A year ago I finished my first adult novel, a blend of realistic fiction, fantasy, and sci-fi entitled Angels & Aliens. Ever since then I’ve been trying to get it published, sending it everywhere I can think of and getting one rejection after another. I’ve been very patient throughout this process, thinking it was only a matter of time. But finally one day I lost patience and began complaining bitterly to God.
A rich young man knelt before Jesus, asking how to obtain eternal life. He’d always obeyed the commandments. What else should he do?
In the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem, built over the cave where Jesus was born, there is also an arresting reminder of His death.
Lewis Carroll, author of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, was a chronic insomniac who often felt the urge to write at night. Living as he did before electric lights were common, he invented what he called a nyctograph, or night-writer, along with a notation system of nyctography for writing without the aid of a light.
Do you remember when the universal convention was to leave two spaces after a period rather than just one? If you do, then you’re probably as old as I am (70), or older. How did the change to one space come about? Who ever made this monumental decision?
I want to share with you a prayer that I’ve been praying lately. I’m not usually keen on canned prayers, but this one is a humdinger.
One reason for the great popularity of the children’s classic Goodnight Moon is that it’s really a prayer—a nighttime prayer of thanksgiving, a gentle, joyous litany of ordinary blessings.
Years ago my friend John had a life-changing encounter with the book of Habakkuk, an experience he recalls with deep gratitude to this day. At a point in his life when he was full of confusion and distress, in one great insight he moved from doubting God to praising Him.
My house overlooks the beautiful Muskoka River. Since moving here three years ago, I’ve made a practice in my morning quiet time of gazing out the window (or in good weather, sitting outside) to enjoy the beauties of nature, and waiting for—and expecting—something unusual to strike my attention.
My childhood friend, Dave Raymond, died at 67, having spent his last decade struggling with a rare neurological disorder called Primary Progressive Aphasia (PPA), which gradually destroys a person’s ability to understand language. When Dave finally lost all ability to communicate either with spoken or written words, he became a prisoner in his own body.