Lord, I know I'm not telling You anything You don't already know but the last few weeks have been tough. Filled with uncertainty. With heavy hearts. Shock. Some anxiety. It's been wrough on all of us. Especially mom and dad. First, it was bloody urine, then a hurry-up surgery, a doctor in the recovery saying, 'the tumor was much larger than we thought.' Then a long quiet week waiting on pathology. When the report did come in, we heart words l
When the calendar flipped to 2015, I found myself looking in the rearview with a sour taste in my mouth. Wrinkle between my eyes. I can not tell you that 2014 was a good year. It was not. Honestly, I was glad to see it go. For reasons I won't share, I shed more tears in 2014 than in the last several years combined. Real tears. Not just sad emotions but water dripping off my face mixed with white-knuckled fists. I knew sadness, heartache, ange
A friend of mine with a checkered past called me this week. He was struggling. The painful memories, who he'd been, who he'd not been, were raining down. Daggers through the back. I've known him about a decade. Have seen miraculous transformation in his life. The man he is today, the husband, father, friend, is not the man he was then. Different as night and day. Problem is he was looking in the mirror and the whisper of the deceiver was drowning o
The angels are arranged in perfect rows. Thousands in a row and thousands of rows. Trailing out as far as the eye can see. They are radiant, barefooted and decked out to the nines. Glowing white. Glistening gold. Chiseled features. Blond, auburn, ebony hair. Beautiful, flowing gowns. The floor upon which they are dancing is reflective. Not sure what it's made of but it's shiny. Not a speck. Not a smudge. The guy closest to m
I’ve always known I’m not the only “Charles Martin” on the planet. Obviously. It’s not an uncommon name. Whenever I’ve met one, I always recoil a bit. Narrow eyes. Swollen chest. “Don’t mess up my name.” I imagine they say the same about me. A good name is hard to find. ;-) Imagine being “Jim Smith.” That said, an angry reader ripped me a new orifice for a book she read by, “her favorite author, Charles Martin.” Only problem is I’
It was a normal dirt road. Dusty. Big rocks. Potholes. A trade route. Just an everyday stretch of well-traveled road. Years ago, a man of some account walked it. By all accounts, including his own, he was a good Jew. Obeyed the law. Zealous. A Benjamite, circumcised the 8th day, and a regular in the synagogue. His parents placed him under the instruction of one of the greatest teachers in the history of Israel -- Gamaliel, where he excelled and by the age of 12, he'
He was known as the ‘blind beggar who sat by the city gate.’ That was his calling card. His resume. The best he could do. We don’t know if he was married or had children — I rather doubt it. The only definitives we have for certain are that his father was Timaeus and his name was Bartimaeus and that he lived in Jericho and sat daily by the gate. His story comprises about a paragraph in both Mark’s and Luke’s gospel and if you blink or yawn you’ll miss it.