James Rush Manley – Writer

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 ...