James Rush Manley – Writer

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 ...

One day, religious leaders challenged Jesus when the people worshiped him. He didn’t lower his gaze, furrow his brow with a half-smile, or give a bemused headshake saying, “No, no, no, their enthusiasm carries them to excess.” Instead he looked the question in the eye and said the rocks would praise him if men did not. He agreed that he was Lord and master. He proclaimed himself the Father’s Son and source of true food and drink. He claimed to be God, the Creator of the universe. Yet, the same Spirit also says he wouldn’t break a reed and names him the humble standard to follow. read more ...