James Rush Manley – Writer

We laud order. Vertical walls, level floors, and square doorframes make the craftsman’s reputation. Clear proposals mark the honest merchant. Full disclosure labels the trustworthy leader. Direct speech seems right, wholesome, and godly. We Western believers, in particular, point authoritative fingers at “let your yes be yes and your no be no.” We expect both church and consecrated life to base logical design upon rational strategy. Ought to be simple, right? Plan your flight, then fly your plan. read more ...

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 ...