A family living overseas sent me this voice-message about an intruder. The kids were excited to tell the story and chimed in with their dad as he laid out the suspenseful plot. When I first heard it, I knew that one day I'd have to animate it.
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I bent over to pick up his pacifier, which was by my boot. My Mack steel-toed work boots remind me of the first time I felt like a father. A few weeks before, I slid my foot into the boot, jamming my foot into tree bark strips, twigs, and Little People toys. Something warm rushed over my body. Those little nuisances felt more like goodies. I wanted them to be there. They were treasures from T. Walter. I know he didn't put them there for me. But it felt good to imagine. And for the first time, just like that, I felt like a dad.
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I thought "chatty kathy" was just an expression. Until I met her. Determined to spare Kathy my poisonous breath, I spoke at funny angles. But at the turn of the second hour, I re-imagined my handicap as a weapon.
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Want to fire up an argument? Get a debate going about the right Christian response to panhandlers. The disagreements are sharper than cheddar. I don't have the right answer, but I do want to share this resource for Columbus dwellers that the Columbus Coalition for the Homeless updates every so often.
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In the summer of 1981, a car accident crippled a young man named Greg Roth. It handicapped his legs and disabled his body. But there's more. The damage wasn't only in flesh and blood.
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Hiding in the attic is not rich character. If I let it, lack of money can be an opportunity to display richness of character. It turns out that in the pursuit of godly character, wealth is a poor asset.
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If you are like me, by nature you are self-interested. And when difficult people come around, your self-interest meters spike. That means in order to be others-centered, you will have to do the unnatural. You will have to bless people who can't return favors, who take but don't return love, who step in disharmony with you, or who make your skin crawl. How will you find the power to love like this? By remembering your place. Consider this. The contempt you harbor for the most difficult person in your life can not amount to the contempt God should have held against you and didn't.
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So why do I meet these men in prison every week? Because Jesus met me in mine. He got to me where no one else could, past the razor-wire to commune with my profane, death-sentenced soul. Then he caught my case, stole my prison blues and became convicted. I put him on death row to die, and I got to walk free.
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It don’t matter where you live. It don’t matter where you came from. We’re all the same. Some’s rich. Some’s poor. And some’s right in the middle. Well, I’m one of the ones that didn’t come rich, and you know what, I’m going to make it some day. – Shirley
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