James Rush Manley – Writer

Two pursuits require constant practice, three never rest: Flying airplanes in the bush, playing musical instruments for an audience, and walking with God.

Remembering that final airspeed varies between 55 and 60 knots, depending upon gross aircraft weight, is not the same thing as recognizing the edge of ‘the settle’ while playing the throttle on a bumpy approach. Reaction trails need, and wheels touch only in the general vicinity of the target spot. Amateur hides professional.

Remembering Beethoven’s “Fur Elise” is not the same thing as producing a smooth parade of notes up and down the keyboard. Nervous fingers hesitate, forgetting their path. They arrive only more or less on time. Parody eclipses masterpiece. read more ...

He shook a finger straight at the pocked face across from him and said, “Look at you, the big man! You’re bankrupt. You lost your family. You’re covered with scabby pus. You’re a mess! And why? Everyone knows that God works according to one simple rule—do right things, receive good; do wrong things, receive bad. Yet you keep moaning that it’s not fair. Give it up already! It’s plain to everyone but you. If you mess up, you pay the price.” He paused, overwhelmed again by his friend’s grief. “Look,” he said softly, “confess whatever it is you did, and God will forgive you. You don’t have to stay like this, Job.” read more ...

Longing fingers, sore from clutching airport fence, at last became trembling hands gripping first solo flight controls. New ability didn’t just demonstrate new knowledge. It marked the birth of a sky-creature, sibling of the wind, at home with the clouds. Then, too many days plodded between flights while too few moments raced between propeller’s first and last turns. Continually freshened, joy revealed deeper meaning. Like new love’s desire, flying threatened to fulfill and consume everything at once. The one certainty became that there could never be enough, let alone too much. read more ...

Sometimes, we think of heaven as a better version of here. And we regard Jesus as ourselves, only kinder, stronger, and generally better. We speak glibly, claiming that our sight of mystery’s visible edge equals understanding. Actually, the revelation He permits nearly drowns us. More would destroy us. He warned Moses, “You cannot see my face, for no one may see me and live.” How then can He promise that the pure in heart will see Him? After death? Sure. But what about exhortations to seek His face now? Sounds like telling kids to play with matches in the fuel shed. read more ...

The pilot stared hard at ambiguous gray overhead. Systems like this one—from the south—often meant two to four weeks of rain and caught-up maintenance. Their route lay to the south, towards deteriorating weather. Could he get this missionary there before the jungle closed down? Then, inspiration. Instead of flying the regular dogleg route south to Huasaga and then a hard left for the quick descent into Surikenza, he could go direct. Finding it shouldn’t be that hard, just hold heading like a Pharisee and keep track of time. read more ...