The Bee Hive

You can tell a good piece of fruit or vegetable by its color and by its feel. The avocado, though, is tricky. A novice might think that a bright green, hard avocado is the best, but counter-intuitively, the best avocados are dark, with shades of brown, giving easily to the touch. The heart of a growing Christian also gives easily to the touch.

When we seek out counsel, the state of our hearts can resist the very thing we want. A soft heart can turn mediocre counsel into pearls of wisdom. A hard heart will turn the wisest counsel into sawdust.

When was the last time you prayed for a miracle?

Do you ever find yourself struggling to pray boldly in your prayers? I do.

Recently the New Life elders had the blessing of praying for a man with multiple sclerosis. I found myself battling over how assertive my prayers for healing ought to be. Should I be praying more for physical healing, or more for strength and faith as he battles the autoimmune disease?

We hold both of these impulses in prayer. To only pray for the miraculous and neglect the formative aspects of suffering is to fall into the lie of the prosperity gospel…

1. Some therapists aren’t telling you the truth: Christopher Cook begins, “Somewhere along the way, a cadre of therapists stopped telling people the truth. What began as a space for self-examination, emotional healing, and forward movement has slowly morphed into a mirror, one that reflects dysfunction and calls it authenticity.”

2. School choice participation up 25%: Adam Wittenberg reports that, “These gains mark a seismic shift in how America educates its children.”

My wife is very comfortable with quiet. I admire her ability to sit peacefully and listen to God. Me? Not so much. I work out with audiobooks or podcasts as my audio backdrop. I write with music on.

There are benefits to this audio soundscape that I live in. It means that I input quite a lot of information. I benefit from many wise voices and am grateful for the gift of music which inspires, soothes, and provokes.

The problem with a life of input is that it can choke out self-reflection and even the voice of God.

I was in the service, away at Boot Camp, and I'd discovered that the only place I could gain some reprieve from the grindstone was at church on Sunday mornings.  Much like the rest of the troop who figured it out, I squeezed into the pews, one bald head in fatigues among a throng of bald heads in fatigues.  The chaplain sermonized over the importance of perseverance, and at the end of the service, slapped a Bible in each of our hands. I took to reading that Bible every night after lights out—the first time I ever opened one intentionally in my life.