I am convinced that every home in America has at least one trampoline, a rowing machine, a treadmill, or a ski-trac exercise apparatus stored away in the garage or some back room somewhere. Strangely, most of them are almost brand new or at least have only a few miles on them. Furthermore, they were all bought the same way: there was this dream, probably prompted by some tv commercial, that came upon you that buying one of those gadgets would firm up your stomach, give an immediate ripple to your abdominal muscles, and turn your present flab into instant buldging brawn. The dream fades quick

We walked by flashlight to the swimming pool the night that Paige White was baptized. There must have been a million stars shining over the pine trees there in the middle of Dry Creek, Louisiana. And we knew that they were not the only eyes watching from heaven. My sixth grade boys who had been so rowdy and carefree all week long suddenly became quiet and reverent, looking around and soaking in every moment. They gathered by the edge of the water along with several other junior high kids and pointed their lights into the middle of the pool. Just minutes before, Paige told me that she wanted

History books tell of many great people. Praise is given to their accomplishments. However, these legacies seldom ever exceed the world of history. The lives these people led are confined on paper, organized in chapters, and bound together as books. Historians and students study them, as stories passed down from generation to generation. In my opinion, those history books forgot someone. Even though her life may not be recorded for the study of students and the praise of historians, there is a legacy that remains burned in my memory. She was one of the greatest women to ever live.

Numbers are not significant by themselves. Their value is determined by what they represent. The number 10 is not important until you know what the number 10 quantifies—perhaps 10 apples, or 10 apple pies, or 10 gallons of Blue Bell to eat with those 10 apple pies. It’s what stands behind the number that makes the number meaningful.

600 is a meaningless number until it’s connected with our upcoming Lectures.

The home as God wold have it is a Christ-centered home, a home where family values exist, where there is devotion to God, and where there is an effort to learn and abide by His word. But in far too many instances, the home as God would have it doesn’t exist. The various roles assigned to the home by God have been blurred to the extent that they are barely visible in many families. Fathers are almost welded to their work; mothers are more interested in their careers than in the exalted position of motherhood; and children are more interested in being popular than in being righteous and r

I grew up in the best neighborhood for which a little boy could wish. A creek ran through the yard perfect for damming up and dipping in during the hot summers. Acres of woods and cow pastures began at the edge of our property teeming with every kind of wildlife and concealing fresh springs, clear creeks, muddy ponds, limestone caves, muscadine vines and blackberry bushes. Hine’s Creek, a little cove off the Tennessee River, was a thirty minute walk—forty-five minutes when chasing a Labrador pup which inevitably strayed into the underbrush in pursuit of some rodent along the way. T

My senior year of college, I preached for a little church in Waller, TX, about 50 miles south of College Station. From September of ‘96 to August of ‘97, Melissa and I drove out there every Sunday and stayed the afternoon with my cousins, Larry and Terre Koenig. Larry’s parents, Laurence and Jean, would usually have us over for lunch after morning services. Sister Jean would fill the table with roast and potatoes, all kinds of vegetables that they grew in their garden, and something sweet for dessert. Without fail, after every meal, Brother Laurence would lean back in his chai

Sometimes our most precious things are overlooked. Health, for instance. We don’t think much about it until we run the risk of losing it; then it becomes very precious. And that’s just one of a lot of things. We tend to take for granted some of the really special things in life. For instance:

The book of Psalms is a collection of prayers, poems, and songs dedicated to Jehovah. While David’s name is attached to almost half of them, other authors include Solomon, Asaph, and Moses. They are rich with imagery and metaphors that help give us a picture of God. I never thought lyrics that didn’t rhyme could be pretty until I studied the Psalms in Marty Pickup’s “Old Testament Poetry” class.

It’s often hard to speak in absolutes. It’s hard to say without qualification that something is the best, the most, the superlative. But sometimes you can. For instance, the gospel is good news. But it is not just good news. It is the good news. In fact, it is the best news. No justification, no qualification is required. With the good news of the gospel, all bad news is bearable. Just as there is a superlative quality to God’s revelation to man, a distinctive excellence ought to be observed in man’s response to God. There are some absolutes tha