st Century Cliché

“The heart is deceitful above all things and desperately wicked.” – Jeremiah 17:9

I couldn’t help myself. When I read the familiar advice written by a sweet, well-meaning young blogger, I had to respond. If I weren’t retired, I wouldn’t have taken the time. But having the luxury of a daily schedule that moves at a slower pace, I seized the opportunity to “sow some seeds” into this young person, who seemed almost as naive as I had been at that age.

I commented:

“If you can tolerate another perspective from someone who has seen 72 years of life and has “gone with my heart” more than once …

“You’re right, if we do that, maybe it’ll turn out well, maybe not – maybe it’ll be disastrous! (Please don’t ask me how I know!)

“Truth is, ‘The heart is deceitful above all things and desperately wicked.’ (Jeremiah 17:9) That’s just one of thousands of nuggets of truth found in the Bible, a.k.a. ‘God’s Word.’ Another is, ‘Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding [or gut!]. In all your ways acknowledge Him, and HE will direct your path.’ (Proverbs 3:5-6)

“The more I study the Scriptures, the more I understand the mind of God, the better I can make these ‘leaps’ according to what God wants and KNOW I am making the right choice. (And the fewer disasters and regrets.) If I had known at your age what I know now, my life would be even better today, and today it’s pretty great! Because when a decision is to be made, I stop and ask, ‘What does God’s Word say about this?’ If I act accordingly, I see the outcome, sometimes something I never would have planned myself.

“…I’m guessing you weren’t looking to be discipled on a random September morning, but there it is.

“May God bless you and give you wisdom beyond your years. ❤ “

In closing, I want to share the prayer I pray every day as I give the Lord my heart and “put on the breastplate of righteousness”:

Lord, today I give You my heart. I give You my emotions, my passions, my desires, my affections, my will, my motives, and my attitude. Please remove every shred of selfishness – for self is the root cause of every sin in existence. Fill my heart instead until I overflow with love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. *

Lord, I thank You for emotions that confirm the Truth. But I recognize that Your Truth stands on its own and needs no confirmation from me or anyone else. I thank You for emotions that motivate me to serve You. And I thank You that I can choose to serve You, whether I feel like it or not.

Thank You that my emotions don’t define me, and they don’t get to dictate what I say, do, focus on, believe, or choose. Jesus, I choose You. You are my sovereign, my king – not my emotions. You are my Master, my Boss, my Lord and my God.

Jesus, thank You for being my Savior, my Redeemer, the Atoning Sacrifice for my sins. (I am not my own; I was bought with a price.**) Thank You for being my Shepherd, my Provider, my Protector, my Defender, my Healer, and the Lover of my soul. You are my First Love. Let it never be said by anyone, especially not You, that I have left my First Love.***

Lord, I delight in You; give me the desires of my heart.**** Instill in me the desires You want me to have, the desires You want to fulfill in my life, so that I can live in the center of Your will.

Lord, I desire to know You and to make You known. I desire to know You intimately – to see Your face and hear Your voice, to feel Your embrace and have my heart beat in sync with Yours. Give me a heart like Yours, even if that means my heart will be broken by the things that break Your heart.

I want to smell Your fragrance, to be surrounded by it, enveloped in it, and saturated in it. Make me “the aroma of Christ” – the aroma of life to those who are being saved, even if that means being the stench of death to those who are perishing.***** Jesus, I realize that if I follow You, and if I’m doing it right, I will become like You, and the more I become like You, the more I will be hated by those who hate You, and I have to be okay with that. I only pray that when I am despised, it’s not because I am a despicable person with a despicable attitude, doing despicable things for despicable reasons. But if I am despised and rejected by those who despise and reject You, and if it’s because I am like You, I can wear their rejection like a badge of honor, because it identifies me with You.

And I want to be identified with You. I want to be in You and I want You to be in me. I want to be in the center of Your will, not playing around the edges. I want to walk with You, not running ahead and taking the wrong path, not dragging my feet and slowing down Your plan, and not wandering down any rabbit trails, making messes, and wasting time. I want to walk with You, run with You, make You smile – I want to make You laugh with pleasure! I want to be the child that delights You, not a child that grieves, frustrates, or embarrasses You.

Jesus, thank You for doing everything necessary to make me that child, for dying on the cross so my sins could be done away with and Your righteousness imputed to me. Teach me to translate that imputed righteousness into a righteous life and wear it over my heart like a breastplate,****** so the enemy can never penetrate my heart ever again! This is how I set my heart at rest in Your presence, whenever my heart condemns me. For You are greater than my heart, and You know everything. ******* In Jesus’ name.

(AMEN.)

*Galatians 5:22 ** I Corinthians 6:19-20 ***Revelation 2:4

****Psalm 37:4 *****II Corinthians 2:15-16 ******Ephesians 6:14

*******I John 3:19-20

Let Him Finish!

Being confident of this: that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus. – Philippians 1:6

Our family’s summer home is on a little peninsula on a small lake, which is connected to Lake Michigan by a channel with piers and lighthouses on either side.

This place is paradise in the summer. It’s also a place of nostalgia for us. It’s where Marty and I came as children, where we met, where we got married, where we lived for about eight years, and where we spend summers, now that we’re retired.

Here I take daily walks down the road toward the “big lake” and out to the end of the pier on our side of the channel. From there I usually look over at the lighthouse on the other side, the one that has an American flag painted on the base. (The one on our side just has a “SLOW NO WAKE” sign. Not nearly as classy.) I look at the flag and smile, because I remember when that flag was painted, and it was not the U. S. Coast Guard that did it. It was some gutsy teenagers.

It was back in the early 70’s, when I was one of a bunch of young people who spent summers in Michigan. We were the lucky kids who had stay-at-home moms or parents that were teachers and had summers off. We spent our days sailing, water-skiing, playing volleyball, and splashing in the Lake Michigan waves. Our evenings were often spent around a beach fire, where certain members of the group would come up with their latest schemes. One of them, a brainy-type freshman at M.I.T., thought the concrete pier looked a little drab, especially after the old lighthouse had been removed. (Apparently, it had been too tempting for certain individuals to climb, in spite of the “Keep Off!” signs, so it had been replaced with the plainest lighthouse one could imagine and have it still be a lighthouse.) The blank, grey concrete base was begging to be painted.

In those days of the Vietnam War, anti-American sentiment was rampant. Not one to follow the crowd, the M.I.T. student opined that what that empty slab of concrete needed was an American flag. So, he and two friends set out one night to do their patriotic duty, albeit without permission from the local authorities.

The three of them waited until after dark, then sneaked out to the end of the pier with paint cans, brushes, and a long straightedge. In the wee hours of the morning, they painted a blue rectangle, surrounded by an L-shaped block of white. They then went their separate ways, leaving the paint to dry.

After a few hours’ sleep, the artists reconvened and set out to finish the job before sunrise. This time they had red paint for stripes and white paint and stencils to create fifty perfect stars.

It was vital that they finish the project in one night, because, of course, anyone seeing three teenagers painting public property unsupervised would think they were your average run-of-the-mill vandals. There would be arrests before they’d had a chance to show that, “Really, this is gonna look great, if you’d just let us finish it!” (“Tell it to the judge, kid.”)

As it turned out, when the sun rose and the first fishing boats were heading out the channel to Lake Michigan, the work of art was completed and had its first admirers.

“GOD BLESS AMERICA!” one woman cried passionately, as her husband stood up and saluted. Still, the kids thought it best to leave the scene of the crime before anyone with authority saw them.

The Coast Guard must have liked it, though, because no one ever heard any complaint, and to this day, the flag remains. It even seems to have been touched up from time to time by whoever is in charge of such things. (Either that, or we used really good paint.) The image of that iconic lighthouse has popped up in videos and on mugs, stickers, caps, water bottles, and anything else you would find in a local gift shop.

As for the kids that painted it, they were never caught, and after 54 years, I suspect the statute of limitations has passed.

Two of those kids ended up getting married, and last month we celebrated our 52nd anniversary.

When I look back on that night, I remember the excitement. I also remember the sheer terror I felt as a young goody-two-shoes who had never been in trouble with the law … well, not counting being stopped for speeding. I had moments where I was convinced I’d spend the last years of my adolescence in “juvie” – my reputation stained for life. But as decades have gone by, and as the pier with the American flag has become a popular landmark of the area, I find myself telling the legend of three kids that made their mark (literally) on the area.

(“And now you know the rest of the story.” – Paul Harvey)

So, what’s the “divine perspective” in all this? If you find yourself in the middle of something that seems awful, something that makes you wonder if God’s been paying attention, and if so, why He would let this happen to you?

Of course, the answer is yes, He’s always paying attention. But He’s been known to do some of His best work through what may look like a chaotic mess that doesn’t make sense – that is, not until the last piece is put into place. Just as seeing our project when it wasn’t finished would cause people to come to the wrong conclusions, chances are your experience may seem like a colossal mistake on the part of the One in charge. But you know that’s not the case.

Some advice: Take a deep breath. Say a prayer. Let it out. And let Him finish! He just might surprise you with something that will bless you for years to come.

Prayer: Lord, Your thoughts are higher than ours, and our thoughts can be so short-sighted! Forgive us, and help us to trust You, even when things don’t make sense to us at all. We know “You’ve got this,” and Your finished work will be wonderful. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Isaiah at the Gym

Who has believed our report? And to whom has the arm of the Lord been revealed? – Isaiah 53:1

In my study of the Scripture, I have gone through different seasons. Sometimes I would have a devotional book and just read the two or three verses that came with that day’s reading. Other times I would be in a Bible study that focused on one specific book for a few weeks. For a long time, I would read straight through my study Bible, starting at Genesis and reading a few chapters a day, being helped by the notes and adding my own notes. I even went through a time of following one teacher’s suggestion of “read until something speaks to you, then stop and meditate on the verse(s) until you know what God is telling you that day.” Often that concept has been woven into the other approaches, and I have stacks of old journals to prove it.

As you may know from my last post, I have gone through seasons of committing Scripture to memory, a practice that has had some major benefits.

Storing Bread for Future Famine

Years ago, when I was a stay-at-home mom, I was having my “quiet time” when the children were at school. (When else would I have quiet time?) I was reading Isaiah 53, my favorite of the Old Testament, because it described in detail the atoning death and resurrection of the coming Messiah centuries before He came. Phrases like, “He was pierced for our transgressions,” “led like a lamb to the slaughter,” “the Lord makes his life a sin offering,” “assigned a grave with the wicked and with the rich in his death,” and “he will see the light of life,” not only told about how Messiah would die, but also why – that His death would atone for sinners. It also stated that He would be raised to life again. I had memorized this chapter in the past but, realizing I had become a little “rusty,” I felt motivated that day to continue going over it until I could recite it without hesitation.

Having feasted on this rich passage both mentally and spiritually, I decided to do my body a favor and go to the gym.

Once there, I stashed my purse and bag in a locker, hopped on one of the machines, and started working on burning some calories.

After a while, a young man stepped onto the machine next to me. Soon we were chatting, and somewhere in the conversation he let me know he was Jewish. Of course, whenever I meet a Jewish person, I always want to ask what they think of Isaiah 53, and today especially was no exception. He confessed that he hadn’t read much of the Old Testament. Of course, I let him know that it “just so happens” I was studying that passage that very morning. I shared some verses with him, and he seemed surprised at some of the prophesies so clearly presented about the Messiah – his Messiah. When I urged him to read the whole chapter when he got home, I found out why he hadn’t read much of the Old Testament – He didn’t have one.

I finished my work out before my new acquaintance did, but I told him I would write down some of the verses for him. I mooched a sheet of paper from the front desk, and on my way to my locker to get a pen, I was inspired to take it a step further. I grabbed my little New Testament out of my purse, sat down in the corner of the cardio room, and began writing.

Of course, I wrote out Isaiah 53 from memory, but next to each verse I left enough space to add New Testament Scripture references, showing where that verse head been fulfilled. By the time my friend was finished with his workout, I had finished mine. He thanked me and took the paper with him, but the cynical side of me wondered, Is he really going to read it?

I didn’t have to wonder long. A couple of days later, I was back at the gym at about the same time, and there he was! When he saw me, his face lit up. He told me he had taken the paper home, and that night he and his wife had gone through the Isaiah passage, verse by verse. It turned out his wife was Catholic and had a New Testament, so they were able to look up all the verses I had written down. I was excited for both of them and so grateful for the inspiration to focus on that chapter that day, and for our “divine appointment” at the gym. I didn’t see him after that, although for a while I prayed for him and his wife.

Years later, I was talking about things the Lord had been doing with my friend Marsha, who, unlike me, had grown up in the area. She said she had spoken recently with an old high school classmate, who was Jewish but had become a believer in Jesus as Messiah! When she mentioned his name – well, you can guess who he was. I told her I had met him, and she went on to say that not only had he become a believer, but he was studying to go into the ministry!

I don’t know any more of his story – it’s been so long, I don’t even remember the man’s name. If this had happened recently, I would probably look him up on social media. But back then there was no Google, Facebook – or time for social rabbit trails. I was busy being a wife, raising children, volunteering, and studying to be a teacher.

It’s only now, in retirement with an “empty [sometimes] nest,” that I even have time to write about such things. But if it takes a story like this one to encourage you to learn Scripture, be inspired. God’s Word changes lives.

Prayer: Lord, thank You for Your Word and that so many of us still have access to it. Forgive us for the times we neglected to take advantage of the freedom we have to study and equip ourselves to serve You. Help us to do so today, in Jesus’ name, amen.