Have you ever seen an action movie where the hero and villain are confused? Where the citizens think the villain is responsible for the good, and the hero is responsible for the bad? The vulnerable citizens subject themselves to whomever they think their hero is. What if people today are confused about who the real hero is? The kind of

We were enemies to begin with. I stood on the edge of the porch—front row to the show—bare feet rubbing against smooth planks. I gripped a pink plastic cup with both hands, ready. “Wait, wait! Don’t pour it yet,” my older brother ordered. He sounded like a five-year-old drill sergeant, making me wait to pour my water

What makes a hero? Is it flying? Laser vision? Mind-reading? Is it stature? Tall and handsome, slender and beautiful? Are they born with it? Is it character traits? Is it love? Compassion? Bravery? Perhaps it’s kindness or selflessness? Better yet, perhaps it’s a willingness to stand in the face of anything. In my life, I have had the

Flanders, 1600 A hedgehog square of pike and gun; The Spanish banner hoisted high. The soldiers squint against the sun And spot death’s cloud approaching nigh. A wall of horsemen armed with steel; Their armor gleams with pomp and flare. The horses foam, the riders wheel And, sharklike, circle ‘round the square. A flash of flame, then smoke and

Now I know, Lord, what You were doing, When You placed that love for the words of the world, and the world, Deep within me, woven so tightly into the latticework of my bones; I know what You were doing when You guided my small and eager feet to that library shelf, Under my mother’s unknowing provision, when You

He was the oldest brother, An example to the siblings that were younger, Counseling them with golden advice, In the absence of his drunken father, helping his dying, single mother He grew to be a soldier; He worked his way to Major, A model to followers that strived to be leaders. Positioning himself frontline every battle, He served this country

Without asking for thanks, he works In his quiet, humble way. Without a murmur, he endures The burdens of the day. Without a thought for his own wants, He gives to those in need; And most of all, he spends his time And energy for me. He listens with a caring heart, With kindness in his eye; He feels my

Crouched on a hillside Lies a lone soldier. Eighteen, he claimed to be, A lad of just fifteen. Hated soldiers advance upward; Lone soldier squints and takes aim. Many a day he trained for this— For freedom’s sake, he whispers. A crack, a cry, a crumpled man— Death snatches an enemy of freedom. Lone soldier rejoices not, Yet relief

Psst. Hey. There’s something we need to talk about. Some rumors have been floating around, and I’m trying to set my record straight. Have you ever had anyone lie about you? For centuries people have whispered behind my back about the horrible deeds I’ve done. They say I’m a cold-blooded murderer. They call me a witch.

Alexis Whitlock stepped on the accelerator, tires squealing on the deserted cliffside road. Three hundred feet below the winding asphalt lay the shining waters of the Pacific. Of all the places in the world, she thought, why does it have to be there? She gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles went white. Behind her, a black sedan with tinted

Dustin’s eyes snapped open the second his alarm clock started ringing. In his haste to turn it off, he accidentally smashed the clock. “Darn super strength,” he mumbled, throwing off his sheets. He jumped out of bed, almost tripping over his best friend, Hayden, who had been sleeping on the floor. Hayden woke suddenly, fire shooting out of his

From my first breath, You have been there. And indescribable depths Of love are shown To all of us each day. Your faithfulness is true; Your Christ-like love, sincere As you lead our family through What is unknown With Christ, our Stay. When I don’t understand Nor heed your wise advice, And decide to go my own way, Your