Citizen Writers Fighting Censorship by Helping Americans Understand Issues Affecting the Republic.
A middle-aged guy sat at the piano. The middle-aged guy plays by ear. He can’t read music because as a kid he was too obsessed with girls to practice “Hot Cross Buns” under the weight of Mrs. Downing’s glaringly sinister eyes.
The young Walmart cashier looked at me from across her counter. She had just finished ringing up my underpants when she recited my total from the register screen.
I reached into my pocket to pay.
For nearly sixty years, the Nordmeer has rested on the bottom of Lake Huron, a monument to both human craftsmanship and human error. Built in the German shipbuilding city of Flensburg and carrying nearly a thousand coils of steel, the freighter’s fate was sealed by a single wrong turn on a November night in 1966. I’ve been diving her since 1986, watching Lake Huron slowly dismantle what German shipbuilders once created. Today, her rusting hull, massive diesel engine, and twisted steel frames tell a story that stretches from Europe to Thunder Bay—a story of industry, survival, and the relentless power of the Great Lakes.
For generations, we’ve been told science and Christianity are locked in a war for the soul of humanity. But what if they’re describing the same reality from different angles? Biology reveals a species unlike any other—one that plants trees for future generations, builds civilizations, and passes wisdom across centuries. Christianity offers an explanation: humans were created in the image of God and entrusted with a mission of stewardship. In a world drowning in information but starving for purpose, perhaps the question isn’t whether science or faith is right. Perhaps the question is why humans alone seem driven to leave the world better than they found it.
I’m pleased to report that, as far as we know, I’m not dead. I make this statement because a lot of messages have been arriving in my inbox asking questions like:
“Why hasn’t Sean been writing lately?” And, “Where is the daily column?” And, “Is Sean dead? Did he get hit by a Mack truck? Where the [bleepity bleep] is he!!!?”
America is about to turn 250 years old, yet many of us live with less gratitude than our great-grandparents who had far less. The average American enjoys comforts that kings, presidents, and industrial tycoons could only dream of—instant communication, modern medicine, air conditioning, safe food, and access to nearly all human knowledge from a device in their pocket. Yet we often act as though we are the most deprived generation in history. This article examines the extraordinary inheritance we’ve received from those who built America, the dangers of historical amnesia, and why our descendants may care less about our complaints than what we chose to build, preserve, and pass on. Before we criticize the nation our forefathers handed us, perhaps we should ask a more uncomfortable question: Are we proving worthy of the gift they left behind?
Birmingham. I met the old woman for coffee. She was small and slight, with a mane of white. She spoke with a thick Latin accent.
“I have a story for you,” she said.
Ecclesiastes reminds us that while life is often unpredictable and temporary, true meaning is found in trusting God, receiving His gifts with gratitude, and recognizing that every season of life rests in His hands.
Bryan was walking the Arkansas highway shoulder with only the moon to guide him. Backpack slung over his shoulder. Blisteringly cold.
Our prayers and petitions do not have to be pretty when we are speaking with God. Our lives do not have to be polished and mess-free before we open our door to His Spirit and choose to abide in His presence. Watch today’s video and remember that God offers us a relationship with Him that is made of honesty, hope, and a whole lot of love.
She works hard. Too hard. And when she’s not cooking in the kitchen of the medical rehab, delivering trays to patients, she’s a full-time single mother.
Sean Dietrich answers reader questions as only he can, with wit, wisdom and whimsey.
Someone emailed me and said I was an idiot. Which is true, but not for the reasons they cited.
Fulton, New York. The year was 1940. The gray-haired man was behind his woodworking bench, clad in an apron. He was feeling around for his spokeshave. He was blind and deaf. His name was Tommy Stringer.
This house is a tomb. Ever since the kid left. We’ve had a kid here at the lake for the past several days. Our goddaughter. She left this morning.
Like physical therapy, God’s discipline may be painful in the moment, but His loving correction and training ultimately bring healing, holiness, and spiritual strength.
Dallas. The mid-1980s. There were three Mexican boys in the supermarket. The meat department. They were covered in sawdust and drywall mud. They were eyeing the beef, looking for the cheapest cuts. Counting their nickels and dimes.
I am not sure whether you understand English, but I’d like to think you do. I’d like to think that you know exactly what I’m saying to you. I’d like to think I speak fluent dog.
Memorial Day reminds Christians to honor those who sacrificed for earthly freedom while also remembering the eternal freedom purchased through the sacrificial love of Jesus Christ.
Our Father, which art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Even though this name has been so misused, misapplied, and misappropriated throughout history.