Citizen Writers Fighting Censorship by Helping Americans Understand Issues Affecting the Republic.
Her husband left her with two kids and a Honda. She didn’t even have a place to stay. She moved in with her sister. She worked thankless jobs. And she hardly ever smiled. Not only because she was unhappy, but mostly because she was missing teeth.
The young man was quiet. He was a lowly fry-cook, salting endless baskets of French fries. Flipping acres of patties. Dropping pre-fried, shrink-wrapped, chemical-preservative-injected chicken breasts into nuclear silos of boiling synthetic lard.
There are rock stars… and then there are Michigan rock stars—the kind forged in cold air, hard miles, deer sign, and a stubborn refusal to apologize for loving the outdoors. Ted Nugent is that kind of animal.
The Holy Spirit is like a child waiting for snow—unpredictable, quietly exciting, and full of promise that something ordinary is about to be changed by God.
It’s raining hard. Thundering loudly. Like the world is falling apart. And yet there is a mockingbird outside my window. The bird is unfazed by the downpour.
But in the end, the Camino de Santiago is just a road. That’s all it can ever be. The difference is, of course, when you’re on this road, you’re actually THERE.
“What scares you most?” was the question asked to members of Mrs. Devonshire’s fourth-grade class. The little hands went up.
I’m talking about the woman who isn’t used to being The Patient. Who used to be so full of dutiful energy for helping others. Who would do anything for anyone. And did.
So…Let me tell you about Fuzzy.
A gray kitten my wife tried to adopt from the local animal shelter. My wife went in there like a normal, kind human being. She saw a little kitten and instantly fell in love—because that’s what happens when a decent person meets a tiny creature with big eyes and zero survival skills.
Winter cleaning, whether of our homes or our hearts, invites us to slow down, reflect honestly, and allow God to renew our hearts with grace.
Before the World Was Soft Civilization did not create the warrior brain. Civilization survived because of it. Long before laws, courts, or polite abstractions about peace, human beings existed in a world where violence was not exceptional—it was routine. Hunger, predators, rival tribes, and scarcity were constant pressures. The human nervous system evolved not to be calm, but to be ready.
In light of all the negative headlines, civil unrest, and the international political upheavals, I know many of you are anxious to know what I did for National Kiss a Ginger Day. Or maybe you missed this particular holiday.
When you’re having a bad day, think of her. She was born in Agawam, Massachusetts. One year after the Civil War. The daughter of Irish immigrants.
I see her on the street. She is a hospice nurse. I know this because she is standing directly beside her company SUV, which is covered in vinyl logos, parked outside an older house. She is mid-40s, wearing scrubs. And crying. Face-in-her-hands crying.
January may feel like a long, cold stretch of waiting, but God uses these ordinary, in-between times to shape our faith, deepen our trust, and remind us that He is just as present in the January gloom as He was in the December joy.
The 20-year-old girl is sleeping when we enter her hospital room. But her mom tells us to come in anyway. I’m carrying my fiddle case. My friend Bobby is carrying his banjo.
The old timers in my childhood used a word I never understood. The word was “Providence.” The old timers couldn’t give me an exact definition of this word. Probably because it had more than two syllables.
There were 26 of them, altogether. High-school kids. Not one cellphone among them. Neither were there TVs, airpods, gaming devices, or tablets. No tech at all.
It was a party.
In the elevator is a little boy and his mother. They are both carrying overnight bags. Mom looks like she hasn’t slept in eight years. The boy looks worried. He’s so serious. “Mom?” the boy asks. “Do you think Caleb’s surgery worked?”
Her name is Marigold. And while I’m sad the last face she ever saw was his. I’m thrilled the first face her little eyes will ever see will be God’s.