James Rush Manley – Writer

He couldn’t remember how long since the batteries quit and the long night engulfed him. Blackness, thick and absolute, hid everything. He pushed through tangled thorns, testing for holes. His fingers still encircled the useless, invisible flashlight. Fingers? Once more he wiggled them just beyond his nose. He saw nothing to confirm what only feeling and hope told him were there.

Suddenly, a branch snapped on his left. He tried to crouch, but massed branches pushed him back. Then, not caring what the night beasts heard, he cried between clenched teeth, “Lord, why didn’t you make these batteries last? Why won’t you make them work again? I need light!” More snaps, then unmistakable, measured steps closing in. read more ...

Peter snapped awake, still feeling the blow. Light everywhere, brighter than day, but the guards slept on.

“Quick, get up!” the shining man commanded.

He turned, unrolling from chains to the one standable position. Wrists floated free as manacles clattered to the stone floor. Guards, swords at hand, still slept. No calls, no questions, no threats through the gate—brilliantly flooded silence.

“Get dressed. Follow me,” the—angel maybe?—ordered.

Follow where? The other side of the cell? But his feet slid obediently across cold, slimy rock into sandals, and he pulled the cloak closer. They walked to the first gate, pushed it open, and passed the guards. Nothing. On through the next gate without a word. Finally, the main prison gate to the city swung open without hands. Still, no out-cry raised an alarm, no challenge overtook them, no spear in back, no fist to face. They walked through the prison in blazing, silent light. A remarkable dream, he marveled. Wonder what it means? Something about freedom in the Spirit, surely. This feels so real. Definitely won’t be fun waking up between those two soldiers again. His guide smiled as if hearing the thought, then vanished, leaving him alone in the dark street. read more ...

The ski instructor commands, “Attack the hill!” Easy to say, standing on the flats. Harder to apply while hurtling down a snowy precipice, dodging trees and rocks. Yet, the truth is that putting weight on ski fronts gives control, leaning back throws it away. Stretching our face closer to up-rushing destruction offers safety, leaning back steals all chances. Leaning forward yields survival’s only hope, leaning back bears only bad fruit.

Not exactly intuitive. Just like walking with God. He draws us surely, inexorably to Himself. We race through time towards a final meeting that seems so like destruction we name it death. Our self-instinct pulls us back, clawing at powdered snow on ice. Yet, seeing our plight, He calls out, “Lean forward!” read more ...

Our pastor asked us, “How good is good enough?”

Good enough for what? Pleasing people? Earning a good-person reputation? Showing genuine kindness? All worthy, reachable goals. While pleasing people is one thing, getting into heaven is an entirely different matter. Standards, after all, restrict entrance. Fortunately, Jesus illuminates the bar clearly. He says, “Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.” Unfortunately, while acting good pleases God, good acting doesn’t get us to God. Jesus confirmed that no one acts or thinks good enough to make the cut. “Why do you call me good? No one is good—except God alone.” read more ...

Our solar system contains a lot of junk. Planets, moons, comets, and asteroids sail along in a pool, dirty with bits left over from creation and debris from celestial collisions. Engineers design spaceships to withstand the constant cosmic sandstorm—less dense than the earthly variety but much faster. Typical particles zip along at 20,000 miles per hour.

Fortunately, micrometeorites are tiny—one-quarter of a hair’s thickness. But even little things can add up big. Every year, 30,000 tons (that’s 16,700 gross weight Cessna-206s or 7 million gallons of milk) of extraterrestrial dust settles gently on oceans, fields, and rooftops. read more ...