A Wife Worth Living


Christian novels without the cheese

Are you fed up with reading Christian novels that are:


2) Ones that give you PTSD around the End Times?




Job had badass faith.

When a Christian suffers, is it because he has sinned and needs correction, or are there other reasons that are far more probable? The best example given in God’s Word concerning suffering and trials is found in the Book of Job. Job lost everything he had, his possessions, his family, and even his health. There are some who believe that when a Christian suffers, it is because God is correcting them for some unconfessed sin in their lives. Although this can be true, it is far from the most common reason. Usually, the suffering, mature Christian has no idea why he is experiencing a trial. If he did, the growth he could gain in faith would be lessened, so God often allows the saint not to know the “whys.”

Job is the story of a good man suffering for no apparent reason. In contrast, the Apostle Paul suffered for his “thorn in the flesh,” knowing that it was to keep him from becoming overly puffed up by all the revelations he was receiving. We know this because Paul specifically asked God about the “whys,” and God told him. We know that David lost his child that was born to him from his adulterous relationship with Bathsheba and because he murdered her husband.  This time, God told him that the child’s death was punishment for his sins. And the sin in the Garden, well, we all know what that cost our first parents.

But outside of these examples, I know of no other instance in the Bible where God explained to a godly person why they were suffering. So, why did Job suffer the loss of everything? I believe one reason was that he was the perfect target for Satan, not because of sin, but because of his righteousness, and God had confidence that Job was badass enough to handle it.  serveimage (2)His trial was not punishment or correction, but a back-handed compliment from God that he was up for the challenge, and that forever he would prove as an example of how godly people should respond to tragedies and other distressing situations in their lives. An additional reason, I believe, was to be a witness to unbelievers of the reality of God and his faithfulness, even in the worst of circumstances. And as an aside, that when the devil boasted that Job would curse God to His face, it had to be satisfying for God to put it back in the devil’s face instead.

I believe another reason for Job’s ordeal was so that God could confront his “friends,” and their legalistic, judgmentalism toward Job. Often times, the worst part of a righteous person’s suffering is the condemning attitude of the very people that should be a comfort to them. Finger-pointing, pharisaical, self-righteous critics, who apparently believe the Holy Spirit has retired and has appointed them as His replacement, only increase the believer’s misery and often leads them to self-condemnation and isolation. The more mature you are, the more likely God lets you experience trials that have nothing to do with you, but He allows them for the sake of others.

When Elephants Fight by Alan Kern

Why did Solomon Tate punch out a fellow missionary, befriend a witch doctor, experience a “holy laughter” manifestation, while trying to expose its dangers, and stare down a wild bull elephant?  How will he conquer his fear of confronting abusive church leaders? What choices will two Xhosa brothers make when they are confronted with the Gospel and compelled to choose between cultural witchcraft and biblical Christianity, and how will they live out those consequences? What spiritual connection is there between the lidloti spirits, dancing in the “borrowed bodies” of an African sangoma, and the involuntary convulsions of hyper-charismatics?


Blog 14: “Grace”
















Blog 13 Father’s Day






Blog 13 “Mexican Justice at Dawn”

On the way to my pre-dawn basketball shooting routine, I pass by three mom and pop tortilla-making shops. Old machinery clacks away by the hour, stacking the corn tortillas that will supply the local restaurants. Other small shopkeepers are setting up their produce of fresh vegetables, fruit, and eggs in the narrow street. The bakery vender pedals his bike with a front-loaded basket on wheels, loaded with fresh bread and pastries, squeezing a toy horn to announce his arrival as he slowly moves through the neighborhood. A flatbed truck loaded with propane tanks cruises the streets, blasting recorded music through tinny loudspeakers, announcing its product to prospective customers. Workmen with reflective orange vests and bag lunches trudge toward their steamy ten-hour day. And then there’s me, an old white guy carrying a basketball, in shorts, tank top, and fluorescent orange tennis shoes. I catch their eyes and we nod and smile, greeting each other in our native tongues.20180524_162648.jpg

Yesterday morning´s shooting took a wild twist. He had been watching me and eyeing my backpack at the foot of the basket. He grabbed a trash bag and started helping the old maintenance man pick up trash, working his way closer to me as I was shooting hoops. I thought it strange; the old guy had never had a helper before. Did he just want to make a few pesos?

Then he made his move, from my left side. By the time I saw him, he was already rifling through my stuff. He went for my small backpack, an easy grab, but it was empty, but then he saw my cell phone under it and grabbed that instead. The race was on.20180526_044218

He was young and fast and bolted around the side of the court and into the street. One thing that he didn´t figure into his plan was how fast this old man could run. The thought of losing my phone in Mexico, a major hassle beyond just the expense, fueled my sprint, amazing myself, the thief, the elderly maintenance man, and several mothers who were walking their children to school.

Holding up my basketball trunks, that were not accustomed to this kind of speed, I kept yelling, “STOP, THIEF” to whoever would listen and care. After the first block, at which point I was totally gassed, a small posse began to form at the next crossroads. The thief hoped to allude them by bolting to the left down another street. Now, he was out of my sight and I feared he would get away.

I don’t remember if I prayed earlier, but now I shouted out to God, “DON’T LET HIM GET AWAY!” Whether it was angels or men who blocked his escape, I never saw them, but he quickly tore back through the intersection, back into my sight and into the next street, but now the net was closing in on him. My posse had fresh legs, and the thief had mostly used his up, but he made one last impressive surge to outrun them and he almost made it, before a young strapping man in a work uniform corralled him around the neck like a rugby front-liner and dropped him with an open-field takedown. Now, the posse formed around him like coyotes celebrating their kill.

When I lived in South Africa, I learned the term “township justice.” When the neighborhood vigilantes would run down a thief, they knew the police wouldn´t do much, so they owed it to the community to mete out the punishment themselves. Playing the role of judge, jury, and chastiser, they tied the thief to a tree and, well you can guess the rest.

My posse practiced their own township justice. As the thief laid on the ground, surrounded by four court members, they took turns punching and kicking him. Each time he pleaded his innocence, they kicked him again. By the time I finally caught up, I had missed the trial, but since it was an open and shut case, they didn´t need my testimony.

I yelled down at the thief, “WHERE’S MY CELL PHONE?” While the three others continued administering justice, the rugby front-liner thrust my phone toward me, as if he was presenting it as a trophy of his Mexican manhood. Winded, relieved, and grateful, I thanked the four of them, while they continued performing their duties.

20180525_120346.jpgPlaya del Carmen is a safe area—all of the State of Quintana Roo, also known as the Riviera Maya, is fairly crime-free, notwithstanding the lone thief and the occasional cartel member. They know tourists live among them, and they welcome them, boosting their struggling economy, and they and the police are motivated to protect them.20180516_084725

I´ve been thinking about that scripture that says, “faith without works is dead.” In prayer, I needed faith to believe God for what I was asking for. I had demonstrated at least mustard seed faith simply by asking God. But I also needed to do the part God wanted me to do. Sometimes God wants us to “stand down” and just trust Him with our prayers, but I´ve usually found He wants us to get involved.

If I hadn´t chased the thief, but instead, stayed on the court and prayed for God to stop him, though God certainly could have done that, I doubt He would have. But because I was participating, I saw God move in a way that gave Him glory.

I mean, what kind of story could I write if the thief had escaped?

Blog 12 “Freedom”

I love worship music, the kind where the singer is not just performing, but his song is his prayer, from the soul. For those who live overseas and still want their worship music, download WiTopia and you’ll be able to get the worship music you´re used to from the States

During worship in church last Sunday, the thought came to me about “freedom,” and how grateful I am that I was born in America, the freest country in the history of the world, and one that has defended other nations’ freedoms as well. But for some reason I enjoy living outside the U.S. No explanation for that, other than a pastor once singled me out, publicly, at a large Bible conference and gave me a “word” that I had a “wandering spirit.”20180520_153957.jpg At the time I had just lost my first wife to cancer and was single-parenting two small children, and I think it was his way of telling me that I wasn’t focused enough on the church.

Having traveled and lived in other countries for much of my life, I have found that compared to other cultures and people, Americans possess an optimism and independence that most others don’t have the privilege of knowing. The origin of these freedoms can be directly traced to the fact that America was established by committed Christian colonists, who put God into its founding documents. No other nation other than for Israel has had such a godly foundation. And it is no coincidence that even today it is these two great democracies that are at the forefront in fighting an evil that is threatening, through terror, to rob nations of their freedoms and bring them under its 7th century, repressive control and submission.

The other reason I feel grateful for my freedom is that I am a Christian. Many religions can make promises of having peace with their god or gods and offer its adherents some sort of hope of a glorious afterlife, but no other faith can actually deliver on those promises. In studying the gods of other religions, most are distant, at best, and constantly require appeasement of some sort to mollify their anger. And though I respect others whose faith is different from my own, I respectfully disagree with anything that contradicts God’s Word.


I ask you, what god would allow himself to be completely humiliated, spat upon, have his beard plucked out, and then die a slow, torturous death?  And for what? To redeem sinful, weak, outcasts like us. Who does that? And this Man, Jesus, claimed to be God. And to put an exclamation point on it, after He was cruelly executed, over five-hundred witnesses attested to the fact that He rose from the dead, which kind of gives credibility to His claims. As someone once said, “You can debate your opinions, but you can’t dispute the facts.”

Another writer once said, “The search for happiness is largely an attempt to find a way to move from one state, the state of fear, to the other, love, and to stay there.” 1John 4:18 says, “There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out all fear.” But this is the part of that scripture that really speaks to me: “For fear has to do with punishment.” Probably because of my background in legalistic religion, I’ve had to battle against feelings of being punished when things go south in my life.

It’s been a rough week. Stroke recovery we’re told is not a straight line where you gradually get better on a predictable timetable. It’s more like a squiggly line, that zags forward and zips back, just when you thought you were moving forward. Knowing this helps with the sudden drops in energy and mobility. But today was still a banner day;20180520_141647.jpg we got to the Caribbean waters, physically, feet in it, for the first time. We found a beach that was wheelchair accessible, the one where the ferry docks for the trips to the isle of Cozumel, which we will take soon. After all, that was our original destination.

Thank you all for your prayers and love.



Blog 11: “Resting in Him”
























