Citizen Writers Fighting Censorship by Helping Americans Understand Issues Affecting the Republic.
Nobody could explain how it happened. But one day, Willy sort of lost his mind. Namely, because Willy walked into the kitchen and declared that he was a chicken. Not a proverbial chicken, mind you. But literal poultry. The kind that go bawk-bawk, cock-a-doodle-doo, and all such manner of clucking.
The year is 1941. The place is Auschwitz. His official name is Prisoner Number 16670. But his real name is Max. Max isn’t old, but he looks ancient. Prison camp will do that to a man. He is here because he was caught sheltering 3,000 Polish refugees—half of whom were Jews.
I’ve spent this entire morning reading letters. They are stories sent to me from people who have seen things bigger than themselves.
When God seems silent and our prayers go unanswered, it’s not indifference but an invitation to trust His greater plan.
Listen, I know we haven’t talked in a long time, but technically, that’s not my fault. You probably don’t remember this, but you quit listening to your inner voice just as soon as you hit the fourth stage of puberty.
Do what you know is right, and start making your professed faith a real, true priority in your lives today. There’s no other way, no magic pill, no quick fix. Either you’re serious, or you’re not.
You know the type: the person who keeps a running tab of every slight, every mistake, every dumb thing somebody said back in 2012. The kind of person who never really lets anything go.
I remember who I was as I walked the ancient trail. I remember those 40 days. Living out of a backpack. Hardly any possessions. Two T-shirts. One pair of boots. I had a fiddle on my back.
A little girl rescued a turtle from a busy highway. This happened yesterday afternoon. Moving a turtle is not a remarkable sight, really. It happens every day, somewhere in the world. Somewhere in the known universe, a rural kid moves a turtle off the highway. I have been that kid myself. Many times. Maybe you …
And so it was, on an average weeknight, somewhere in California, a team of 15 random people volunteered to lift the helicopter. A gaggle of bystanders, both male and female, gathered beneath the belly of the great wreckage. Feet planted. Hands ready.
In the Old Testament, before Moses could come down from his meeting with God on Mount Sinai, the Israelites returned to idol worship. We know better than that today! Or do we?
My friend Morgan Love is in the hospital again. I’ve lost count of how many times she’s been in the hospital. She’s slept in a hospital bed more times than any human I’ve known.
The older I get, the faster time seems to speed past. Living here in Wisconsin, we value our spring, summer and even our fall months very highly. Because we know January is coming. There’s no stopping it.
When you walk the sidewalks of Fairhope, Alabama, it’s the trees that impress you most. It’s not the upscale homes, nor the Mayberry-like storefronts, which all give you the impression that you have fallen into a Rockwellian planned urban development. No. It’s the live oaks.
Rico was going to be euthanized in a few days. He was in his kennel. Unmoving. He wasn’t making a fuss the way hopeful dogs do when visitors come. It was almost like he knew. He was not long for this world. That’s when Rachel happened.
Jesus tells us that if we have faith as small as a mustard seed, nothing is impossible. But if nothing happens when we pray, is our faith not strong enough?
You know what I wish? I wish I could hug everyone in the world. I think I’d start by hugging the young waitress in the restaurant where I had lunch. Earlier that day, she was cussed out by an angry customer. He screamed at her. Called her a bad name
The 71-year-old man cradled a small, juvenile robin in his hand. He fed the bird soggy dog-food pellets with tweezers. The bird was injured badly. But not dead. “Sssshhh,” he said as he fed the bird.
It was January, 1906. The S.S. Valencia was being tossed upon the ice-cold Pacific like a rubber ducky. Two days earlier, the ship had set out from San Francisco to Seattle. It was a bad trip.
Once, there were two men. They were very different guys. They looked different. Had dissimilar backgrounds. They even smelled different.