Stuff I want to remember . . .
Or perhaps you’ve never seen your name honored. And you can’t remember when you heard it spoken with kindness. If so, it may be more difficult for you to believe that God knows your name. But he does. Written on his hand. Spoken by his mouth. Whispered by his lips. Your name. And not only the name you now have, but the name he has in store for you. A new name he will give you . . . but wait, I’m getting ahead of myself. I’ll tell you about your new name in the last chapter. This is just the introduction.
You have one, you know, a song all your own. Each of us does. The only question is, will you play it?
But more than a true story, it’s a common story. It’s a story of a derailed dream. It’s a story of high hopes colliding with harsh realities. Happens to all dreamers. And since all have dreamed, it happens to us all.
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• Nails didn’t hold God to a cross. Love did.
• You’ll give up on yourself before God will.
• Know answered prayer when you see it, and don’t give up when you don’t.
• Flattery is fancy dishonesty.
• The right heart with the wrong creed is better than the right creed with the wrong heart.
• We treat others as we perceive God is treating us.
• Sometimes the most godly thing we can do is take a day off.
• Faith in the future begets power in the present.
• No one is useless to God. No one.
• Conflict is inevitable, but combat is optional.
• You will never forgive anyone more than God has already forgiven you.
• Succeed in what matters.
• You’ll regret opening your mouth. You’ll rarely regret keeping it shut.
• To see sin without grace is despair. To see grace without sin is arrogance. To see them in tandem is conversion.
• Faith is the grit in the soul that puts the dare into dreams.
• God doesn’t keep a clock.
• Never underestimate a gesture of affection.
• When Jesus went home, he left the front door open.
• And to sum it up: As soon as you can, pay your debts.
• As long as you can, give the benefit of the doubt.
• As much as you can, give thanks.
• He’s already given us more than we deserve.
• Preach the gospel. If necessary, use words.
• Sacrilege is to feel guilt for sins forgiven.
• God forgets the past. Imitate him.
• Greed I’ve often regretted. Generosity—never.
• Never miss a chance to read a child a story.
• Pursue forgiveness, not innocence.
• Be doubly kind to the people who bring your food or park your car.
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If money is the gauge of the heart, then this study revealed that money is on the heart of most Americans.
In exchange for ten million dollars:
• 25 percent would abandon their family.
• 25 percent would abandon their church.
• 23 percent would become a prostitute for a week.
• 16 percent would give up their American citizenship.
• 16 percent would leave their spouse.
• 13 percent would put their children up for adoption.
Even more revealing than what Americans would do for ten million dollars is that most would do something. Two-thirds of those polled would agree to at least one—some to several—of the options. The majority, in other words, would not leave the stage empty-handed. They would pay the price to own the wheelbarrow.
Greedy? I wanted to say. You’re building a hut in a swamp and you call it greed? But I didn’t say anything because he was right. Greed is relative.
Greed is not defined by what something costs objectively. It is measured by what it costs you.
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I sit a few feet from a man on death row. Jewish by birth. Tentmaker by trade. Apostle by calling. His days are marked.
I’m curious about what bolsters this man as he nears his execution. So I ask some questions.
• Do you have family, Paul? I have none.
• What about your health? My body is beaten and tired.
• What do you own? I have my parchments. My pen. A cloak.
• And your reputation? Well, it’s not much. I’m a heretic to some, a maverick to others.
• Do you have friends? I do, but even some of them have turned back.
• Any awards? Not on earth.
Then what do you have, Paul? No belongings. No family. Criticized by some. Mocked by others.
What do you have, Paul? What do you have that matters?
I sit back quietly and watch. Paul rolls his hand into a fist. He looks at it. I look at it.
What is he holding? What does he have?
He extends his hand so I can see. As I lean forward, he opens his fingers. I peer at his palm. It’s empty.
I have my faith. It’s all I have. But it’s all I need. I have kept the faith.
Paul leans back against the wall of his cell and smiles.
And I lean back against another and stare into the face of a man who has learned that there is more to life than meets the eye.
For that’s what faith is. Faith is trusting what the eye can’t see.
• Eyes see the prowling lion. Faith sees Daniel’s angel.
• Eyes see storms. Faith sees Noah’s rainbow.
• Eyes see giants. Faith sees Canaan.
• Your eyes see your faults. Your faith sees your Savior.
• Your eyes see your guilt. Your faith sees his blood.
• Your eyes see your grave.
• Your faith sees a city whose builder and maker is God.
• Your eyes look in the mirror and see a sinner, a failure, a promise-breaker.
• But by faith you look in the mirror and see a robed prodigal bearing the ring of grace on your finger and the kiss of your Father on your face.