Leaving Peace Ledge

A new home awaits us . . .

by Gordon MacDonald

We are moving. Not very far, mind you. It's only a 14-mile move that will bring us closer to the city of Concord, New Hampshire, and into a more manageable living space. Reasons? The pursuit of a down-sized lifestyle, less home maintenance, and shorter driving distances to church, shopping, and (most of all) good friends.
The home we are leaving (we've called it Peace Ledge) has been ours for almost 35 years. Originally, it was built as a getaway place where my wife, Gail, and I might find quietness to pursue a more vigorous spiritual life and for me to do my weekly sermon study. All of my books have been written at Peace Ledge in a writing space that measures eight by eight feet. Ten years ago, when I resigned from institutional leadership, we enlarged this home and made it our permanent residence. Now it is about to pass into the hands of new owners.
In 1978 I took a three-month leave of absence from my church and participated in the building of the home at Peace Ledge. I was there when the foundation was poured (black fly season). I was there during the framing sequence of the construction. And I was there during the days when the finish carpenters and the tradesmen did the moulding, the wiring, and the plumbing. I sweated out the drilling of the well (300 feet down) and the building of the septic system (no small thing to do up in the woods).
I know every nook and cranny of this house we are leaving. I can guide you to every bent nail, every joint not perfectly mitred, every tiny stain in the plaster where a mid-winter ice-dam caused a temporary leak in the ceiling.
Peace Ledge has been the place where we have experienced our highest "highs" in life and our lowest "lows." Our family has gathered at the dining table in the great room for every Thanksgiving in the last 33 years. We have celebrated every Christmas there. When life fell apart for Gail and me 25 years ago, we ran to Peace Ledge and found it to be a place where we could hear God speak graciously into our lives and help us to put things back together again.
Over the years, many men and women whose names are equated with Christian leadership around the world have come to Peace Ledge to visit. Some of them arrived in total exhaustion, spiritually drained, in marital trouble. Others came while in the midst of great life-changing decisions or while struggling with faith-threatening thoughts. Many came just to relax, to try out one of my kayaks on a New England river, or merely to walk in the woods. (I have loved guiding some people to a place not far from Peace Ledge where the pathway divides. I've asked them to stop and listen. Then I step a few feet away and begin to quote Robert Frost: "Two roads diverged in a yellowed wood … and" … (then its familiar ending) "I took the road less-traveled by … and that has made all the difference."
Peace Ledge was once a farm where draft horses were bred and trained. The topsoil barely covered the rock ledge (6 inches down), and so its 18th and 19th century farmers could barely scratch out a living. Their only crop was pasture grass. What was once clear-cut land in the 19th century has all returned to timber (a 100-year growth). Stone walls lace the acreage, and you occasionally stumble across rusting farm implements that were abandoned more than a century ago.
One family—the Findleys—owned the farm for almost 100 years. Town records show that on several occasions they were delinquent in their taxes and the farm was put up for public auction. But for reasons unexplained, the Findleys always managed to hold on to the land. Old timers in our area refer to Peace Ledge as the Findley place (which makes me wonder if new old-timers will someday refer to Peace Ledge as the MacDonald place).
Here and there in the forest are small, annually maintained grave yards that mark the final resting place of early New England farming families. It is not uncommon to find the graves of a man and his two or three wives. Nearby: the graves of children. People were much more accustomed to death in those days.
Perhaps it is my imagination, but I have found Peace Ledge to be, well, a place of peace. It has always seemed to me that when I drove on to the property, I entered something like a spiritual enclosure—a place of tranquility and restoration. Perhaps I sound a bit over the top when I say that I have never left the house at Peace Ledge without thanking God one more time that he has allowed Gail and me to live there. Even in the midst of the worst New England blizzards when the power went out (we've had several this year), I have never lost my love for this place.
As the son of a pastor, I had no notion whatsoever of "home." I grew up in houses owned by churches and was constantly reminded that our "home" belonged to someone else. We were not free to paint our own choice of colours nor alter the property without approval from some Board of Trustees. Moving from place to place, congregation to congregation, left me with an unformed view of both "place" and "friendship."
Peace Ledge ended all that. It became home in every sense of the word. At Peace Ledge, I began to appreciate the words of another of Frost's poems (and I paraphrase): "Home is the place where they have to take you in …"
When it comes time in a few weeks for us to leave Peace Ledge, I imagine that Gail and I will walk through the empty house and try to remember one special thing that happened in each room. Perhaps, we'll recall tucking our two children into their beds at night, the games and puzzles that challenged us in the family room, the groups of younger men and women we've mentored in the great room, the things we learned in our personal study spaces, the many nights we drifted off to sleep entwined in each other's arms in the master bedroom.
There will be tears when we make that last room-by-room tour. And there will be prayers of gratitude.
Then I imagine that the tears will turn to anticipation as we drive to our new condo. Even now—weeks before the move—Gail is thinking about where she'll put various pieces of our furniture. She already knows where the family pictures will hang, what colour the bathroom will be, what "discardables" will end up at the Salvation Army thrift store. And me? All I want to know is what my new study space will be like.
Perhaps this anticipated day of moving is not unlike getting ready for the ultimate day when we move to Heaven. I am listening to the new swirling debate on heaven and hell and take note that most of the voices are those of younger generation people. Wait until they reach my age and the stunning awareness that Heaven, and whatever hell is, are just over the horizon (and there's no detour). Eternity is not a doctrinal construct to me. It is an emerging reality. Like so many of my friends before me, I am headed into it in the not-too-distant future.
I take Jesus' comment, "I go to prepare a place for you," seriously. Of course I am tempted to want to ask, "Lord, how many square feet? Is there a basement? AC? Hard water or soft? How about taxes? Bookshelves?"
I hope that when that ultimate "moving day" comes, it will parallel the more immediate one I'm anticipating right now. Packing up, shedding the unnecessary and unneedful, gathering grateful memories, and anticipating the new place down the road. As I said at the beginning, this move is about simplifying and being closer to our friends. That final move will be about eternal discovery and being with Jesus and his friends.

An Unlikely Friendship Opens a Door to Share Christ

Kary Oberbrunner, author of Your Secret name, shared a story about his encounter with an older man named Bob. While Kary was at the local gym, trying to stay focused on his exercise routine, he noticed an elderly man fumbling with an MP3 player and headphones. At first, Kary tried to ignore the man, but as the man was becoming more frustrated with the technology, Kary reluctantly introduced himself and asked if he could help.
The man dejectedly explained, "Hi, I'm Bob, and I love jazz, but I can't get it on this dumb player."
When Kary asked Bob if he had heard of iTunes, Bob shot back, "'I' what?"
It slowly dawned on Kary that God had placed Bob in his path for a reason. So they set a date when they could spend some more time unraveling Bob's MP3 troubles.
Kary continues the story:
Against his initial wishes, I visited him at his apartment. Turns out his wife had died a couple years before, and all his earthly possessions were crammed into a small apartment. She had been their main breadwinner, so the bank repossessed his house when he was unable to make payments.
Bob and I made a makeshift space in his back room near his desktop computer. One at a time I imported his jazz CD collection onto his hard drive, intending to transfer the MP3s eventually to his player. While importing his music, Bob and I talked about life, his wife, and God.
The weeks following I checked in on Bob often. Kind of funny how two guys who are complete opposites can become the best of friends, all because of an MP3 player.
Bob is 71. I am 32. Bob is black. I am white. Bob doesn't have much money. I have more than I need. Bob is an ex-convict. I've never been to jail. Bob is a widower. I'm married. [In short], we're opposites.
A short time later I invited Bob to church, deeply desiring for him to meet Jesus. After a few invitations, he eventually accepted and sat with my wife and me last spring. If he felt awkward sitting in our mostly white church, he didn't let on.
After the service … [we] knelt near the altar, and Bob told Jesus that he wanted to follow him. Bob confessed that he wanted to stop trying to control his life and invited Jesus to take over …. Bob wept and when I looked into his eyes I noticed the distinct peace that now defined his face.
Bob changed my life and the life of my church. I get more joy from him than he'll ever understand. Whenever I say goodbye to him at the YMCA or hang up the phone after talking with him, he always tells me to "give his love to my family." He wants me to baptize him this June at our next baptism.
I'm saddened by the reality that I almost missed Bob simply because I was too engrossed in my own little world.

Kary Oberbrunner, "'What About Bob?' How That Question Changed My Life," New Man eMagazine (April 14, 2009)

Overconfident Naval Officer Loses His Way in the Fog

During a 1923 training exercise, a naval destroyer called the USS Delphy led a flotilla of seven vessels down the California coast. The USS Delphy was captained by Lieutenant Commander Donald T. Hunter, an experienced navigator and instructor at the Naval Academy. Without warning, about half way on their training mission, a thick blanket of fog descended on the ships. In the midst of the fog (Hunter claimed it looked like "pea soup"), Hunter couldn't get an accurate evaluation of his location. Contrary to Hunter's calculations, the lead ship was headed right into Devil's Jaw, a scant two miles off the California coast. But that didn't stop Hunter from ploughing ahead. That is not surprising, for Hunter was known for his self-confident decisiveness and what others called his "magic infallibility" to guide his ship.
Traveling at 20 knots, suddenly the USS Delphy smashed broadside into the rocky Point Arguello shoreline. The force of the massive collision of welded steel and jagged rock split the hull of the USS Delphy in half. One by one, the other destroyers followed the Delphy's lead and smashed into the rocks. Twenty-two naval men died. The accident resulted in the loss of all seven ships. It still stands as one of the worst peacetime naval disasters in history.

Sources: Robert McKenna, The Dictionary of Nautical Literacy (McGraw Hill, 2003), p. 97; Charles Lockwood & Hans Christian Adamson, Tragedy at Honda (Naval Institute Press, 1986), pp. 29-49

"Reply All" Ad Pictures Email Regret

One of the popular ads debuted at the 2011 Super Bowl broadcast was titled "Reply All," by Bridgestone Tyres. Two men are working at their computers in an office cubicle. One sends an email to the other that triggers a smile—followed suddenly by alarm. "Rod, you sent this email 'Reply all.' You hit 'Reply all'!"
Rod panics and sprints down the hallway. Screaming at the top of his lungs, he runs through a meeting room grabbing laptop computers away from those seated at the table. He dashes between offices carrying away desktop computers, still screaming. He reaches through a window into a home office and takes the laptop from a woman typing at a desk, still screaming. He leaps up the stairs leading to an office building knocking cell phones from people's hands.
On he goes, screaming like a man who has lost everything, attacking the computers and hand-held devices of a man walking in a parking garage, another man eating in a restaurant, a man hiking in a forest, a man sitting on a park bench. Finally, climactically, Rod rips a bundle of wires out of the wall of a computer electronics room, sending out a shower of sparks.
Like Rod with his email, have you ever communicated anything that you later regretted? Have you said anything you wished you could take back?

Craig Brian Larson, editor of PreachingToday.com; from the 2011 ad "Reply All" by Bridgestone Tyres

John Stott Discovers God's Power in His Weakness

John Stott shares the following story from 1958 when he was leading a university outreach in Sydney, Australia. The day before the final meeting, Stott received word that his father had passed away. In addition to his grief, Stott was also starting to lose his voice. Here's how Stott describes the final day of the outreach:
It was already late afternoon within a few hours of the final meeting of the mission, so I didn't feel I could back away at that time. I went to the great hall and asked a few students to gather round me. I asked one of them to read … "My grace is sufficient for you, for my strength is made perfect in weakness," (2 Corinthians 12:8-9). A student read these verses and then I asked them to lay hands on me and … pray that those verses might be true in my own experience.
When time came for me to give my address, I preached on the [broad and narrow ways from Matthew 7]. I had to get within half an inch of the microphone, and I croaked the gospel like a raven. I couldn't exert my personality. I couldn't move. I couldn't use any inflections in my voice. I croaked the gospel in monotone. Then when the time came to give the invitation, there was an immediate response, larger than any other meeting during the mission, as students came flocking forward …
I've been back to Australia about ten times since 1958, and on every occasion somebody has come up to me and said, "Do you remember that final meeting in the university in the great hall?" "I jolly well do," I reply. "Well," they say, "I was converted that night."
Stott concludes, "The Holy Spirit takes our human words, spoken in great weakness and frailty, and he carries them home with power to the mind, the heart, the conscience, and the will of the hearers in such a way that they see and believe."

Michael P. Knowles, editor, The Folly of Preaching (Eerdmans, 2007), pp. 137-138

What Does Your Internet Trail Say About You?

In his book The Next Story, Tim Challies writes:
In 2006, America Online made an epic misjudgment. As part of a research project … the company made available to the public a massive amount of data culled from … the search history of 650,000 users over a three-month period. This totaled some 21 million searches.
Before AOL released the data, they changed all the user names into anonymous user numbers. But it didn't take long before those numbers were linked to real names. AOL realized its mistake and withdrew the data, but the search histories had already been copied and uploaded elsewhere on the Internet.
Challies offers the following summary based on AOL's mistake:
It was possible to reconstruct a person's life, at least in part, from what they searched for over a period of time …. What is remarkable about these searches is the way people transition seamlessly from the normal and mundane to the outrageous and perverse …. One user went from searching for preteen pornography to searching for games appropriate for a church youth group. Others, spurned by lovers, sought out ways of exacting revenge, while others grappled with … cheating on their spouses. Our searches are a penetrating window into our hearts.
Challies concludes with some challenging questions: "What does your data trail say about you? Would you be willing for your spouse to see it? Your parents? Your pastors?"

Tim Challies, The Next Story (Zondervan, 2011), pp. 176-178

When She Opened the Door

Life-changing encounters often come unexpectedly

by Gordon MacDonald

It was 50 years ago this month that a mentor-friend said to me casually, "I've met a woman that I think would be a great wife for you."
This was no small comment coming from a man who was older than me, certainly wiser, and far more grounded in his relationship to God. His counsel (and rebukes) had always been trustworthy and valued. So for him to say he'd met a woman, who would make a "great wife" for me, certainly caught my attention!
When I asked for a description of this mystery woman, my friend described someone who seemed a perfect combination. To borrow a famous line from Keith Miller, she sounded like a combination of Mother Teresa, Betty Crocker, and Elizabeth Taylor—a perfect woman.
When he finished his glowing description of this "goddess," I insisted that I must meet her, and soon! I feared that some potential suitor might meet her before I could. In fact, I pressed my friend so hard to schedule an introduction that, finally, to get me off his back, he made a phone call. Minutes later we he had arranged breakfast with her the next morning.
The next day, at the appointed hour, my friend and I stood at her apartment door and knocked. It is said that we tend to form lasting impressions of people within 45 seconds of meeting them (thank you, Malcolm Gladwell) and that could explain, in part, what happened to me 50 years ago when I was introduced to Gail Akerlow.
Below is my recollection of that day. I wrote these words, and, a few days ago, read them to Gail during a candle-lit dinner.

When I knocked that morning,
You opened the door.

When you opened the door,
I saw a vibrant smile,
Heard a cheery voice,
Felt a firm hand.
And instantly I knew that I was meeting The one whom I'd been seeking.

When you opened the door,
I smelled breakfast, lovingly prepared,
Heard beautiful background melodies,
Saw order and felt restfulness.
And instantly I knew I'd come under the spell
Of someone who knew what home was all about.

When you opened the door,
I sensed a partner
Who loved to dream,
Who longed to serve.
And instantly I knew that you were someone
With whom I could share my life.

When you opened the door,
I had this insight:
That I was face to face with a woman
Who could love me into maturity.
And instantly I knew
That I could love her just as well.

When you opened the door,
I was sure that Christ was right beside you,
That you were loyal to him,
That you were his follower.
And instantly I knew
That we would walk with him together.

When you opened the door,
I warmed to your welcome.
for at that door I met the woman
That God had promised if I'd trust him.
And instantly I was sure
That everything in life was going to be different.

Thank you for opening the door.

A month later I asked Gail to marry me. Five months later we walked the aisle.

Here are some lessons from my story:
You never know when a life-altering event (good or bad) may emerge out of the most casual of conversations.
Make sure you have friends with the gift of discernment. And if you're the friend, make sure you don't squander your influence.
If the Holy Spirit is our guide, it is prudent to begin each day making sure that you are "guidable."
Even if they are schlocky, write poems for the people that you dearly love.

Howard Stern Searches for His Father's Approval

In an interview that aired January 18, 2011 on Piers Morgan Tonight, host Piers Morgan interviewed shock-jock Howard Stern. At one point in the interview, Morgan said he had read that Stern had watched his father praise people that he really respected, and that Howard had grown up craving that praise from his father. Morgan commented that Stern seemed to be driven by the need to please his parents.
"How often does [your father] say to you, 'Great show, Howard'?" Piers asked.
"Rarely," replied Stern. "He said to me some years ago … and it really moved me, he said, 'You're a genius.' And I was rocked, because I never thought I'd hear those words. I didn't think I, was ever gonna earn that respect in my father's eyes."
"What had you done to earn it do you think?" Piers probed.
"I think it was after my movie," Stern replied. "It was after many accomplishments. I think in many ways with my career I was searching for that approval from my father. And it's a very empty search actually, because when you get it, it's almost too late. It's like ooh, you mean this was what this was all about … this was what it was all for?"

source unknown

We All Need Others to Help Us Succeed

In his book Outliers, Malcolm Gladwell tells the strange story of Christopher Langan, a genius with a staggering IQ of 195. (For some perspective, Einstein's IQ was 150). During high school, Langan could ace any foreign language test by skimming the textbook 2-3 minutes before the exam. He got a perfect score on his SAT, even though at one point he fell asleep. But Langan failed to use his exceptional gifts and ended up working on a horse farm in rural Missouri.
According to Gladwell, Langan never had a community to help him capitalise on his gifts.
Gladwell summarizes the story of Langan in one sentence: "[Langan] had to make his way alone, and no one—not rock stars, not professional athletes, not software billionaires, and not even geniuses—ever makes it alone."

Malcolm Gladwell, Outliers (Little, Brown and Company, 2008), p. 115

John Perkins Reflects on the Uselessness of Fame

According to author and theologian Paul Metzger, one of his greatest living heroes is John Perkins, an African American Christian leader from Mississippi who was nearly beaten to death in the '70s for his work in racial justice. From all accounts, Perkins could enjoy the status of a Christian "celebrity," but instead he realizes the fleeting glory of fame. Metzger relates the following story about a recent conversation with Perkins:
One evening in 2007 in Portland, Oregon, I was driving the now-elderly Dr. Perkins to a benefit dinner. He was to serve as the keynote speaker at the dinner, which was raising money for an inner-city community development ministry that brought jobs and housing to ex-offenders and youth. As we drove along … I asked Dr. Perkins what it was like for him now in Mississippi. Dr. Perkins replied matter-of-factly, "I'm kind of a hero now in Mississippi. It seems that every time the state newspapers write something about reconciliation, they quote me. It's as if I created the word," he said with a laugh. There was a pause in the conversation. And then as he was looking out the window, he [said], "But when I think about how many homes my fame has built for the poor in Mississippi, I realise that my fame hasn't built any homes for the poor. So I don't put no stock in my fame."
There were no television or newspaper reporters in the car—just Dr. Perkins, his daughter Elizabeth, and his young chauffeur (me). That young chauffeur almost lost control of the car. I rarely come across such a value system—in others or in my own heart. The Christian celebrity leverages the gospel for his or her own benefit. The saint asks God to leverage his or her own life and "fame" for the gospel and for people. The celebrity wants to be famous. The saint wants to be influential so that others might meet Jesus.

Paul Metzger, The Gospel of John (Downers Grove: InterVarsity Press, 2010), pp. 50-51

Farm Workers Treat Their Manager and Fellow-employee to a Feast

For the past few years my friend Chris has worked for a nursery farm on Long Island. During the height of the growing season, about 28 other employees, mostly seasonal workers from Central America, also report to Chris. As a follower of Jesus he tries to share Christ's love and treat each of his fellow-workers with respect and dignity. In Chris's words,
In my broken Spanish, throughout the day I'll do my best to show genuine interest in their lives, getting to know them, and asking about their lives. Most of the guys send a lot of their earnings back to their families, so I also ask them about their wives and children. Sometimes I'll try to share Christ's love in practical ways by giving them a ride home or picking them up a fast-food sandwich. But we always end each day by looking each other in the eye as we say, "Gracias Dios por un dia más," or "Thank God for another day."
One day two of the men, Gonzalo and Daniel, wanted to show their appreciation for me, so they decided to splurge on a special gift. They pooled their resources and took me out for a special dinner—a $7 Value Meal at the local Burger King. By spending $3.50 a piece, Daniel and Gonzalo were giving me a sacrificial gift. The week before they gave me this gift, a storm had cut their work hours and their income in half. But that didn't deter their generosity.
Honestly, throughout my life I've been treated to some special meals and I've received some expensive presents, but that was one gift that I'll treasure forever. During the meal in Burger King, Gonzalo and Daniel treated me like a king. I never knew fast-food burger and fries could taste like a foretaste of the heavenly feast.

source unknown

Bride and Best Man Jump into the Ocean to Save a Life

In November 2010, a wedding party in Glenelg, South Australia, was unexpectedly called into action right after the wedding ceremony. While they were posing for pictures on a scenic ledge, a woman unrelated to the wedding fell into the water and started drowning. Dressed in his tuxedo, the best man jumped in and brought the woman back toward shore. Then the bride, a trained nurse, waded into the water and started administering CPR. By the time the Surf Life Saving volunteers had arrived, the woman had regained consciousness. But according to one safety official, "[The victim] was very lucky that the bridal party was there and they acted quickly and got her to the shallows." After the daring rescue operation, the drenched but heroic best man and the bride happily rejoined the wedding reception and continued with the festivities.
In some ways, this unusual event serves as a great image for the calling of every local church: we're dressed up for a party (celebrating worship), but at the same time we're also prepared to dive into mission, even when it's inconvenient and dangerous. Worship and mission, loving God and loving others, praising and serving—these combinations aren't opposites; they form the dual nature of our calling as the church.

Best man jumps off Glenelg Jetty to save woman, News.com.au (November 29, 2010)

Whining Cats Illustrate Our Disobedience

The cats in my house sure live a cushy life. Recently, as my cats watched beautiful snowflakes falling from above, they wanted to go outside and enjoy it. I tried to tell them that they don't really want to go outside, and that it's in their best interest to stay inside. I tried to tell them that it's cold out there and they aren't used to the cold and eventually they'd freeze to death. But they sat there whining in such a pitiful tone that I, out of sheer distraction, let them out. In minutes, they wanted back in. Then, minutes later, they again noticed the snow falling and wanted back out. I call them the Yoyo creatures.
These cats pray to me, their lord and master, for what they think they just have to have. It's fairly clear that they think I exist solely to give what they desire. They covet the snow. And I explain to them: "You think you want out, but I know something you don't understand. Stay in here with me. It's warm and safe in here, and you will find rest for your souls. And while you're at it, stop fighting over the water bowl. I promise plenty of water for you."
In our relationship with God, aren't we just like those cats? As Isaiah almost said, "All we like sheep (or cats) have gone astray, we have all turned to our own way" (Isaiah 53:6).

David Shelley, Greeley, Colorado

Os Guinness Discovers God's Call

In the early days of his Christian life, Os Guinness believed that he had to prove his commitment to Christ by becoming a minister or missionary. So, urged on by his spiritual mentors, he worked for a well-known church, but he was miserable. God changed his heart and refined his calling through a random encounter at a gas station. Here's how Guinness described it:
[In the days before self-service gas stations], I had just had my car filled up with gas and enjoyed a marvelously rich conversation with the pump attendant. As I turned on the key and the engine to [my car] roared to life, a thought suddenly hit me with the force of an avalanche: This man was the first person I had spoken to in a week who was not a church member. I was in danger of being drawn in a religious ghetto … . Ten minutes of conversation with a friendly gas pump attendant on a beautiful spring evening in [England], and I knew once and for all I was not cut out to [work full-time in a church].
Instead, as Guinness continued to pray and seek God's guidance, he discovered that God was calling him to work in the world so he could use his gifts and build relationships with people who didn't know Christ. After God released Guinness from what he was not supposed to do, Guinness found the freedom to pursue God's true calling for his life.

Os Guinness, The Call (W Publishing Group, 1988), pp. 5-6

Oprah's Magazine Reflects on Our Awesome World

A recent issue of the Oprah Magazine has an interesting article on awe. The article's introduction states: "Somewhere at the intersection of joy, fear, mystery, and insight lies awe, the ineffable response to the amazing world around us." The article goes on to give a more refined definition: "Overwhelming, surprising, humbling, even a little terrifying—awe is what we feel when faced with something sublime, exceptional, or altogether beyond comprehension."
University of California's Dacher Keltner, PhD, a psychology professor, does extensive research on the subject of awe. In his 2009 book Born to Be Good, he describes the feeling of awe as pushing people beyond selfishness and giving them a desire to do good. He believes that cultivating awe "is part of unlocking the truest sense of life's purpose." In his most well-known experiment, he had students complete a series of "I am" sentences. Half the students were facing a full-scale replica of a Tyrannosaurus Rex; the other half were facing a hallway. The first group was more likely to describe themselves in larger, grander terms ("I am part of the human species"). The group facing an empty hallway described themselves in smaller, narrower terms ("I am a soccer player")
The article even gives some tips for cultivating awe:
1. Try something new or something "you don't have a mental template for."
2. Go outside. The ultimate in awe is the beauty and wonder of nature.
3. Have an "ecstatic social experience" by going to a rock concert or political rally.
4. Look up at the night sky. Better yet, buy a telescope.
Although the article presents a mostly secular view of awe, it does tap into our human longing to find "joy, fear, mystery … [in] response to the amazing world around us." According to the Bible, there is one source for all the awe we experience—God. We were created to live in awe of God. The word awe or awesome is mentioned 53 times throughout the Bible. The God who is "awesome in glory" (Exodus 15:11) and "mighty and awesome" (Deuteronomy 10:17) performs "awesome deeds for mankind" (Psalm 66:5). No wonder the psalmist proclaimed, "The whole earth is filled with awe at your wonders" (Psalm 65:8).

David Hochman, "The Wonder of It All", Oprah Magazine, (December 2010)

Father Responds to His Son's Rant about the Church

At one point in his journey towards Christ, Nathan Foster (the son of author Richard Foster) was living "a ragged attempt at discipleship." He was afraid to share his honest thoughts about God and his disillusionment with the church, especially with a father who had given his life to serve God and the church.
But one day as Nathan shared a ride with his dad on a ski lift, he blurted out, "I hate going to church. It's nothing against God; I just don't see the point." Richard Foster quietly said, "Sadly, many churches today are simply organised ways of keeping people from God."
Surprised by his dad's response, Nathan launched into "a well-rehearsed, cynical rant" about the church:
Okay, so since Jesus paid such great attention to the poor and disenfranchised, why isn't the church the world's epicentre for racial, social and economic justice? I've found more grace and love in worn-out folks at the local bar than those in the pew … . And instead of allowing our pastors to be real human beings with real problems, we prefer some sort of overworked rock stars.
His dad smiled and said, "Good questions, Nate. Overworked rock stars: that's funny. You've obviously put some thought into this." Once again, Nathan was surprised that his "rant" didn't faze his dad. "He didn't blow me off or put me down." From that point on Nathan actually looked forward to conversations with his dad.
It also proved to be a turning point in his spiritual life. By the end of the winter, Nathan was willing to admit,
Somewhere amid the wind and snow of the Continental Divide, I decided that if I'm not willing to be an agent of change [in the church], my critique is a waste … . Regardless of how it is defined, I was learning that the church was simply a collection of broken people recklessly loved by God … . Jesus said he came for the sick, not the healthy, and certainly our churches reflect that.
Spurred on by his father's acceptance and honesty and by his own spiritual growth, Nathan has continued to ask honest questions, but he has also started to love and change the church, rather than just criticise it.

Nathan Foster, Wisdom Chaser (IVP Books, 2010), pp. 85-89

Two Homes Tested by Powerful Wind Gusts

On October 19, 2010, a test was conducted at the Institute for Business and Home Safety in Richburg, South Carolina. Researchers constructed two 1,300-square-foot houses inside a $40 million laboratory and then observed how a simulated hurricane would impact the homes.
The first home was built according to conventional standards. The second home included reinforcement straps that connected every level of the building, from the foundation all the way to the roof. Then the researchers turned on giant fans, creating gusts of wind up to 110 miles per hour (equal to a category 3 hurricane). In the first two experiments, which lasted under ten minutes, both homes survived the intense winds. But when they tried a third experiment, turning on the fans for more than ten minutes, the conventional home began to shake and then collapsed. In contrast, the home with the floors and roof reinforced to the foundation sustained only cosmetic damage.
Tim Reingold, an engineer working on the experiment, summarised the results with a pointed question: "The bottom line you have to ask yourself is, which house would you rather be living in?"

BBC NEWS, "US researchers create hurricane to test houses," (October 19, 2010)

President Bush Forgives a Staffer Caught in Plagiarism

In 2001 Tim Goeglein started running the White House Office of Public Liaison, providing him almost daily access to then President George Bush. All of that ended abruptly on February 29, 2008. A well-known blogger uncovered the startling facts behind some of Goeglein's published articles: 27 out of 39 of his written pieces had been plagiarised. When the facts came out, by mid-afternoon the next day, Goeglein's career in the White House was over.
"But I was guilty as charged," Goeglein admitted.
For Goeglein, this began "a personal crisis unequaled in my life, bringing great humiliation on my wife and children, my family, and my closest friends, including the President of the United States."
Although Goeglein was devastated, what happened next was an example of God's providence and mercy. Goeglein was summoned to the White House to face the President. Once inside the Oval Office, Goeglein shut the door, turned to the President and said, "I owe you an … "
President Bush simply said: "Tim, you are forgiven."
Tim was speechless. He tried again: "But sir … "
The President interrupted him again, with a firm "Stop." Then President Bush added, "I have known grace and mercy in my life, and you are forgiven."
After a long talk, a healing process was launched for Goeglein, which included repentance, reflection, and spiritual growth. "Political power can lead to pride," Goeglein concluded. "That was my sin. One hundred percent pride. But offering and receiving forgiveness is a different kind of strength. That's the kind of strength I want to develop now."

Warren Cole Smith, “Wins & Losses,” World (October 23, 2010), p. 11

Walking through a Graveyard

There's nothing like an open grave to offer a glimpse of life by John Ortberg Eugene Peterson tells a wonderful story in his memoir, The Pastor. (By the way, it's a fabulous read. If you are a pastor, or were a pastor, or might be a pastor, or know a pastor, or can pronounce pastor, you should get it.) Eugene (I call him "Genie") and his wife were visiting a Benedictine monastery named Christ in the Desert. On their way to the refectory where they were to have lunch, they walked past the graveyard and noticed an open grave. Eugene asked which member of the community had died recently.
"No one," he was told. "That grave is for the next one."
Each day, three times a day, as they walk from praying to eating, the members of that community are reminded of what we spend our waking hours trying to forget.
One of them will be the next one.
The contemplation of death used to be a regular feature of spiritual life. Now we live in what Ernst Becker called "The Denial of Death." Woody Allen wrote that he didn't mind the thought of dying; he just didn't want to be there when it happened.
Frances de Sales wrote long instructions designed to help believers reflect on their deaths as vividly as possible. Human beings are the only creatures whose frontal lobes are so developed that they know that the game will end. This is our glory, our curse, our warning, and our opportunity.
In Jerusalem, hundreds of synagogues have been built by Jews from around the world. One was built by a group from Budapest, and according to an ancient custom, they had a coffin built into the wall. There is no body in it, they would explain to visitors. It is present as a silent witness to remind us: Somebody will be the next one.
The Talmud teaches that every person should fully repent one day before his death. When a visitor asked, "But how will I know when that day is?" he was told: "You won't. So treat every day as if it were the day before your last."
I thought of that this summer. One of the most formative people in my life was a red-headed professor of Greek at Wheaton College named Jerry Hawthorne. He is something of a legend in Wheaton circles. He was the kind of teacher who made everyone want to be a better student. He was such a diligent person that if you did not do your best, you felt shabby and ill-hearted by comparison. He took everyone's failure personally; as if your failure as a student were really his failure as a teacher.
One of the students in our class was showing up sporadically. A friend and I snuck up to Dr. Hawthorne's office, stole some stationery, and wrote a note "from Dr. Hawthorne" apologising for being too poor a teacher and promising to teach better if only this student would give class another, better try.
The student rushed up to Dr. Hawthorne's office; we stood outside the door as he apologised profusely saying it was all his fault, not Dr Hawthorne's; he was the failure. To which Dr Hawthorne could only reply, "What are you talking about?"
He was the heart of our little community. He was deeply humble and deeply pious and at the same time deeply earthy. He was the worst joke-teller I have ever known—he would turn beet red and mangle whatever joke he was telling long before the punchline and jab whomever sat next to him in the ribs, apparently under the theory that if humour could not induce the appropriate amount of laughter, then pain would.
He was the man who challenged a number of Wheaton students—including me—to consider devoting our lives to church ministry. He changed my life in more ways than he could ever know.
This summer I got a call from Jane, his wife, that he was ill, and it was severe. His family created a website so people could follow updates about his health; in a matter of days over 400 people had written tributes about how this skinny, humble, reticent Greek professor had changed their life.
When he died, all seven of us who had roomed together and been shaped by him 30 years ago gathered from around the country to remember, and laugh, and cry, and pray, over the man who had been our friend, who had been in the best and deepest sense of that holy word, our teacher.
I am so grateful he was in our lives, and grateful I got the chance to tell him. If you are reading this, if you are involved at all in serving the well-being of the church, you have your own Dr. Hawthorne. And it is a gift beyond words to be able to express what they have meant to you. If your Dr. Hawthorne is still alive, I strongly suggest: make a call, write an email.
I also thought, looking at the lives that Jerry touched, about what matters and what does not. It is people who count, when a life is spent. It is hearts and not resumes that get poured out before open graves.
It is the reality of the Next One that makes time so precious, makes life so weighty, makes love such a gift.

Comparing the Blessings of Jacob and Esau

If you're familiar with Genesis 36, you know that it's nothing but a list of the descendents of Esau—their names, their wives, their children, their flocks, their herds. There were so many of them that they had to leave Canaan, cross the Jordan, and go to their own country called Edom (which is another name for Esau). In the ancient Near East, a man's wealth was measured in three ways: by the number of his children, his flocks and herds, and the land he possessed. Esau had all three of those things in spades. By any standard, Genesis 36 tells us that he was one of the wealthiest men who ever lived. He even had his own country! But remember what God says next about Esau: "Jacob have I loved; Esau have I hated."
Isn't that interesting? What does that tell us in Genesis 36? Why did God, through the Holy Spirit, go to the trouble of including this list of Esau's descendents that also boasts their wealth?
I think two great truths emerge from Genesis 36: (1) If this is how God treats those he really hates, he truly is a good and gracious God, and (2) you had best not mistake material blessing for spiritual blessing.
In distinction to Esau, there's Jacob, God's favoured one. What did Jacob get? He got a tent. He lived his entire life in a tent with his father, Isaac, and his grandfather, Abraham. He never had a house. They lived nomadic lives, always wandering around. Yet we live in an age of Christianity where we value Esau more than Jacob. We interpret the goodness of God more by the blessing of Esau than by the favour God bestowed on Jacob. If Esau lived today, we would put him on TV. He would sit there on the couch, and we would ask him, "Tell us how God has blessed you and how we can have it as well." Jacob wouldn't be invited to go anywhere. Nobody would want to hear his story. Can you imagine him stopping by a television studio?

Hershael York, in a sermon entitled "The Dark Side of Grace"

This Athlete Helps Others Succeed

Most people haven't heard of the pro football running back named Tony Richardson. That's because his primary role involves helping other running backs succeed: he blocks so they can run. Over the span of seventeen pro football seasons, teams have often paired Richardson with some of the best backs in pro football. In 2001 he was slated to be the main running back, but instead he went to his teammate Priest Holmes and told him, "It's time for me to step out of the way. You need to be getting the ball. And I'm going to do everything I can to help you." Holmes went on to lead the league in rushing, but Richardson never grew envious or resentful. As Holmes would report, "He used to call me up and say, "I just saw you on SportsCenter! He was happier for me than I was for myself."
All of the running backs that Richardson helped succeed contend that his influence went beyond blocking for them. He would constantly talk to them through the game, advising, pushing, encouraging, and inspiring them. In a recent interview, Tony Richardson said, "I can't explain it, but it just means more to me to help someone else achieve glory. There's something about it that feels right to me."

Joe Posnanski, "Made to Last," Sports Illustrated (August 23, 2010), pp. 49-51

The Faithful, Un-Meteor-like Work of Bert Elliot

In January 2006, author Randy Alcorn had the opportunity to join with Jim Elliot's family for a dinner that marked the 50th anniversary of the martyrdom of Jim and four other missionaries in Ecuador. Randy writes:
There we met Jim's older brother, Bert, and his wife Colleen. In 1949, years before Jim went to Ecuador, they became missionaries to Peru. When we discussed their ministry, Bert smiled and said, "I can't wait to get back from furlough." Now in their eighties, they are in their sixtieth year as missionaries, joyfully reaching people for Christ. Until that weekend I didn't know anything about them. Bert and Colleen may enter eternity under the radar of the church at large, but not under God's….
Bert said something to me that day that I'll never forget: "Jim and I both served Christ, but differently. Jim was a great meteor, streaking through the sky." Bert didn't go on to describe himself, but I will. Unlike his brother Jim, Bert is a faint star that rises night after night, faithfully crossing the same path in the sky to God's glory. I believe Jim Elliot's reward is considerable, but it wouldn't surprise me to discover that Bert and Colleen's will be greater still.

Randy Alcorn, If God Is Good: Faith in the Midst of Suffering and Evil (Multnomah, 2009), p. 421

The Power of Forgiveness

Invictus (2009) tells the story of how Nelson Mandela (portrayed by Morgan Freeman), in his first term as the president of South Africa, showed unconditional support and enthusiasm for the nation's mostly white rugby team in an effort to bring about reconciliation in an apartheid-torn land. But in one scene early in the film, we learn that Mandela's efforts at racial reconciliation did not stop with the rugby team. He sought opportunities for reconciliation at every turn—even in the way he put together his security team.
As this scene begins, we see five black men sitting in a small office. They comprise Mandela's security team. The leader of the team, Jason Tshabalala, says, "We need more men."
Another man asks, "Did you talk to Brenda about it?" [Brenda is Mandela's Chief of Staff.]
"Yes," Jason replies. "Yesterday."
There is a knock at the door.
Thinking it must be a secretary with the president's agenda for the day, Jason says, "Ah! That must be Jessie with the schedule. Come in, beautiful!" To the team's surprise, four white men dressed in suits enter the room.
Alarmed, Jason says, "What's this?"
"Mr. Jason Tshabalala?" one of the men says.
"That's me," Jason replies. "Am I under arrest?"
"Captain Feyder and team reporting for duty, sir."
"What duty?" Jason says.
"We're the presidential bodyguard," the man replies. "We've been assigned to this office." The man reaches into his jacket and takes out a sheet of paper. "Here are our orders."
Jason takes the sheet and scans it quickly. "You're Special Branch, right?" [During Apartheid, the Special Branch of the South African police forces was a unit designed to suppress any movements that resisted apartheid.]
Captain Feyder nods, confirming Jason's suspicions before quickly referencing once more the papers in Jason's hands: "You'll see that they've been signed."
"Well, I don't care if they are signed," Jason says. "Just wait here."
Jason exits the room and the scene shifts to a secretary opening a door for Jason that leads into Mandela's office. Mandela is seated at his desk.
"Sorry to disturb you, sir," Jason says.
"You look agitated, Jason," Mandela says.
"That's because there are four Special Branch cops in my office."
"Oh? What did you do?" Mandela says.
"Nothing," Jason replies. "They say they are presidential bodyguards, and they have orders signed by you."
Jason hands the papers to Mandela.
"Ah, yes," Mandela says. "Well, these men have special training. They have lots of experience. They protected de Klerk." [F. W. de Klerk was the last president of apartheid-era South Africa.]
"Yes," Jason says, "but it doesn't mean that they have to—."
"You asked for more men, didn't you?" Mandela says, cutting Jason's comments short.
"Yes, sir," Jason says. "I asked—"
Mandela cuts him off again, saying, "When people see me in public, they see my bodyguards. You represent me directly. The rainbow nation starts here. Reconciliation starts here."
"Reconciliation, sir?"
"Yes, reconciliation, Jason."
"Comrade President," Jason says, "not long ago, these guys tried to kill us. Maybe even these four guys in my office tried. And they often succeeded."
"Yes, I know," Mandela calmly replies. "Forgiveness starts here, too. Forgiveness liberates the soul. It removes fear. That is why it is such a powerful weapon. Please, Jason, try."

Elapsed time: DVD, scene 4, 00:12:13 - 00:14:38
Invictus (Warner Brothers, 2009), directed by Clint Eastwood

Imprisoned Believer's Worldview Strengthened by Time of Doubt and Hardship

In 1981, Stuart McAllister was part of a mission whose primary task was to help the church in Eastern Europe by transporting Bibles, hymn books, and Christian literature to believers.
On one occasion, while attempting to cross the border from Austria into what was then Communist-ruled Czechoslovakia, Stuart and his colleague were arrested and thrown into prison after guards discovered their concealed cargo.
Without any idea when or if he might be released—it would be a two-week confinement—Stuart's empty time and restricted space began to bring to surface feelings, questions, and doubts.
"In such circumstances," Stuart writes [in retrospect], "we are forced to face what we mean when we speak of faith. Do we have to believe in spite of the evidence to the contrary? Do we believe no matter what? How do we handle the deep and pressing questions our own minds bring as our expectations and reality do not match? For me, in my time in prison, I expected God to do certain things, and to do them in a sensible way and time. I expected that God would act fairly quickly and that I would sense his intervention. My reading of Scripture, my grasp of God's promises, my trust in the reliability of God's Word, the teaching I had received, and the message I had embraced, had led me to expect certain things, and in a particular way. When this did not occur in the way I expected, or in the timing that I thought it should, I was both confused and angry." …
Stuart continues: "Since I had never given any conscious thought to worldviews in general, or mine in particular, I was unaware how many unexamined assumptions I was living by. I did not realise how little change had penetrated my heart, and under pressure the gaps were painfully revealed and felt. From the perspective of time, I can now answer these questions meaningfully, but I needed the experience of doubt and hardship to show me how much I did not know or was not rooted in the biblical answers to these core questions. A worldview that merely answers questions intellectually is insufficient; it must also meet us existentially where we have to live."

Ravi Zacharias, Beyond Opinion: Living the Faith We Defend (Thomas Nelson, 2007), pp. 258-261

A Marriage Meltdown Turns Out for the Best

When I got home from [a] mountaintop weekend [that had changed my life, drawing me closer to Christ], I was excited to share with Nancy what had happened. This was the very thing that for many years she had desperately wanted and prayed for. In the years since she had invited Christ into her life on the side of the canyon, she had been praying for me every day.
Proverbs 13:12 says, "Hope deferred makes the heart grow sick," and I believe that must have been what happened. I think Nancy was recovering form a sick heart after all those years of not having her prayers answered concerning me. For so long she had wanted me to become the spiritual leader of our home, and when it was about to happen, I think it was kind of a letdown for her. At first, she was elated, but her happiness soon turned to anger. She got mad and over the next couple of weeks, her anger became visible. I couldn't understand what was happening, and I remember wondering if receiving the Lord was such a good idea. I started to question everything about faith and this stimulated real and honest prayer—for the first time in my life.
It was during this time one Sunday after church that everything came to a head. Our younger daughter, Katie, had gone to the home of some friends. The rest of us headed home for lunch, and our three-year-old son, Brook, went down for a nap. We had just met a new older couple at church that morning and had invited them to drop by later that day. Everything seemed fine until something snapped, and a fight between Nancy and me began. I don't know what started it or even what it was about, but I do remember it escalating rapidly. All at once everything came out—all of Nancy's anger and all of my frustration erupted, causing Nancy to pick up a pottery mug and hurl it at me across the room. I was able to duck quickly, and the mug missed me and smashed through the window of the front door.
As only fate would have it, the couple we invited from church arrived and were walking up the front steps at that very moment. They ducked and evaded the flying mug but decided it was not the best time to visit the Robinsons. They turned on their heels and headed for their car.
I was embarrassed and humiliated, and I lost it like I have never lost it before or since. I started yelling and hitting walls and cupboards. Framed pictures and dishes fell to the floor. I went from room to room turning over furniture and shouting in complete frustration. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't make Nancy satisfied with our life, and I didn't know what I could do about it. In the wake of this realisation, I fell apart.
All my life I had prided myself on being composed and put together; I always felt that showing emotion was a sign of weakness. That day God tore down everything I leaned on for strength. He was showing me that without him I would never be the person he created me to be. I needed him to be more than my Saviour—I needed him to be the Lord of my life. That day I learned in my confession of weakness that he would make me strong (see 2 Cor. 12:10).
As I surveyed the aftermath of my rage, I saw my three-year-old son staring at me with huge, frightened eyes. I will never forget how he looked as he stood there in shock and disbelief. That's when it happened—that's when I finally broke. My deep frustration turned to tears, and the floodgates opened. I started to weep in a way I never had before. Tears welled up from the depths of my being, and my entire body started to convulse. I cried and cried and couldn't stop the tears. I cried for a whole life of pain and frustration, most of which Nancy had nothing to do with. I was broken in a way I can't fully express, but it was a brokenness that forever changed me. I held my son and Nancy held me, and together we cried and prayed. We repented for the way we had treated each other and together asked God to take control of our lives.
It was a divine moment in our marriage and a divine moment in our life with God. I believe it was the moment the seed of God's love and truth penetrated my life. It was a turning point, more powerful than any other I have ever experienced. My journey with God entered into the depths of good soil—to a place where my spiritual roots penetrated his provision for healing and wholeness. Not only did my relationship with God heal, my relationship with my wife changed as well. I could now love because I had come into the assurance that I was first loved.

Tri Robinson, Rooted in Good Soil (Baker, 2010), pp. 38-40

How the Bible Differs from a Golf Yardage Book

Have you ever watched professional golfers and been awed by their ability to land a shot from two hundred yards away just a few yards from the hole? You wonder how they can judge the distance to the hole with such precision. Do they have an internal GPS system that enables them to guess the distances on the course with uncanny accuracy?
Not really. What they have is a yardage book. A yardage book is a map of each hole on the course that gives distances from various landmarks on the hole to the green. Decades ago Arnold Palmer and his caddy began drawing rough yardage charts with little pictures of trees, fairways, greens, sand traps and such of the various holes on all the courses they played. Jack Nicklaus was the pro who really made yardage books popular. Today along with the maps many pro golfers will keep what essentially is a personal journal of how they have played each hole of the course, what clubs they have used from various distances, what the wind was doing, and so on, and what happened to their shots.
Golfers swear by their yardage books. Zach Johnson, winner of the 2010 Colonial, says, "I feel naked without it out there. It's my golf bible."
Steve Marino says, "You see what you did in the past, you make sure you have the right number and then trust all of it, because the room for error is nil."
Scott Vail, caddie for Brandt Snedeker, says, "There are huge ramifications if you are just even 1 yard off."
One former caddie, George Lucas, has made a business out of driving the country and charting distances of some 1,000 golf courses and publishing his data in a book that is now available to the public.
Wouldn't it be nice to have yardage books for the tough decisions we make in life? Should I date this person or not? Should I go to this or that school? Should we buy this house? In our technological age, we want specifics. We want everything mapped out. We want to remove all the uncertainties from life. We want to be able to use our past experiences to predict exactly what will happen in the future. But God hasn't chosen to work with us in that way. He has given us an essential book of guidance that we can't do without, but we still have to use judgment in how to apply what it teaches. Most important, we need to be walking with God in prayer and trust.

Steve DiMeglio, "Before ball, they hit book," USA Today (1 June 2010)

The Statue in Washington D.C. That Nobody Notices — But Should

In The Masculine Mandate: God's Calling to Men, author Richard Phillips shows us that behind every great man in history is a humble person who helped make that man great. Phillips writes:
There are two statues in Washington D.C. that together tell a remarkable story. One is the massive memorial to General Ulysses S. Grant that stands at the east end of the Reflecting Pool, literally in the morning shadow of the U. S. Capitol building. Visitors can hardly miss this majestic depiction of the legendary general atop his war stallion. Grant's military leadership was decisive to the Union's victory in the Civil War, and he is considered a symbol of the force of human will, an icon of the strong man who stands against the storm when all others have shrunk back.
Some two-and-a-half miles away, in a pleasant but nondescript city park, stands a more commonplace memorial. The statue of this lesser-known Civil War figure, Major General John Rawlins, has actually had eight different locations and is hardly ever noticed by visitors. Rawlins had been a lawyer in Galena, Illinois, where Grant lived just prior to the war, and he became Grant's chief of staff. Rawlins knew Grant's character flaws, especially his weakness for alcohol. At the beginning of the war, Rawlins extracted a pledge from Grant to abstain from drunkenness, and when the general threatened to fall away from that promise, his friend would plead with him and support him until Grant could get back on track. In many ways, it was Rawlins who stood beside the seemingly solitary figure of Grant the great general. Rawlins' memorial is modest compared to the mounted glory afforded Grant, yet without his unheralded love and support, Grant would hardly have managed even to climb into the saddle.

Richard D. Phillips, The Masculine Mandate (Reformation Trust, 2010), pp. 121-122

Living in an Age of Faux Friendships

In an article for The Chronicle of Higher Education, William Deresiewicz examines the new forms of friendship that have emerged in the age of Facebook. While social media has allowed us the opportunity to be connected to everyone, it more often than not comes at the expense of deep, meaningful, shaping friendship. Deresiewicz writes:
[Concerning] the moral content of classical friendship, its commitment to virtue and mutual improvement, that … has been lost. We have ceased to believe that a friend's highest purpose is to summon us to the good by offering moral advice and correction. We practice, instead, the nonjudgmental friendship of unconditional acceptance and support—"therapeutic" friendship, [to quote] Robert N. Bellah's scornful term. We seem to be terribly fragile now. A friend fulfills her duty, we suppose, by taking our side—validating our feelings, supporting our decisions, helping us to feel good about ourselves. We tell white lies, make excuses when a friend does something wrong, do what we can to keep the boat steady. We're busy people; we want our friendships fun and friction-free ….
With the social-networking sites of the new century—Friendster and MySpace were launched in 2003, Facebook in 2004—the friendship circle has expanded to engulf the whole of the social world, and in so doing, destroyed both its own nature and that of the individual friendship itself. Facebook's very premise—and promise—is that it makes our friendship circles visible. There they are, my friends, all in the same place. Except, of course, they're not in the same place, or, rather, they're not my friends. They're a [superficial likeness or semblance] of my friends—little dehydrated packets of images and information, no more my friends than a set of baseball cards is the New York Mets ….
Deresiewicz concludes: "Friendship is devolving, in other words, from a relationship to a feeling—from something people share to something each of us hugs privately to ourselves in the loneliness of our electronic caves."

William Deresiewicz, "Faux Friendship," The Chronicle of Higher Education

Spending Habits in the World of Virtual Games

Many use Facebook as a way to keep in touch with friends and acquaintances, but others use it to play games that involve virtual farms, virtual pets, and virtual mob wars. What's fascinating is that in some of these games, a person can buy virtual goods—fertilizer or additional pets or guns. But these items don't actually exist, of course. They are just little computer pictures from little pixilated stores. Nonetheless, if a person wants to have these virtual guns or virtual tools for their virtual farms or virtual pets, they actually pay real money! A player sends real, hard-earned money through a credit card account to a company like Playfish, whose website says, "You can now get Playfish Cash Cards in retail stores near you! Cash cards are exchanged for Playfish Cash that can be spent in all our supported games."
Newsweek magazine's Daniel Lyons wrote about this bizarre phenomenon in a column titled, "Money for Nothing." When researching virtual games, he discovered that the total U.S. market for virtual goods was worth just over $1 billion in 2009—twice what it was the year before. Kristian Segerstrale, a Finnish economist who has studied this phenomenon, says, “You can learn a lot about human behaviour and how people inter-operate in an economic environment. There are a lot of valuable lessons.” One of those lessons, of course, is that people will spend real money for something that isn't really there at all.

Daniel Lyons, "Money for Nothing," Newsweek magazine (March 29, 2010), p.22

Winning a Son's Heart

In his book The Masculine Mandate, pastor and author Richard D. Phillips writes of his meaningful relationship with his father. In 1972, Phillips was just 12-years-old when his father was sent to Vietnam. The only way he and his father could communicate was through letters. He writes:
One of the most powerful memories is the thrill of the letter I would receive from my father almost every week …. Recalling my personal letters from Dad practically brings me to tears even now. He would simply begin by telling me about his life. Not big military issues, but "neat stuff" that happened or that he saw. Then he would talk to me about my life, writing things like this: "Dear Ricky, I heard you had a great baseball game and made a great catch. Your mother told me how exciting it was when you won. How I wish I could have been there, but I can see you making that catch in my mind." …
Do you see what [my dad] was doing? My dad was telling me that I was his boy and that his heart was fully engaged with me, even from halfway around the world …. In the midst of a life-and-death war zone, with all the weighty responsibilities of a senior Army officer, my father was truly absorbed in my life. And I knew it. So when he said to me, in effect, "My son, give me your heart," he had already given every bit of his heart to me, his boy. I couldn't possibly help giving my heart back to him.

Richard D. Phillips, The Masculine Mandate (Reformation Trust, 2010), pp. 97-98

What Do You Do When Everyone Is Cheating?

In their book The Baseball Codes, authors Jason Turbow and Michael Duca share a story from the world of baseball that shows how widely-accepted cheating has become in America's favourite pastime. They write:
[One day in 1987], New York Yankees owner George Steinbrenner was watching his team play the California Angels on television, and was shocked when the camera zoomed in to show close-ups of what appeared to be a small bandage on the palm of the left hand of Angels pitcher Don Sutton. The Yankees television broadcasters brought it up whenever the pitcher appeared to grind the ball into his palm between pitches. It was, they said, probably why Sutton's pitches possessed such extraordinary movement that day. He was in all likelihood scuffing the baseball.
Outraged, Steinbrenner called the visitors' dugout at Anaheim Stadium and lit into [the Yankees' manager at the time], Lou Piniella. Was he aware, asked the owner, that Sutton was cheating? "Our television announcers are aware of it," yelled Steinbrenner. "I'm sure the Angels are aware of it. You're probably the only guy there who doesn't know it. Now, I want you to go out there and make the umpires check Don Sutton!"
This wasn't exactly breaking news about Sutton. He had been thrown out of a game in 1978 for scuffing. By 1987, he was among the most discussed ball-doctors in the game.
"George," Piniella responded, "do you know who taught him how to cheat?" Steinbrenner confessed that he did not. "The guy who taught Don Sutton everything he knows about cheating is the guy pitching for us tonight," Piniella said. "Do you want me to go out there and get Tommy John thrown out, too?"
So what do we do when it seems like everyone else is cheating? And not just in baseball. Do we we give up and give in, joining the ranks in doing whatever it takes to get ahead? Or do we trust God, take a stand for honesty, and do what's right even if it costs us

source unknown