James Rush Manley – Writer

Sometimes, we feel like grist, ground between the stones of life. What used to be fun isn’t anymore. We call flying and playing with 300-horsepower engines “work.” The joy of our child’s birth hides in a fog of menus that turn into meals that turn into red hands pushing stacks of dirty dishes through soapy bleach water. The slow cycle of days morphs into speeding months that leave our dreams in a heap along with the ironing or hidden under the pile of unanswered letters.

What happened to the “seeking His Kingdom first” part of life so that “all this other stuff would be added”? Who has time to be spiritual? read more ...

Salt of the earth—the edible rock—preserves food, enhances flavor, and balances body fluid. It once circulated as Roman money. God required it in grain offerings and used it to seal covenants and heal bad water.

Light of the sky—both particle and wave—the fastest we know, displaces darkness and shows the world. God created it first, called it good, and then used it to describe Himself.

Now, Jesus raises us dead ones up in order to show the riches of His grace. He calls us “the salt of the earth” and names us “the light of the world.” Salt and light; season and shine. Always active, never hiding, He dispatches salt to cure hurt and reconcile man to God. He transmits light to reveal truth and conquer black lies. read more ...

The dark ceiling swallowed mountaintops, squeezing plane and pilot toward rocks below. No flying over or around them today. Fickle clouds behind closed off returning home. Navigating the twisting rolls and folds between hills remained the only open path. “No problem,” he assured himself, reciting memorized mantra. “Slow the airplane to eighty knots. Lower flaps to twenty degrees. Complete the checklist.”

He found the one correct valley. It required flight at 5,500 feet or higher to clear the route. That also put him just below the angry roof. He snuggled the plane right, close to the canyon wall. That gave maximum room on the left for an escape turn. read more ...

Isaiah said, “Do not be afraid, O worm Jacob, O little Israel, for I myself will help you, declares the LORD, your Redeemer, the Holy One of Israel.”

Great metaphor, Isaiah. It is nice to know that the Lord cares for us, and exaggeration does make a good illustration. But, worm? A little heavy on the condemnation, don’t you think? We are, after all, created in His image. How about something we can identify with, something more like us?

Indeed. How about the common house dust mite (Dermatophagoides farinae)? This eight-legged creature inhabits carpets and bedding, consuming the three-tenths of an ounce of skin cells we shed every day. The old ones live a month and grow to 16-thousandths of an inch long. That makes us 4,500 times bigger than the average mite. If they were six feet long, we’d be over five miles tall. Neither knowing nor caring, we feed them, yet they have no clue we exist. We’re more like God than like mites. read more ...

Jacob watched his father eat. Even blind, he refused help, attacking the haunch with a grin unhidden by his gray beard. Wish he showed that kind of enthusiasm for me. Well, I’ll show him. Someday, he’ll be proud of me, too. Besides, the blessing’s mine. Esau didn’t want it. So, I’m just collecting what’s already mine.

“So, my son, come here and kiss me so that I can bless you,” Isaac said, suddenly setting the stripped bone aside.

Jacob’s forehead popped wet beads. Lowering his voice to his brother’s deeper timber, he replied, “Yes, my father,” as he shuffled forward in the ill-fitting suit. What was that furrow between the old man’s sightless eyes? Did he suspect? Before he could evade, his father embraced him with surprising strength. Isaac said nothing, buried his face in the stolen tunic, and inhaled deeply. Heart pounding in ears, Jacob held his breath. Then, slowly, his father relaxed the iron grip, sighed contentedly, and said, “Ah, the smell of my son …” read more ...