James Rush Manley – Writer

Professional aviators plan each flight confident of success, but at the same time also expect the worst to pounce and devour the unguarded. They memorize emergency checklists for engine failure on takeoff, or fire in flight, or landing with a flat tire, or getting lost. The best always ask, “What’s the backup plan?” Their confident doubting makes commercial aviation the world’s safest transportation. And, therefore, we might reason that if contingency planning works so well in the air, it ought to serve the rest of life with equal benefit. Depends. read more ...

The student pilot stared at the compass. Alternate foot taps on right and left rudder pedals kept the assigned heading in place. “Got it!” he congratulated himself.

“Watch your altitude,” the instructor admonished.

Altitude? The student’s brow tightened—200 feet low and descending. He eased the wheel back, remembering pressure rather than gross movement.

“Let’s keep an eye on the heading,” the instructor reminded.

Heading? The unnoticed left turn had already taken them thirty degrees off course. read more ...

• Birth of a vision: Moses hears God’s call to help his people.
• Death of a vision: Moses acts, but defeat consumes promise, and he flees.
• Rebirth of a vision: God resurrects the dead dream and sends Moses back to Egypt.
• Testing of a vision: Moses acts again, but defeat consumes expectation, and his people reject him.

Perhaps Abraham spun myths. Maybe Jacob told tales. But Moses heard God, didn’t he? Who can mock his doubt as he watched deliverance sink backward? One author claims that true God-seekers live in confusion. Why can’t God speak simple instructions that achieve stated goals? He promises us the impossible and out of reach. But despite faith, nothing happens. Our failure either shouts that we missed God’s will or its whisper encourages us to wait for the invisible. What makes it so hard to tell the difference? read more ...

If God wanted to reach us, how would He do it? He might speak directly—unless we were deaf. He might paint pictures—unless we were blind. He might write a book—unless we couldn’t read. Or He could send a note.

But what kind of stationery would He use? Stone costs a fortune to mail; it scratches the furniture and renders many languages poorly. Surely He’d choose something better, something that received ink without smear, transported easily, and conveyed every nuance of His intent. read more ...