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INCREDIBLE PEOPLE, INCREDIBLE STORIES


Day 1 Losing and Finding

“Whoever finds their life will lose it, and whoever loses their life for my sake will find it.” Matthew 10:39 niv

I love those passages in Scripture where Jesus teaches the disciples something, saying, “I want to teach you to think differently about life.” They walked with Him for years, and some of them didn’t learn every-thing they needed to know until after He’d gone back to heaven. Yet, even though they were slow to learn, they still referred to themselves as His beloved. Failure is just part of the process, and it’s not just okay; it’s better than okay. God doesn’t want failure to shut us down. God didn’t make it a three-strikes-and-you’re-out sort of thing. It’s more about how God helps us dust ourselves off so that we can swing for the fences again. And all of this without keeping a meticulous record of our screw-ups . . .

Finding things and losing things is what the Bible is all about. God even seemed to encourage it. He talked about losing your job, or even your life, if you want to find it. He talked about losing your status to find real power. He shows that Jesus comes looking for us because people, like sheep, have a knack for getting lost . . .

Things that go wrong can shape us or scar us. I’ve had some things go well in my life and some things not go so well, just like you. More have gone well than have gone poorly, but I’m not trying to keep score because I have a different way I measure those things now. God finds us in our failures and our successes, and He says that while we used to think one way about things, now He wants us to think another way about those same things.

And for me, I’ve realized that I used to be afraid of failing at the things that really mattered to me, but now I’m more afraid of succeeding at things that don’t matter.

BOB GOFF, Love Does

ReflectHave you experienced a failure that God has used to change your perspective

or move your life in a different, better direction?


Day 2 Hidden in Plain Sight

“So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.”

2 Corinthians 4:18 niv

When I lay in bed at the care home in the country I’d think of the train tracks nearby and imagine myself stealing outside, running through the long brown grass of the Highveld. In the distance, I’d see a train pulling faded brown rail cars behind it, some covered in tarpaulins, some open and filled with glistening black coal. Running towards the train, I’d grab onto the last car just before it disappeared down the line. I didn’t know where the train would take me. All I cared about was that I was leaving . . .

Or I’d imagine that my wheelchair had grown James Bond wings, and I’d soar into the sky as the care staff stared up, open-mouthed, unable to prevent me from flying away. In my fantasy world, I was still the child I’d been when I first fell asleep . . .

The one person I talked to was God, but He wasn’t part of my fantasy world. He was real to me, a presence inside and around that calmed and reassured me. Just as North American Indians might commune with their spirit guides or pagans look to the seasons and the sun, I spoke to God as I tried to make sense of what had happened to me and asked Him to protect me from harm.

God and I didn’t talk about the big things in life—we didn’t engage in philosophical debates or argue about religion—but I talked to Him endlessly because I knew we shared something important. I didn’t have proof that He existed, but I believed in Him anyway because I knew He was real. God did the same for me. Unlike people, He didn’t need proof that I existed—He knew I did.

MARTIN PISTORIUS, Ghost Boy

ReflectWhat inspiration or lesson do you find in Martin’s story about talking with God

and drawing close to him when he was overlooked by the world?


Day 3 Not So Bulletproof

“Greater love has no one than this, than to lay down one’s life for his friends.”John 15:13 nkjv

I had been strangely naïve about my own mortality: eager to die for my country and the Teams, but delusional about my own invincibility. To quote a certain movie heroine, I had come to believe I was impervious to bullets. Past experience bolstered that opinion. How many people perform 752 parachute jumps, including dangerous ones at night and from high altitudes, without even spraining a toe? Or go on countless ops without a scratch?

I’d seen guys injured in all sorts of scenarios: falling off the end of fast ropes when inserting on a target from a helicopter, dislocating a shoulder (and ending a career) climbing a caving ladder into a helicopter, getting shot to my left and right, and banging themselves up skydiving. I came to believe that my tactical superiority had spared me time and again, which is why when the bullet from the AK-47 hit my right leg, my reaction was almost disbelief. The lack of pain made it easier to reject reality. When injuries are that bad, your body shuts down the pain transmissions. But I couldn’t help seeing my right leg lying unnaturally sideways on the cutvee hood.

As we proceeded with three flat tires, a second bullet brought the reality home, striking my left foot near the ankle. I had never felt such pain, and I screamed inside my head, God! What are you trying to tell me?! If he wanted my attention, he had it now.

Shortly after that, our cutvee died. We were stranded on the side of the road with six or seven enemy fighters coming toward us. I pointed my pistol at them as they approached, but my injuries affected my aim, and I was down to my last magazine. I wasn’t much use anymore.

This is it, I thought. This is what it feels like to die in battle . . .

HOWARD WASDIN, The Last Rescue

ReflectAre you surprised at all by Howard’s question to God after the second bullet hit him,

and how do you think you would react in such an intense situation?


Day 4 Wanted by God

“Jazz is about being in the moment.”Herbie Hancock

There is something quite beautiful about the Grand Canyon at night. There is something beautiful about a billion stars held steady by a God who knows what He is doing. (They hang there, the stars, like notes on a page of music, free-form verse, silent mysteries swirling in the blue like jazz.)

And as I lay there, it occurred to me that God is up there somewhere. Of course, I had always known He was, but this time I felt it, I realized it, the way a person realizes they are hungry or thirsty. The knowledge of God seeped out of my brain and into my heart. I imagined Him looking down on this earth, half angry because His beloved mankind had cheated on Him, had committed adultery, and yet hopelessly in love with her, drunk with love for her.

I know a little of why there is blood in my body, pumping life into my limbs and thought into my brain. I am wanted by God. He is wanting to preserve me, to guide me through the darkness of the shadow of death, up into the highlands of His presence and afterlife. I understand that I am temporary, in this shell of a thing on this dirt of an earth. I am being tempted by Satan, we are all being tempted by Satan, but I am preserved to tell those who do not know about our Savior and our Redeemer . . .

I lay there under the stars and thought of what a great responsibility it is to be human. I am a human because God made me. I experience suffering and temptation because mankind chose to follow Satan. God is reaching out to me to rescue me. I am learning to trust Him, learning to live by His precepts that I might be preserved.

DONALD MILLER, Blue Like Jazz

ReflectWhat do you see as the value of reflecting on the mysterious beauty of nature,

being “wanted by God,” and our place in time and eternity?


Day 5 Laughter and Sorrow

“Grief still feels like fear. Perhaps, more strictly, like suspense. Or like waiting; just hanging about waiting for something to happen. . .Up till this I always had too little time. Now there is nothing but time.”

C.S. Lewis

When I read [Proverbs 31] with an open heart, what I really home in on, what helps me not get hung up on all the ways we fall short, is verse 25: “She is clothed with strength and dignity, and she laughs without fear of the future.”

Laughing without fear. I have such longing to be in a place in life where I can indulge in this seemingly simple activity, this innocent and lovely thing. I absolutely love to laugh. Until 2009 I would say it was a defining characteristic of my whole life. I’ve been known to laugh at inappropriate times—such as, but not limited to, funerals (story coming) and weddings (I once had to crawl under the table because I could not stop crying/laughing). I was raised to have the most fun humanly possible, to surf my guts out and dance at weddings, to giggle for sport.

But the reality is, the recent years have been about crying. Shedding tears is such a frequent occurrence that it has become part of my identity. Sorrow has cut deeply into my previous life’s goal of carefree fun.

I know it’s true for some of you too. Some of us are identified by tears of tragedy and some by tears of sin. Life is harsh. We walk around with scarlet letters on our chests. Mine is posted large and loud for my small town to see—the glaring B for bereavement. Others bear the quintessential A for adultery or the I for infertility. Perhaps some have a blazing S for substance abuse or the excruciatingly prevalent D for divorce.

We the broken are easily identifiable.

KATE MERRICK, And Still She Laughs

ReflectIn what ways can you relate to Kate’s description of her journey between

the highs of “laughter without fear” to the lows of sadness and tears?


Day 6Choosing to Stay “Storms never last, do they baby? Hard times all pass with the wind.

Your hand in mine stills the thunder. You make the sun want to shine.”Jessi Colter/Waylon Jennings (“Storms Never Last”)

Disheartened, I knew Waylon had no intention of quitting. All the bust did was make him more paranoid. He was convinced that our phones were tapped and our home was under surveillance. Though that was not the case, I realized the futility of trying to convince him otherwise. Waylon was more than headstrong. He was absolutely immovable when it came to change. He’d change when and only when he was ready.

Realizing that, I resigned myself to the fact that I was married to a man whose addiction would remain untreated as long as he chose. I saw my choice as twofold: I could stay and love him as best as I could, prayerfully nurturing him with patience and compassion, or I could leave him. I chose the former.

I suppose I could be seen as an enabler. I don’t believe I was. I never pretended that my attitude about his drug habit was anything other than disgust. I never gave him the idea that it was okay with me. He understood to keep the drugs away from me. He honored the sanctity of our home. And at the next great crisis of my heart, he stood beside me, offering me the support I so badly needed. The crisis was the death of my father. . .

JESSI COLTER (with David Ritz), An Outlaw and a Lady

ReflectWhat is your impression of the internal struggle Jessi faced in seeking to love and support Waylon during some of the darkest, most difficult days of their marriage?


Day 7Facing the Void

“I have seen everything that is done under the sun, and behold, all is vanity and a striving after wind.”Ecclesiastes 1:14 niv

I spent most of my time that summer preparing for the 2009 World Aquatics Championships in Rome in July. I finished sixth in the 10-meter platform, but Thomas Finchum and I placed second in the 10-meter synchro. That was an encouraging result, and it made me feel that I was continuing on track for the 2012 Olympics in London, where I wanted nothing less than gold.

In addition to my training, I also spent a good amount of time that summer drinking. One of the divers on the US women’s team trained in Indianapolis, and I was good

friends with her older brother. We reconnected that summer and hung out constantly. He was a big drinker. So, naturally, I joined right in. After the world championships, I spent several days in Florida with his family on vacation. We ate, we slept, we hung out with the family, we played games, and we drank. A lot. I did it to escape my reality, and I did it to pursue pleasure.

It gave me anything but. My life was increasingly characterized by frustration and emptiness. Here I was, pursuing all these hedonistic pleasures. I was a world-class athlete on the path to make it big in London. I was one of the top athletes at a major Division I university. I was young and seemed to have life by the tail, as the saying goes. All these things should satisfy me, I thought. I ought to be happy.

But it all felt empty, void, and vain. As the preacher says in Ecclesiastes, “Vanity of vanities . . . all is vanity”

1:2). That’s what I started to feel that summer, and those feelings would only intensify in the days ahead.

DAVID BOUDIA, Greater Than Gold

ReflectHave you ever come to a realization similar to David’s when your pursuit of pleasure and comfort

left you feeling empty, and if so, what did you do when it dawned on you?


Day 8Ready to Jump?

“A life surrendered to the Spirit of God is a life lived with open hands, palms turned upward in letting go. We have to let go so we can live.”

Deidra Riggs

My job, I believed, was to advance my agenda, as long as it was God’s will. And of course it was God’s will. My game plan didn’t just resemble the ideals I was surrounded with; it mirrored them. From my birth until well into my thirties, I processed and cataloged the cues of my Christian brethren without ever stop-ping to consider the ways our collective uniformity might pose a threat to each of us.

We all wanted the same things. We all loved Jesus. We were good to go. Right?

With knocking knees, I stood between everything I’d ever known and the God who scripted me into being. He had things for me to do. He stood ready to blow my plans out of the water, if I’d let him.

I wish I could say the choice was easy, that following God amid uncertainty was a complete no-brainer.

It wasn’t easy. It was painful. Wrenching. Confusing. Unclear. There were times it felt like the flu and a long string of days that ended with my face pressed against a soggy pillow.

Because of his fierce love for me, and his unflinching knowledge that what he offered was so much better than the ghetto of my scared, secluded faith, he nudged and needled and shoved me around.

Until, finally, I jumped.

SHANNAN MARTIN, Falling Free

ReflectCan you relate to Shannan’s feelings as she stood on a precipice, ready yet reluctant

to take the next step into something new, and scary, that God was “nudging” her to pursue?


Day 9 When Confusion Strikes

“The dark threads are as needful / In The Weaver’s skillful hands / As the threads of gold and silver / In the pattern He has planned”

B.M. Franklin

My dad came in. He was quiet. Mom was talking, but an invisible object on the floor held his attention. He stammered something about an issue with our passports. I thought I made out the words confiscated and government. Then, abandoning the lie, he gripped Mom’s upper arms in his fists. Gathering his resolve, he declared, “Betty, I don’t know how to tell you this. We’re not going home.” His voice and his grip intensified with each word. “You are in Iran until you die!” He stood straight, shoulders back, head held high. “Now you’re in my country. You’ll abide by my rules.”

“What are you talking about? Moody, you can’t do this to us. Please don’t do this,” she pleaded. “You promised we would go home in two weeks. You swore on the Koran. You can’t do this!”

His blow struck her with such force that she was momentarily stunned into silence. I had never seen my dad hit my mom before, and it terrified me. I was shocked, confused—more than that, utterly bewildered. What did all of this mean? Who was this man? His violent anger obscured him to the point of unrecog-nizability. What had happened to my loving Baba Jon—my dear daddy?

From that moment forward, even his footsteps lost their familiar lilt. Plodding down the hall, they sounded deliberate, filled with rage. Their horrid pounding turned my stomach.

That was the day my daddy turned into a monster.

MAHTOB MAHMOODY, My Name Is Mahtob

ReflectHow did you feel as you read Mahtob’s account of this frightening moment in her young life,

and does it bring to mind any similar experiences in your life?


Day 1 0 His Story, My Story

“I did try to found a heresy of my own; and when I had put the last touches to it, I discovered that it was orthodoxy.”

G.K. Chesterton

Being who I was, I tried to decipher that code [the Bible] in wholly material terms, the terms of the postmodern intellectual world, my world . . . More and more, as I explored it, the endless meanings of the Bible obsessed me.

At the same time, all along I was struggling with my own worsening brokenness, my growing rage and my anguish. Searching for some meaning to my pain, I came to see Jesus’ life as a mirror of my increasingly desperate search for enlightenment and inner peace. He was a storyteller; I was a storyteller. He suffered in agony; so did I. His story and my story became confused in my mind.

At last, when I was in my midtwenties, in that despair that does not know it is despair, I set about to write my magnum opus on the subject. I interwove the literary, mythical, psychosexual, and personal aspects of the gospel into a massive fictional retelling of Jesus’ life, a novel I called Son of Man. The work—around six hundred typed manuscript pages when it was done—was meant to explain this Christ story completely, once and for all.

Alone in an empty room my wife and I could not afford to furnish, in semidarkness with the blinds drawn, I sat cross-legged on the floor, a fountain pen clutched in my hand, one notebook on my knees and the others spread around me. I scribbled the book in fevered bursts of inspiration page upon page, volume upon volume, hour after hour, day after day. But by then, of course, I was already going mad.

ANDREW KLAVAN, The Great Good Thing

ReflectDo you find yourself relating to any aspects of Andrew’s struggles as

he wrestled with God, faith, and how the gospel might apply to his own story?


Day 11 Attacked at Sea

“He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart. You will not fear the terror of night, nor the arrow that flies by day.”

Psalm 91:4-6

When the attack was finally over, no one said a word. It was as though a bomb had gone off and sent a shock wave through the ship that left everyone stunned and mute. Those on the top deck were the ones who had been robbed and threatened, but the experience had been almost as terrifying for those below. All they could do was stare up helplessly at the open hatch, listen to the feet stomping on the planks over their heads and the women pleading for mercy, and imagine what was happening to their fellow passengers—and wonder if they would be next.

No one knew what to say because no one knew what to think or feel. What had just happened? We had been robbed, but we were alive and unharmed. The women had been traumatized, but no one had been assaulted. Our hull had been cracked, but the leak was repaired quickly.

We had been attacked by Thai pirates, but our pirates turned out to be inexperienced amateurs. Should we celebrate or weep? Had we been blessed or cursed? We didn’t even know if our ordeal was over. Were our pirates working alone, or were they part of a ring that would send other ships like a pack of wild dogs closing in on a wounded animal, each one tearing off a piece of our flesh until nothing remained?

What we did know was that if we had been attacked once, it could happen again—and if it did, there was nothing we could do about it. That was the realization that left us stunned: we were helpless. Even a bunch of skinny teenagers armed with nothing more than screwdrivers could walk onto our boat and take anything they wanted—and we didn’t dare do anything about it.

My father looked at the horizon. There was no sight of land.

VINH CHUNG with Tim Downs, Where the Wind Leads

ReflectWhat are some of the emotions Vinh and his fellow refugees were experiencing

after the pirate attack, and how do you think you would have reacted?


Day 12 Gone in an Instant

“It is much easier to become a father than to be one.”Kent Nerburn

Most significantly, it was while living on Second Street that I first met my biological father. I had seen him before, but I was too young to understand who the stranger was and why he was reading a book to me. But I guess at nine years old, Mama considered me “of age.” She was driving down Second Street one day when she pointed at a man sitting on a porch swing. “Jimmy,” she said matter-of-factly, “that’s your daddy.”

What? My daddy? Really?

I scooted up to the edge of the backseat and looked out the window to see the man Mama was talking about. He was wearing a white T-shirt and faded blue jeans. His hair was combed back neatly, like James Dean’s. His arms were spread out resting on the back of the porch swing, and he looked as though he was relaxing without a care in the world.

Mama continued on to our home, only a few blocks away. The moment she pulled into our driveway and parked the car, I jumped out and ran as fast as I could back down Second Street. I found the house with the man on the front porch, raced across his yard, and bounded up the steps onto the porch. Apparently surprised at the intrusion, he stopped swinging and simply stared at me.

I was out of breath, but I was so excited to let him know who I was. I could hardly contain myself as the words tumbled out of my mouth: “Mama said you’re my daddy!” He peered at me intently, then smiled and said, “Well, how ya doing there, buddy? It’s nice meeting ya.” He leaned over and patted my head with his right hand. Then before I had a chance to say another word, he stood up, pulled at the waist of his jeans, and said, “Well, you take care of ya self, all right?” He walked inside the house and closed the door behind him.

No! Wait! I screamed silently. Don’t go. Please don’t go; don’t leave me again!

But he was gone. I stood on the porch, peering through the windows on the door, waiting . . . waiting . . . and waiting for him to come back out. But he never did. After a while I turned around and dragged myself back down the steps, then down Second Street to the small, yellow house, only three blocks away.

There’s an old saying: “You don’t miss something you’ve never had.” That’s just not true.

JIMMY WAYNE with Ken Abraham, Walk to Beautiful

ReflectWhat do you think was going through young Jimmy’s mind and heart

during and after that day when he met his biological father?


Day 13You Will Be Okay

“Now may our Lord Jesus Christ Himself, and God our Father, who by grace has loved us and given us eternal comfort and good hope, encourage your hearts and strengthen you in every good word and deed.”

2 Thessalonians 2:16-17 niv

Early the next morning, I was up at dawn for my daily walk around La Jolla Cove, a restorative walk alongside sea cliffs and beaches that edge our small village . . .

As I neared a small beach tucked between sandstone cliffs, through the mist I saw a black-robed man sitting on a bench. He was facing toward the inlet sea, his eyes closed as in prayer, and he was holding a small, black book that looked like a Bible. His thin face was covered with a long, gray beard and a black, cylindrical, close-fitting hat covered his head. Around his neck was a large, ornate cross, and his black robe covered his legs. In the foggy mist, he looked like an apparition or a figure in a dream.

I hesitated, wanting to come closer, but I was a bit fearful. Is this an angel of light? my heart questioned.

He opened his eyes and turned his head. The instant our eyes met, I knew he was holy. As I approached, he stood up. His long, flowing robe rippled in the wind, and I was filled with a sense of wonder.

“I was just diagnosed with cancer,” I stammered, “and the cancer is widespread. I have been told I am going to die.”

He looked at me calmly. “May I pray for you?”

He placed both hands on my bowed head and said a short prayer aloud. Afterward, he took a small glass vial from his pocket, removed the lid, and sprinkled water on my forehead.

“You will be okay,” he said. “May our Lord Jesus Christ be with you and bless and comfort you.”

In a few seconds, it was over, but the tingling feeling of hope lingered in my heart for days.

EDIE LITTLEFIELD SUNDBY, The Mission Walker

ReflectCan you remember a time when God has provided you with a timely,

specific dose of encouragement as he did for Edie on her morning walk?


Day 14 When Love Was New

“Then you love me?’ ‘I suppose I do.’ ‘And I suppose I love you too.’ ‘It doesn’t change a thing but even so . . . it’s nice to know.’ ”

Golde & Tevye, Fiddler on the Roof

[JOANNA] About four months into it, we were shooting hoops in my dad’s driveway when Chip stopped in his tracks, held me in his arms, looked into my eyes under the starry sky, and said, “I love you.”

And I looked at him and said, “Thank you.”

“Thank you?” Chip said.

I know I should have said, “I love you too,” but this whole thing had been such a whirlwind, and I was just trying to process it all. No guy had ever told me he loved me before, and here Chip was saying it after what seemed like such a short period of time. Chip got angry. He grabbed his basketball from under my arm and went storming off with it like a four-year-old.

[CHIP] I really thought, What in the world is with this girl? I just told her I loved her, and that’s all she can say? It’s not like I just went around saying that to people all the time. So saying it was a big deal for me too. But now I was stomping down the driveway going, Okay, that’s it. Am I dating an emotionless cyborg or something? I’m going home.

[JOANNA] Chip took off in his big, white Chevy truck with the Z71 stickers on the side, even squealing his tires a bit as he drove off, and it really sank in what a big deal that must have been for him. I felt bad—so bad that I actually got up the courage to call him later that night. I explained myself, and he said he understood, and by the end of the phone call we were right back to being ourselves.

Two weeks later, when Chip said, “I love you” again, I responded, “I love you too.” There was no hesitation. I knew I loved him, and I knew it was okay to say so.

CHIP & JOANNA GAINES with Mark Dagostino, The Magnolia Story

ReflectWhat do you think of Chip’s reaction when Joanna said, ‘Thank you,’

and do you find yourself relating more to one or the other of the in this anecdote?


Day 15 A Stolen Heart

“But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong.”

I Corinthians 1:27 niv

Turning to leave my newfound friend, I became an innocent victim to the biggest thief in town. Like a pickpocket honing his stealthy craft among the gawking tourists of Nashville’s downtown honky-tonks, HK Derryberry had committed the perfect crime: he stole my heart.

My mind raced through the long list of Saturday chores ahead, mostly honey-dos for Brenda. I walked much slower than when I first arrived . . . I could not ditch thoughts of this little blind boy. Just thinking about him broke my heart and brought me to tears . . .

Questions flooded my head the remainder of that day. I chuckled as I replayed his intense interrogation. I even had a few questions of my own: Where were his parents? How bad were his health problems? Where did he live? I found myself driving aimlessly while attempting to complete my weekend errand list. Images of his forlorn face, dirty clothes, and white leg braces became seared into my brain. Since I was without tissues, my warm-up jacket sleeve doubled as a handkerchief for my tear-filled eyes. I knew absolutely nothing about him or his life, except his weekend day care at Mrs. Winner’s.

Eventually I completed my errands and ended up back home. Placing the grocery bags on our kitchen counter, I shared news of the unexpected encounter with my wife. I gushed about the funny little boy, his sad appearance, and his endless questions. She had no response, so I never mentioned him again that weekend. Sunday’s church sermon about meaningful life relationships struck another of my emotional chords, and again I struggled to fight back tears.

JIM BRADFORD with Andy Hardin, The Awakening of HK Derryberry

ReflectWhat speaks to you about the way Jim’s heart was drawn

so immediately to young HK when the two first met?


Day 1 6 More Than a Grandma

“ ‘The Lord does not look at the things people look at. People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.’”

1 Samuel 16:7B niv

She wadn’t just my grandma, though. Big Mama was my best friend. I loved her and used to take care of her too. She was kinda sick when I was a little boy, and she had a lotta pain. I used to give her her medicine . . .

I did a lotta special things for Big Mama, like takin out the slop jar or catchin a chicken in the yard and wringin its neck off so she could fry it up for supper. Now, ever year PawPaw raised us a turkey for Thanksgivin. Fed him special to get him nice and fat. The first year she thought I was big enough, Big Mama said, “Li’l Buddy, get on outside and wring that turkey’s neck off. I’m fixin to cook him up.” . . .

When I took out after that Tom, he lit out like he was runnin from the devil hisself. He zigged and zagged, kickin up dirt and squawkin like I was killin him already. I chased that bird till I thought my legs would give out, and till that day, I didn’t know a turkey could fly! He took off just like a aeroplane and set hisself down way up high in a cypress tree. That bird wadn’t no fool, neither. He didn’t come back till three or four days after Thanksgivin. Made us have to eat chicken that year.

When that turkey flew the coop, I thought I was gon’ get my first whuppin for sure. But Big Mama just laughed till I thought she would bust. I guess that’s ’cause she knowed I did the best I could. She trusted me like that. Matter a’ fact, she trusted me more than she trusted my daddy and my uncles—her own sons. Like that money belt she kept tied around her waist—I was the onlyest one she let go up under her dress to get the money out . . .

Big Mama always had somethin for me. Some peppermint candy or maybe some bottle caps so I could make me a truck. If I wanted a truck, I’d get a block a’ wood and nail on four bottle caps, two on the front and two on the back, and I had me a truck I could roll around in the dirt. But them times was few and far between. I never was a playin child. Never asked for no toys at Christmas. Didn’t have that in my personality.

I guess that’s why I acted like I did when the first tragedy come into my life.

RON HALL & DENVER MOORE with Lynn Vincent, Same Kind of Different As Me

ReflectDoes Denver’s deep affection for his grandmother, Big Mama, remind you

of any relationships in your own life, either in childhood or later?


Day 17 Walking Together

“The Lord will keep you from all harm—he will watch over your life;”Psalm 121:7

In late March the chief prosecutor finally allowed me to receive mail from my family again . . . I read my wife’s letters first. My heart could hardly take it. She wrote:

This winter we have had to walk in the dark tunnel where we could see no end. It has been so difficult for us, and it still has not ended yet. However, we are walking together in this unbearable journey. As you know, the sunshine is hiding behind the cloud and the rainbow will be appearing after the storm . . . I desperately await good news from you, under the North Korean sky. Remember your family is waiting for you, full of love and cheer.

I reread over and over the line, “We are walking together in this unbearable journey.” Her words made me feel as if she were right there with me. Knowing we were walking this journey together gave me strength not to give up . . .

Tucked into the stack of letters from my family was one from someone whose name I did not recognize. I opened it only to find it was not just one letter but several short notes from students at a church that had financially supported my missionary work . . . Reading their short, encouraging notes recharged my spirit. “You are not forgotten but the eyes of the Lord are fixed upon you,” one read. Another said, “God always has a plan, and even though right now it’s a struggle, you’ll definitely pull through.” One wrote just to thank me for my faithfulness, while several more reminded me that God loves me and so did they.

Now I knew I really wasn’t in this alone. God was already working in other people’s lives through my imprisonment.

KENNETH BAE with Mark Tabb, Not Forgotten

ReflectWhy was it so important for Kenneth to receive words of encouragement

both from his family and from fellow believers he didn’t even know?


Day 1 8The Children’s Faces

“A person’s a person, no matter how small.”Dr. Seuss

I froze, staring at the word on my cell phone screen for a good five minutes before scrolling down. There is actually a name for this way of treating children in Haiti. My mind reeled in confusion. I didn’t want to believe it, but as I continued reading, my head felt as though it would explode with this horrific discovery.

The word restavek (sometimes spelled with a c instead of a k) is translated “to stay with” and is a com-mon arrangement in Haiti, where parents force a child to live with another family because they are very poor or because of parental death or ill-ness. Sometimes it includes the child being sold, kidnapped, or borrowed for a period of time.

Like a slideshow, images from the last few weeks popped up in my head as I remembered the many young girls I’d seen around Gressier who seemed to be working constantly. I had wondered why they stared down at the ground, eyes glassy and sad, and shoulders drooping. It was all starting to make sense, and I knew I had just made a life-changing discovery; I was finally able to put a finger on the disturbing feeling that had crawled its way up into my heart every time I passed these children. It was as if I could see the darkness of the situation and the evil behind it. I realized what the Holy Spirit had been stirring up in me the past few weeks, and I felt as though the Lord was igniting a fire inside me.

Children’s faces, one after another, popped into my head as I realized that Bellevue Mountain and much of Gressier were full of restaveks in an epidemic of child slavery. It made me sick to my stomach that I had been walking around this community for the last few weeks, knowing that something was wrong, wanting to question the situation, but not knowing how to begin . . .

MEGAN BOUDREAUX, Miracle on Voodoo Mountain

ReflectIn what ways might Megan’s discovery of the matter-of-fact

acceptance of “child slavery” in Haiti surprise, disturb, or move you?


Day 1 9 Swimming with Sharks

“The only easy day was yesterday . . . Get comfortable being uncomfortable . . . Embrace the suck.”Brent Gleeson, NAVY Seal

My [SEAL Team] class may have been rough around the edges, but we were learning. Once our basic conditioning was finished, we moved on to two months of land warfare training, which included basic weapons marksmanship, fire and movement drills, land navigation and patrol, and training in land and underwater demolitions.

It also included a seven-mile night swim off the coast of San Clemente Island. San Clemente Island is the breeding grounds of the great white shark, and the instructors would make us watch Jaws before the swim. The difference between the animal seal and a SEAL trainee in the water is that a SEAL trainee is an easier lunch. Seven miles is a long way, especially when every shadow in the dark water could be an eighteen-foot shark. We were motivated to make record-breaking swim times.

The last phase of BUD/S was combat diving, which included basic aquatic combat and open-and closed- circuit diving. The difference is whether, when you exhale, your breath is released or circulated back into your tank so the carbon dioxide can be removed—it’s easier to be stealthy underwater if you’re not releasing a trail of bubbles. Even though it was January, and the water temperatures were in the low fifties, conducting dives and ship attacks allowed a greater degree of autonomy away from an instructor’s wrath.

RYAN ZINKE with Scott McEwen, American Commander

ReflectDo stories like Ryan’s describing the extremely rigorous training SEAL candidates

endure tend to amaze you, inspire you, or stir some other response?


Day 20 ‘I Had to Talk to God’

“Luck is the residue of design.”Branch Rickey

[Jackie] Robinson would have to try to perform under the most difficult conditions, with the vilest racial epithets shouted from the stands and with some racist players actually sharpening the spikes at the bottom of their shoes to try to injure him with an extra hard slide into a base. [Branch] Rickey [would instruct] Robinson not to fight back when spectators shouted horrific slurs at him; otherwise, the media would portray the player as belligerent.

Everyone would remember only the second punch, and it would all come undone. So why focus on the negative, when God had another path? All of this was racing in Rickey’s mind, on the second floor office of the church, when, suddenly, he had an epiphany.

“I’ve got it!” Rickey exclaimed, banging a fist on [the Rev.] Fifield’s desk and rattling everything from the intercom to a fountain pen. He slammed the fist down a second time in elation: “I’ve got it!”

“Got what, Branch?” asked Fifield . . .

Rickey sank back into a chair. “Wendell,” he said simply. “I’ve decided to sign Jackie Robinson!”

Then Rickey started to cry, pulling out a handkerchief to blow his nose and collect his thoughts. Next came the moment when the gut-wrenching became glorious.

“I had to talk to God about it and be sure He wanted me to do it,” declared Rickey. “I hope you don’t mind.” Then Rickey straightened his bow tie and reached for his hat, preparing to leave. “Bless you, Wendell,” Rickey concluded.

Had Rickey seriously been considering calling it off? Or was he certain of the path and just wanted to bring a little more clarity to it? “We know it was a complex issue,” Sharon Robinson, the late ballplayer’s daughter, told me in an interview. “We also know that Branch Rickey was very spiritual. So to me it makes perfect sense that he would work this through with his pastor even though in his mind he may have sort of known that was the direction he was going.”

ED HENRY, 42 Faith

ReflectAt a time when the idea of integrating professional baseball was

controversial and unpopular, why was it vital for Branch Rickey to seek God’s guidance about whether to sign Jackie Robinson to the Brooklyn Dodgers?


Day 21Pick the Right Fights

“So be strong and courageous.”Joshua 1:8

Perhaps God doesn’t want us spending our time picking sides or teams and trying on jerseys either. He wants us to pick a fight, and He also wants us to pick Him.

I want to pick a fight because I want someone else’s suffering to matter more to me. I want to slug it out where I can make a meaningful difference. God says He wants us to battle injustice, to look out for orphans and widows, to give sacrificially. And anyone who gets distracted with the minutiae of this point or that opinion is tagging out of the real skirmish. God wants us to get some skin in the game and to help make a tangible difference.

I can’t make a real need matter to me by listening to the story, visiting the website, collecting information, or wearing the bracelet about it. I need to pick the fight myself, to call it out just like I called [school bully] Dale out. Then, most important of all, I need to run barefoot toward it. But I want to go barefoot because it’s holy ground; I want to be running because time is short and none of us has as much runway as we think we do; and I want it to be a fight because that’s where we can make a difference. That’s what love does.

Sure, it’s easier to pick an opinion than it is to pick a fight. It’s also easier to pick an organization or a jersey and identify with a fight than it is to actually go pick one, to commit to it, to call it out and take a swing. Picking a fight isn’t neat either. It’s messy, it’s time consuming, it’s painful, and it’s costly. It sounds an awful lot like the kind fight Jesus took on for us when He called out death for us and won.

BOB GOFF, Love Does

ReflectWhat fights are you most prone to pick, and what can we learn from Bob’s thoughts

about the battles God calls us to engage in (and how to approach them)?


Day 22Leave Room for Awe

“The whole earth is filled with awe at your wonders; where morning dawns, where evening fades, you call forth songs of joy.”

Psalm 65:8 niv

Too much of our time is spent trying to chart God on a grid, and too little is spent allowing our hearts to feel awe. By reducing Christian spirituality to formula, we deprive our hearts of wonder.

When I think about the complexity of the Trinity, the three-in-one God, my mind cannot understand, but my heart feels wonder in abundant satisfaction. It is as though my heart, in the midst of its euphoria, is saying to my mind, There are things you cannot understand, and you must learn to live with this. Not only must you learn to live with this, you must learn to enjoy this.

I want to tell you something about me that you may see as weakness. I need wonder. I know that death is coming. I smell it in the wind, read it in the paper, watch it on television, and see it on the faces of the old. I need wonder to explain what is going to happen to me, what is going to happen to us when this thing is done, when our shift is over and our kids’ kids are still on the earth listening to their crazy rap music. I need something mysterious to happen after I die. I need to be somewhere else after I die, somewhere with God, somewhere that wouldn’t make any sense if it were explained to me right now.

At the end of the day, when I am lying in bed and I know the chances of any of our theology being exactly right are a million to one, I need to know that God has things figured out, that if my math is wrong we are still going to be okay. And wonder is that feeling we get when we let go of our silly answers, our mapped out rules that we want God to follow. I don’t think there is any better worship than wonder.

DONALD MILLER, Blue Like Jazz

Reflect Why is it important to resist putting God “on a grid” and instead allow ourselves

to feel the wonder, awe, and unfathomable mystery of the life He has for us?


Day 23Gold-Medal Gratitude

“Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.”

Philippians 4:6 niv

As I stood there, watching the American flag rising up and hearing the national anthem, I thought of how I had pictured this moment in my mind ever since I was a little boy. So many times, over and over again, I had envisioned what this exact moment would be like. And here it was actually happening.

Nearby were the people I treasured most who had been supporting me my entire life. My parents. My sisters. And then the new relationships, the people who had played such a pivotal role during the last four years . . .

A sense of immense gratitude overwhelmed me, and the emotion of the moment overpowered me. I never wanted to be the guy who cried at the Olympics, but I had to fight back the tears. My heart was full. Not because I had won a gold medal. Yes, that was thrilling and the culmination of all I had worked and sacrificed for. But more than that, my heart was full because I realized how different my heart was. I had given up my laser focus on winning a gold medal in exchange for a more fulfilling and lasting focus on God, his Word, and his people. I came to the London Olympics with a goal of honoring God in my pursuit of the gold, more than just the pursuit of a medal itself.

And yet, God saw fit to give me the one thing that I had sought for so long. In his sovereignty, he had determined that the gold medal was what would make me more like Jesus. That’s not to say that God will always give us what we want if we make him the priority in our lives. He’s not a genie who’s there to do our bidding if we simply say or do the right things. He may or he may not. He is God, and he is not obligated to do what we think he should.

DAVID BOUDIA, Greater Than Gold

ReflectRecalling a time when you also have felt “immense gratitude” even if it wasn’t on

a gold-medal stand!), what brought it about and what/who were you most thankful for?


Day 24Ready to Be God’s

“To die, to sleep / To sleep, perchance to dream; aye, there’s the rub / For in that sleep of death what dreams may come / When we have shuffled off this mortal coil / Must give us pause”

Shakespeare, Hamlet

My heart told me that this was the moment he was ready to accept the Lord. But my heart had told me that before, and I had moved too quickly. Because my zeal had overwhelmed my sensitivity in the past, I didn’t want to make the same mistake again. And yet my heart was insistent. My heart said, “Now is the time. Speak your truth.”

As I looked at Waylon in the hospital bed, my heart was pounding. “Looks like you want to say something to me, darlin’,” he observed. “If you’ve got something to say, go ahead and say it.”

Waylon sensed what was happening. He always did. I took a deep breath and said the words. “Are you ready to accept the Lord?”

Waylon smiled. “I knew you were gonna ask that.”

“It’s a simple question,” I said. “It all comes down to one thing, Waylon. Are you ready to be God’s man?”

He nodded his head and kept repeating the phrase, “God’s man, God’s man.”

“And to become God’s man, what are the words I need to say?” Waylon asked.

“The words are that you accept him, that you love him as he loves you, that you turn your life over to him.”

Waylon said those words. And when he did, I thought of the two words expressed in John 11:35: “Jesus wept.”

I wept.

Waylon smiled. He called me over to his bedside, took my hand, and said, “I love you so much.”

JESSI COLTER (with David Ritz), An Outlaw and a Lady

ReflectIf you have accepted God’s invitation to salvation, as Waylon did, what made the decision

special for you, and perhaps for those who guided you through it as Jesse did for him?


Day 25A Welcoming Table

“Hospitality is the virtue of a great soul that cares for the whole universe through the ties of humanity.”Louis, Chevalier de Jaucourt

Only because of his unstoppable love for me did he turn my face away from myself and toward communion among the broken like me, where we share in the glory of God reflecting off each other while we plow through second helpings of cheesy vegetable soup and no-brainer pork tacos. Here in the head-scratcher economy of our upside-down God, our less is always more and our fears are unwarranted.

Under the canopy of a long, long life, we’re surprised by the impossible goodness of surrendering our homes and discovering that as our door revolves, our souls are anchored. When God spoke about hospitality throughout the Bible as if on a loop, he wasn’t just referring to hosting a church Bible study or commiserating over steaming cups of Earl Grey with our besties.

His great hope is that we would experience the sparkling intimacy that bubbles up when we drop the veil and get real. His intention was for us to invite the stranger—the immigrant, the overlooked, the one we cannot understand, the one we say we hate—into our sanctuary and love them as we would love our own sister.

I am never closer to God than when I dare to sit next to people unafraid of telling the hard truth. The effect is contagious, and stepping toward my own brokenness is like being baptized over and over again.

SHANNAN MARTIN, Falling Free

ReflectDo Shannan’s insights on communing with prompt you to think about the people

you spend time and share meals with regularly in your life?


Day 26When God is Mocked

“I may disagree with what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it.”Voltaire

“As I’m sure you’ve all heard by now, Jack Kevorkian, ‘Dr. Death,’ was convicted of murder. I want to hear from you. Should he have been convicted? Was what he did really murder, or was it mercy?”

I sat calmly, waiting for the professor to call on someone in the middle of the room. Instead, she stopped in front of me and asked, “What do you think?”

“I think the jury was right to convict him.”

“Okay. Why?” she prodded.

“I believe God gives life, and he’s the only one who is justified in taking it.”

The class exploded at the mention of God. Suddenly everyone, it seemed, had something to say. Tempers flared. Most of the comments did not center on whether euthanasia was right or wrong. Instead they focused on speaking out against me and my statement. Some asserted there is no God. Others held that it’s not God who gives and takes life. Still others insisted there is no room in modern society for what they perceived to be antiquated, ignorant, and prejudicial religiously based ideologies.

I was shocked and infuriated. Who was being prejudiced? Not me, but the ones who were lambasting me for my beliefs. I had been asked for my opinion and I had given it. Why was all this anger being directed at me? Why the shouting? Why the hostility? Why was I coming under personal attack? I wasn’t telling them they had to think the way I did. I wasn’t yelling and pointing my finger because we had different opinions.

Again I sat there thinking, This is America. What is happening? As an American, am I not guaranteed the right to freedom of religion? Am I not guaranteed the right to freedom of speech? That’s what makes this country so great. We are free to disagree . . .

It became frighteningly clear to me that day that where religion was concerned on my campus, that philosophy did not apply. In the name of political correctness, religion and specifically Christianity had become taboo.

MAHTOB MAHMOODY, My Name Is Mahtob

ReflectHave you ever been “shouted down” as Mahtob was in her college classroom, and what do you think of her reflections in the aftermath of her experience?


Day 27Rituals that Matter“For we were all baptized by one Spirit so as to form one body—whether Jews or

Gentiles, slave or free—and we were all given the one Spirit to drink.”I Corinthians 12:13 niv

Because now I knelt at the baptismal font, beneath the upraised hand of the bronze boy John. Now Doug put the water on my head, the oil on my brow, and spoke the words: “I baptize you in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.” Now I climbed to my feet again and looked around me at the faces of my friends in the church’s mysterious gloaming.

And now I saw. I had been wrong—yet once more. I had been wrong about baptism as I was wrong about my wedding. It mattered. It mattered in ways I could not understand until the very moment I had done it. Of course. I should have known. Who more than me? Ritual and transition, symbol and reality, story and life—they are intimately intertwined forever. They are the language of the imagination, the language in which God speaks to man.

Well, mine is a stiff-necked people, slow to learn. Yet just as with my wedding, here I was somehow. Through my own foolishness and the foolishness of my times, through the fog of my egotism and stubbornness and insanity, God had sung to me without ceasing in the stories I loved and in my love and in my story. I, even half-blind with myself, had stumbled after that music to its source.

And somehow, once again, by the hilarious mercy of God, I had made my way to the great good thing.

ANDREW KLAVAN, The Great Good Thing

ReflectIf you have been baptized, how do Andrew’s recollections of his experience

compare with what you felt and thought about your own baptism?


Day 28Saying “Yes”

Through Tears“I am the Lord’s servant. May everything you have said about me come true.”

Luke 1:38 niv

And so, in the fuzzy gloom of the predawn hour, I gave what sliver of myself I had left to God. I said yes.

Yes, I trust you.

Yes, I believe you when you say there is something so much better coming that all will pale in comparison.

Yes, you will be with me in the valley of the shadow of death.

Yes, you will walk me through the frightening austerity of life.

Yes, you love me.

Yes, you made the ultimate sacrifice for me.

Yes, you are real, you are good, you are the Beginning and End.

Yes, you have not left me alone. You see me, you’ve collected my tears in your bottle, and you have future plans for me . . .

The yes doesn’t always make sense. We don’t fully understand how God works, but we read in 2 Corin-thians 1:20: “For all of God’s promises have been fulfilled in Christ with a resounding ‘Yes!’ And through Christ, our ‘Amen’ (which means ‘Yes’) ascends to God for his glory.”

Yes. He’s the One who made us; he’s the One who sacrificed for us. He’s the One who is working redemp-tion and goodness and healing and boundless love, not us. And our agreeing glorifies him? I can never make sense of the way things add up in Jesus. It’s all him, all his goodness, his worthiness, and yet when we agree, we get a piece of the glory pie. Unbelievable.

Yes, Abba. Yes.

KATE MERRICK, And Still She Laughs

ReflectWhen have you said “yes” to trusting God even when you faced deep pain,

confusion, or uncertainty, and what were the results of doing so?


Day 29Being Miracle-Minded

“Fight the good fight of the faith. Take hold of the eternal life to which you were called when you made your good confession in the presence of many witnesses.”

I Timothy 6:12 niv

Any doctor will tell you that the probability of surviving late-stage gallbladder cancer is very, very remote. But the possibility exists that you can survive it. Someone defies the odds. Why not me? I knew that in order to survive, I had to help my doctors believe they could save me.

I had done enough research to know that the ideal way to fight cancer is to cut it out. I was soon obsessed with the idea that someone might be willing to operate on me. Tom Sullivan arranged a consultation with Dr. Paul Goldfarb, a senior oncology surgeon affiliated with Sharp Memorial Hospital in San Diego.

Dr. Goldfarb was instantly likable, with a friendly smile and a sincere desire to help, even though he knew I would never be his patient. He didn’t believe surgery was an option but encouraged my hope.

“If I were you, or your wife, what would you do?” I asked.

“I would do everything within my power to live,” he didn’t hesitate to answer. “I encourage you to go wherever you need to go, and see whomever you need to see.” He paused, then added, “Who knows?”

That’s right, I thought. Who knows?

He stopped in the doorway before he exited the room. “Edie, after thirty years working with cancer pa-tients, I can usually tell within half an hour who has a chance and who doesn’t. If a patient says, ‘I can’t start chemo until after my daughter’s wedding,’ or ‘I have a golf tournament coming up; let’s do the surgery afterwards,’ or ‘Let me think about surgery awhile; I’m just not convinced yet,’ or my favorite, ‘I want to try raw vegetables,’ I know they probably aren’t going to make it. They really don’t get it. Cancer doesn’t wait for anything. It is death growing inside you. And it loves raw vegetables too.”

I looked at him with hope in my eyes. I wanted to be miracle-minded. “So you think I’ve got a chance?”

He smiled. “Edie, I can tell you are a fighter. I pray you have a chance.”

EDIE LITTLEFIELD SUNDBY, The Mission Walker

ReflectWhat do you find insightful, and perhaps inspiring, about Edie’s “miracle mindset”

as she approached her battle with gallbladder cancer?


Day 30Glimmers of Hope

“Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see.”Hebrews 11:1 niv

They call it the butterfly effect: the huge changes that a pair of silken wings can create with an almost imperceptible flutter. I think a butterfly is beating its wings somewhere in my life. To the outward eye, things have hardly changed since I was assessed: I still go to my care center each morning and sigh gratefully when the afternoon comes to an end and I can go home to be fed, washed, and prepared for bed. But monotony is a familiar foe, and even the subtlest changes in it are noticeable . . .

But I can certainly feel a change in the way my parents are speaking to me since I was assessed by the speech therapists. When Mum asks if I’ve had enough food, she waits just a little longer for my head to jerk its way down or my mouth to smile. My father talks to me more and more now as he brushes my teeth at night. The changes are so small that my parents might not even be aware of them, but I can sense hope in the air for the first time in years.

I’ve heard enough of what they’ve said to know that if I’m to start communicating properly it will be at the most basic level. This will not be a Hollywood movie with a neat happy ending or a trip to Lourdes where the mute are miraculously given a voice. The speech therapists’ report has recommended that my mother and father start trying to communicate with me in the tiniest of ways. Apparently my head jerk and smile are not as reliable as I thought they were, and I must learn a more consistent way to signal yes and no. Because my hands are too unruly to point properly, the best way for me to start “speaking” is by staring at symbols.

MARTIN PISTORIUS, Ghost Boy

ReflectAre you facing any challenges that require you to hold firmly to faith, and hope,

the way Martin’s parents did even before he showed any outward signs of awakening?

incredible people, incredible stories · stared up, open-mouthed, unable ... herbie hancock there...

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