Witty Witness

Say what you will about Satan, but he's good at what he does. He's calculating. He's contriving. He's crafty. He attacks us when and where we are most vulnerable . He did this to Christ, and he's done this to me more than a few times in my life. I'm sure if you are being honest, you'd admit he's done the same to you. We learn about Satan's character very early in the New Testament. In Matthew Chapter 4, we read about Satan tempting Jesus in the wilderness. Matthew doesn't simply tell us Jesus was tempted, he sets the stage by telling us Jesus had fasted for forty days and forty nights and Jesus was hungry. Satan tempts Jesus by telling Him to make stones become bread. I bet bread would have hit the spot after 40 days of hunger, but J esus refuses . Personally, if I miss breakfast and lunch, I could be tempted with a snack cake pretty easily by mid afternoon, let alone 40 days without food. Jesus is further tempted by Satan with the promi

Thirty eight miles south of Columbus, Ohio, farm land stretches out as far as the eye can see. There is something really beautiful and peaceful about the stillness of a farm in the evening. With a hard days work done, the tractor and the farmer are finally at rest. I come to this part of the country once a year to visit with a client. My favorite part of the trip, is the quiet drive north up I-71, which carries me through family farms in route from my hotel to the restaurant where I meet my client for dinner. There aren’t as many family farms in this country as there once were. I know Amber takes great pride in the farm that was in her dad’s family for over 150 years in Northeast Michigan. It was situated in the tip of the “thumb,” if you insist on using the hand reference of Michigan geography. My maternal grandparents had a few hundred acres of property in the county where I grew up in East Tennessee. The soil is different in East Tennessee than it is in Michigan, so my grandfat

I can see meeting notes and various legal documents organized into piles neatly on my desk, as I peek through the glass door of my office. With my morning coffee in one hand, and a backpack with after work running clothes hanging from my shoulder, I awkwardly and carefully turn the key with my free hand to open my office door. Today is Monday, and based on the amount of paper sitting on the label for "Monday," my Monday appears to be pretty light. However, I already dread Tuesday. It looks to be a doozy.  My office could be described as neat and organized. Everything has a place. If something were moved, I'd notice. Perhaps it's compensating for a mediocre intellect and a fuzzy memory, but preparation and organization have always been my best friends. I enter reminders and "to-do" notes in my computer calendar like my life depends on it. My greatest fear is losing something or not being prepared. Thinking back on my life, this isn't a new practi

Walking around our house, it's as if Amber's roll of green painter's tape has exploded, spraying bits of small green shrapnel on every wall. The once clean tan walls, which were brand new and freshly painted only three and a half short years ago, are now covered with ripped pieces of green tape, like a child's skin covered in chicken pox. Every piece of green tape marks every blemish on our walls, and each has a story: JB throwing a ball inside the house (despite numerous reminders not to), Mallory "placing" the hamster cage in its usual resting spot in her room...against the wall, Linley dragging her small hands beside her, as she walks down the stairs, still needing some aid with her balance while navigating her way from the second floor to the first. Admittedly, Amber is the most familiar with our house. She's the one responsible for making simple brick, mortar, and drywall a "home" for our family. I know the causes of the wall damage o

"Though she be but little, she is fierce." -William Shakespeare (A Midsummer Night's Dream). I've yet to find a quote that fits my soon to be 7 year old daughter, Mallory Moore, any better than that. Amber and I cling to the hope that this bold, brave, strong, and courageous little girl will use her oversized personality, that admittedly drives us bananas now, for big and amazing things when she is older. It's tough being a parent. The stakes are high. We don't want to screw it up. Our firstborn, JB, despite a health scare at birth, and an outright refusal to sleep through the night for his first year of life, was/is a pretty compliant and obedient kind of kid. He wants to please others and he doesn't like being in trouble. He lives for praise and approval, that's what drives him. He no doubt inherited those qualities from his dad. Mallory on the other hand...could care less what others think. She doesn't need your approval, thank you very m

I have a confession, I love gangster movies. Some of my all time favorites are produced by Martin Scorsese. Perhaps it is an unhealthy and inappropriate fascination with this particular genre, but there is something very appealing about the way in which the characters in these films handle themselves...and others for that matter. It's a how should we say, "no nonsense" kind of approach to life. These guys don't get pushed around or stepped on. Respect is a big deal to them and it's a central theme throughout the movies. In a tough world, these guys are the toughest. I think Gangster movies resonate with many people because we all have to take "stuff" in our lives. Swallowing your pride is often more difficult than the unprepared amateur contestant in a Nathan's hot dog eating contest. In life, we get pushed around, made fun of, talked about, taken advantage of, and we want our revenge. I mentally choked at least 5 people this week alone. The li

She was barely 20 years old when she left the hospital with her newborn son. The December car ride home was no doubt cold and terrifying for the first time mother. Things certainly wouldn't be easy. Married to a head football coach often felt like being a single mother. Practicing the role of single parent would eventually pay off because when her son was only two years old, she and her husband made the title of "single mother" official. She would joke with her adult son many years later about "how they raised each other." Money was tight and things weren't always perfect. However, she never gave up...not on herself, and certainly not on her son. She was 28 years old, lying in her hospital bed, when she learned that her newborn son had suffered a "pulmonary hemorrhage" during a period of observation in the nursery shortly after birth.  The elation of being a first time mother quickly faded, as the doctor explained that her son's conditio

The tears in his eyes pooled at the bottom of his eyelids and he tried his best not to let them spill onto his cheeks. Peeking my head around the net screen in the batting cage, and squinting my eyes to block out the setting sun, I looked at my son holding his bat about 20 feet away. "What's wrong buddy?" "Nothing!" came his quick reply. I met his mom at one of my own baseball games when I was just a few years older than JB is now. Knowing her and our son as well as I do, I know "nothing!" really means "something!" Walking up to him and looking into his clear blue eyes "nothing" became the biggest lie he would tell that day. "I know something is wrong, buddy. What's up?" He could no longer contain the tears that had been bravely dammed up, and they started to stream down his face. Through a cracking voice he mustered, "I was hit in the knee with a baseball." "Warm up time" in 9 year old baseb

MUSIC: It was a requirement at the end of elementary school to choose an instrument and learn to play it. Granted, I've always liked listening to music. Playing music...not so much. God did not give me that gift, not even a little bit. I remember going into the music room in the 5th grade wing of our school, to pick out an instrument. I wanted to play the trumpet, it seemed fun and upbeat. I can't remember the exact reason, but somehow I ended up being assigned the least coolest instrument in the history of musical instruments...the slide trombone. Looking down and seeing the slide trombone in my hand, it was a non-friendship from the start.  The combination of not wanting to play the trombone, and lacking any musical ability to speak of, made for an interesting year. Frankly, I despised the brass torture device so deeply, I refused to learn to "read" music. The slide trombone has a lot of downsides, but one cool thing about that particular instrument is, e

                                                There are few things in life more frustrating than trying to use a leaf blower in heavy winds. Filing taxes, trying to put a diaper on a toddler, and bathing a puppy are a pain, but all a distant second to using a leaf blower in heavy winds. This past weekend it was nice outside and Amber decided to plant flowers in front of our house. Knowing I would only get in the way of her well planned project and not stupid enough to be found on the couch watching baseball should she come in for a water break, I decided to clean up and blow out the garage.  While the kids play outside most afternoons, we often leave the garage door open, which allows grass clippings, leaves, debris, and the occasional bird and neighborhood kids to wonder in. Over time the garage becomes a mess. So, I pulled down the blower off it's designated hook on the garage wall, and I unrolled the hundreds of feet of tangled orange mess that is my extension cord, a