Sunday morning. My wife and I have guests sitting with us at church: four-year-old Emma and seven-year-old Ava. Both are busy drawing. With a few magical strokes of her pencil, Ava transforms a blue prayer card into a canvas featuring a decidedly happy elephant. On the reverse side of the card, Ava prints her name and identifies the subject of her sketch: “Elofint.” How can you not smile? Young children are notorious for spelling words phonetically or looking at life literally. They also take extraordinary Bible promises at face value, without the slightest doubt. Probing questions here and there—yes—but cynicism…
What Hapened at the Kibbutz
As we step into the blackness of the torched home, my feet crunch over tiny bits of brokenness: broken furniture, broken roof tiles, broken glass. Wires and duct work dangle from the ceiling, while the melted blades of a ceiling fan droop like a sad version of Bugs Bunny. We are in Kibbutz Be'eri, one of twenty or so little communities attacked by the 3,000 Hamas terrorists who besieged Israel on October 7. Omri Kedem was here when the gunmen stormed in that Saturday morning. Hustling into their safe room, the family heard repeated shouts and banging on the door….
Naama’s Story
We are seated in comfortable chairs in a comfortable conference room. But I have rarely been less comfortable. Seated next to me at Jerusalem's Ministry of Foreign Affairs is Dr. Ayelet Levi-Shachar, a woman we have come to interview. She is the mother of a vivacious 19-year-old daughter (a triathlete, no less) named Naama. On October 6, Naama traveled from home to a Kibbutz in southern Israel, where she spent the night. Early Saturday morning that kibbutz was attacked by Hamas. She was hit in the leg with shrapnel. When Naama resisted capture, she was dragged by her hair, thrown…
Electrician Not For Hire
She flipped the switch—but the lights didn’t come on. The day we left for Florida, half of our kitchen lights decided to go on strike. My wife tried exercising the light switches and I checked the breaker box. No evidence of anything gone wrong. I scanned the web for possible causes and fixes. Though I’m no electrician, I knew I could at least buy identical switches and replace the old ones, should they have worn out. This, I did. Alas, we were still in the dark (in more ways than one). That’s when a friend at church…
People of Faith
It’s a phrase that has reached the top of the religiously acceptable food chain: “person of faith.” Online, on television, or in podcasts, you cannot escape the phrase: Did you know the quarterback is a person of faith? That singer is definitely a person of faith. But am I the only one wary of this increasingly popular expression? I'm not trying to pick a fight, but it bugs me. Why? In current American culture, saying your faith got you through is okay. But it is not okay to say that Jesus got you through. We're okay with religion in a fuzzy,…
About Fishing
The wind knocked my hat off, though the Captain—flashing a sly grin—bellowed that we were only using one-third of the Yamaha 250's engine. Eleven-year-old Caleb and I cruised the San Pablo River, Pablo Creek, and St. John’s River—all in search of fish. I smiled, pondering how the disciples might have processed this fishing charter of ours. What would James and John have thought of our fishing rods? Would Judas have stroked his beard in disapproval at our engine's 30-thousand-dollar price tag? Ultimately, we hauled in Trout, Red Fish, and Croakers during that four-hour charter. But not before I was reminded…
Plant Anyway
January is not prime planting season. But we planted anyway. The story has its—ur—roots back in September. That’s when I discovered some odd-looking pods on the sidewalk. Backlit by the early morning sun, these coiled curiosities looked like snakes ready to strike. I learned these are the seed pods of the Honey Locust tree, and for months, they sat on my garage bench. Finally, I decided to plant some of these seeds. But how? You must shred the pod to get to the seeds (a more arduous task than you might think). Online, I read three very different planting strategies….
A Survivor Remembers
Hadas Eilon and her 15-year-old daughter looked forward to a fun weekend at the family kibbutz in southern Israel. The communal farm—a small town of 900–was just three miles east of Gaza. This was the place, the home where Hadas grew up. A red alert sounded on Saturday morning, October 7, so Hadas, her brother, mother, daughter, and niece piled into their concrete-reinforced safe room. That's when texts from their neighbors brought news of the unthinkable. Terrorists had invaded Israel and entered their kibbutz. Designed to withstand rockets, not enemy troops, the safe rooms in these homes had no locks….
Intensive Prayer Unit
We are in the intensive care unit. Attached to eight IV drips is someone we love. A machine helps him breathe. His downward spiral has been fast and furious. But how does a simple fall at home lead to being on life support? In a meeting with the head doctor, she summarizes her medical assessment in plain English: “A lot has gone wrong in a very short span.” Nurses chat just outside our room. Gurneys wheel patients down the hall. Overhead speakers alert doctors to health emergencies. Oddly, if you listen long enough, the sounds of controlled crises act as…
Broken Things
On morning walks after the holidays, I like to smell the different Christmas trees piled out by the curb: Balsam fir, Blue spruce, and Scotch pine. (I'm so crazy about the smell; Diana makes our fake Christmas tree smell like the real deal!). Walking by those curbside trees, I often break off a small sprig and breathe in the fragrance–my feeble attempt at hanging on to Christmas just a bit longer. Interestingly, the pine smells the strongest where the twig is broken off. That arresting aroma is not found in the luxurious green needles. But you cannot escape it at…