Self-Praise

“Self-praise,” says an ancient adage, “smells bad.” In other words, it stinks up the works. Regardless of how we prepare it, garnish it with little extras, slice and serve it up on our finest silver piece, the odor remains. No amount of seasoning can eliminate the offensive smell. Unlike a good wife, age only makes it worse. It is much like the poisoned rat in the wall—if it isn’t removed the stench becomes increasingly unbearable.

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Staying Alert

Your mind is a muscle. It needs to be stretched to stay sharp. It needs to be prodded and pushed to perform. Let it get idle and lazy on you, and that muscle will become a pitiful mass of flab in an incredibly brief period of time. How can you stretch your mind? What are some good mental exercises that will keep the cobwebs away? I offer three suggestions . . .

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Fearfully and Wonderfully Made

If you are a woman who doubts her value, you’re not alone. May I begin by stating the obvious? I’m not a woman. Nor have I ever wanted to be one! I’m no authority on women. But after 61 years of marriage and almost 50 years of fatherhood to two daughters, I’ve learned a few […]

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The Dark Side of Greatness

One of the Caesars? No. Napoleon? No. Alexander the Great? No. Eisenhower? Patton? MacArthur . . . or some earlier military strategist like Grant or Lee or Pershing? No, none of the above. How about Rockne or Lombardi? No. Or Luther? Calvin? Knox? Wesley? Spurgeon? Again, the answer is no.

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Destination Unknown

Do you know where you are going? The place? Dublin, Ireland. The time? Toward the end of the nineteenth century. The event? A series of blistering attacks on Christianity, especially the “alleged resurrection” of Jesus of Nazareth. The person? Thomas Henry Huxley.

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Rumors

Abraham Lincoln’s coffin was pried open twice. The first occasion was in 1887, twenty-two long years after his assassination. Why? You may be surprised to know it was not to determine if he had died of a bullet fired from John Wilkes Booth’s derringer. Then why? Because a rumor was sweeping the country that his coffin was empty. A select group of witnesses observed that the rumor was totally false, then watched as the casket was resealed with lead.

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Take It Easy

Maybe it’s because I’ve seen so many birthdays. Maybe it’s because I’m a granddad several times over. Or maybe it’s because of a struggling young seminarian I met recently who wishes he had been higher on his parents’ priority list than, say, fifth or sixth. He was hurried and ignored through childhood, then tolerated and misunderstood through adolescence, and finally expected to “be a man” without having been taught how.

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Calling Sin, Sin

There was once a cricket on the loose in my former church. WhA bomb exploded in our nation some years ago. In mid-America, of all places. The fuse was lit first in the mind of Karl Menninger, but its effect was not felt until his pen detonated the blasting cap. Suddenly—without prior warning—BOOM! His book “Whatever Became of Sin” stunned and shocked his colleagues.en things were quiet and still, his wings sang at top volume . . . like at weddings. And funerals. And during long prayers. And very early on Sunday morning before the place started jumpin’ with cars and microphones and organ preludes.

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Tact

Wisely labeled “the saving virtue,” tact graces life like fragrance graces a rose. One whiff erases any memory of the thorns. It’s remarkable how peaceful and pleasant tact can make us. Its major goal is avoiding unnecessary offense, and that alone ought to make us crave it. Its basic function is a keen sense of what to say or do in order to maintain the truth and good relationships, and that alone ought to make us cultivate it. Tact is incessantly appropriate, invariably attractive, incurably appealing, but rare . . . oh, is it rare!

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Tipping

Just last week a waiter informed me that the place where he works has the toughest time getting a full crew to wait tables on Sunday. “We’d all rather work late Friday and Saturday nights week after week than work Sunday afternoons,” he said.

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