James Rush Manley – Writer

Life seems simple when you fly. Takeoff, turn to 135 degrees, and climb to 5,500 feet. After thirty minutes Copataza slides under the left wing. Turn right, follow the river, and in another five minutes, pass over Mashient. Gently lower the nose until the vertical speed indicator settles on a 500-foot-per-minute descent, and clock nine minutes more. Voilá, Charapacocha appears magically out of the jungle with the plane at pattern altitude. A clear lesson emerges. Fly straight enough to hold heading, climb high enough to miss hard things, keep track of the time, and you will reach your destination. You can’t get lost. read more ...

Hiding places abound. Samuel anointed Saul as king of Israel. God gave him free rein saying, “Once these signs are fulfilled, do whatever your hand finds to do, for God is with you.” Saul clearly saw God’s certain ability and purpose. Did Saul hiding among coronation-day’s baggage reveal humility or unbelief? Neither. God gave Saul victories, but also granted the deepest desire of his heart—his own way.

Rahab hid three times. She covered the spies and then concealed family while her Jericho life fell around her. She, too, saw God’s plan, when she confessed to her guests, “The Lord your God is God.” Then, He gave her freedom to expose her heart. She rejected her experience with fierce, lusty warriors and the solid, unassailable might of their stone walls. Instead, she chose to hide in the promise of a God she’d never seen. read more ...

The pilot finally had his chance. The fresh brake pads on the C-185 needed a “burn-in” before earnest use at a short strip. He’d seen others dance power and brakes, taxiing with tail in the air. He knew that too much brake would push the prop into the ground, not enough and the tail rolled boringly on the ground. He also knew that too much power pushed the plane too fast and not enough left the plane sitting there. After trial waving up and down he found the sweet spot and taxied, tail high to the far end of the 3,000-foot runway. The professional felt good mastering the esoteric heights of his trade. He turned and finessed the throttle and pedals to return on just the two main wheels. read more ...

Stick to it. Don’t give up. Never surrender. Inspiration’s words sound good for fights and messy trials. But to what, exactly, do we stick? The high goals defend the charge of stupidity easily enough—stand to the last man, repel the invader, or stay in the fire to rescue the doomed child. But what about living in politically crazed nowhere-bovia when safety’s country sits only a choice away? Why raise your children in diseased jungle obscurity when clean opportunity waits at the other end of an airline route? What answer comforts a slandered heart whose faith is labeled obstinate and blind? read more ...

A monster lives in my closet; that one over there, behind the drape. I’d like to get rid of him, but he breathes fire, and his claws would rip me to shreds.

A monster lives in my closet. He roars, curses, and his smoke stinks. I’d like to get rid of him, but he’s kind of big, and he might bite me.

A monster lives in my closet. He bangs on the door, scratches the paint, and, yesterday, dented the wall. I’d like to get rid of him, but I can’t find the exterminator’s number.

A monster lives in my closet. He makes rude noises, interrupts, and has lousy table manners. I’d like to get rid of him, but I don’t know where to send him. read more ...

Slick leather sandals slipped on slimy mud. David’s knee struck the cave floor, but he bit his tongue. The other men pressed close in the dark, listening for pursuit. They waited, silent for a long time except for tight, panting breath.

Finally, he commanded, “Abishai, Ethan, check the way—carefully.” The two scouts nodded, turned, and disappeared around a corner, more felt than seen.

“Joab, tell them we spend the night here,” he said. Then, forcing a straight step, he added, “I’ll be back.” Taking a newly lit torch, he climbed farther in. read more ...

We flee suffering, yet it crashes life’s party anyway. It drops like an anvil on the cake, messes up the treats and decorations we arranged just so, smashes the table, goes through the floor and gouges into the foundation. It plummets past rational thought, bypasses understanding, ignores defenses, and even transcends culture. Suffering’s collision with soul’s bedrock reveals character like a bell displays its quality with clear tone or dull thud. We can’t fake it. Our real nature lies exposed for all to see. We ask “Why?” Then we rail against the gross violation of our rights and demand “Why me?” As if someone else deserves it more. Only He knows the whole story, but we can see at least three small pieces of the mystery. read more ...

We believe God’s promises, yet even on our best days, a shallow scratch reveals festering discontent. Disappointed, we see less than we expect. One voice in our head whines, “We play His game, so He owes us, right? Success, health, happiness, some sort of payment for our good deeds.” Another confesses along with the Psalmist, “Lord, you have assigned me my portion and my cup; you have made my lot secure. The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; surely I have a delightful inheritance.” read more ...

My shoes squished with every step. A shiny trail ran between my desk and a dripping umbrella, waiting by the door for my next trip across the ramp. Six weeks of rain and mottled gray sky made it hard to remember any other color existed. I was tired—tired of wet feet, parked airplanes, and a waiting room full of people who only wanted to go home. Occasionally, the ceiling lifted just enough to fly, so we’d try to do a week’s work in two or three hours. A mad, splashing scramble to load passengers and cargo, and then a parade of planes trundled to the end of the runway. The high humidity formed misty condensation halos around spinning propellers. The bark of supersonic propeller tips momentarily pulsed over roaring engines as each plane took off. read more ...