Gasping for air, the old guy with skinny legs trots along the side of the pavement.  Three and a half miles!  Surely he has gone further than that!  His head is spinning, but he thinks back…way back.  It was something over a half-hour ago when he started out on the loop through the little town in which he lives.  He remembers feeling better than he does now.  He remembers the euphoria of stretching and anticipating the ease with which he would make this run.  In his head, he had told himself to start out slow and gradually pick up the pace.  Just as if he had been running a race, he didn’t want to be a “rabbit”, using up his reserves too quickly and running out of energy long before he finished the course he intended to cover.  The plan worked well for awhile.

But, like all plans, he had made changes in his as events unfolded.  Adjustments, he called them in his head.  Yeah, that’s it, adjustments.  Running the first few blocks had felt so good, until he reached the ice cream shop where folks (most of them overweight, he remarked to himself) were gathered outside around picnic tables to enjoy the late evening snacks before them.  Arrogantly, he thought to himself,  “I hope they notice how conscientious I am.  Maybe I should speed up.”  And, he did. 

Rounding the corner, he couldn’t help but notice the folks who sat on their porches or stood in their yards as he ran past. He wondered if perhaps they would think he was not very good at this.  He thought that maybe it would help if he ran faster.  So, he did.

Up ahead of him, a young lady was jogging along the same sidewalk, keeping about the same distance in front for a few blocks.  That wouldn’t do!  He should speed up and pass her!  That’s exactly what he did.  And, he wasn’t even half way around the course he had determined to run.  But now, he was in front of her.  He couldn’t slow down and allow her to pass him up again.  He pushed on, his legs starting to show signs of cramping.

And so it went, for the whole exercise time.  There were people watching…well, probably not, but you never know…and he couldn’t be seen to waver.  Time and again, he wanted to slow down, but someone might see and think poorly of him.  On he went, pushing as fast as he could.  Now, here he was, nearing the end of his run and he was exhausted.  This was the time when he always kicked in the afterburners, speeding along the road near home to jet into the back yard.  He always said the two words in his head as he did it, but not tonight.  Not tonight.  He had nothing left.  The words went unsaid.  And, he walked the last quarter mile, trudging along in defeat.

Finish strong!  The words are imprinted deep inside every one of us.  Finish strong!  I have watched athletes again and again throughout my life; athletes who appear to have used up every ounce of strength they have, only to push one more time, just enough to win the race or make the final touchdown, or reach that final fly ball in the outfield.  The rest of the game doesn’t matter much if you can’t finish strong.  I have also watched on many occasions as ball teams sat on leads they had racked up early in the game.  It’s not a good strategy.  Over and over, to their chagrin, the opposing team had what it took to finish strong, overcoming the deficit which had been built up against them.  And the team sitting on the lead?  They had nothing; no answer to the inner strength that said, “We will not be defeated.  We will not quit!” 

In every single endeavor we will undertake in our lifetimes, there will be the need to finish strong.  We won’t always hit the mark.  In public speaking, if you don’t have a good finish, what you said before your conclusion won’t matter.  The listeners will never remember it.  When you perform music, if you have no endurance left to end the piece, the audience will be left unmoved and unfulfilled by the entire performance.  I have listened as marching bands filled the stadium up with beautiful and spectacularly loud music at the beginning of the halftime performance, only to lose volume, disturbing the air with nothing but “blats” and splattered notes at the end, because the players were exhausted and the “chops” were gone.  To put it mildly, it was not inspiring.  The musicians had amazing talent and ability; they simply didn’t have the fortitude to finish.

Finish strong!  My guess is that you don’t need me to lecture about preparation for the event in which you’re participating.  Practice, training, study?  You know all about those.  They are an essential part of finishing strong, but I’m going to leave those to a different discussion.  I’m hoping that for today, I’ll be able to finish strong myself, without the embarrassment of running out of juice too soon.  With that in mind, I’m going to head for the finish line right about now.

Follow your plan.  Set your course and run it at the pace you know will allow you to finish.  It is possible that folks may criticize if you’re not moving along as quickly as they expect.  More likely, their criticism is only in your head and they won’t notice at all.  That said, they will notice if you drop out, or if you barely stumble across the finish line.

Another man of a certain age spoke with me today about his concerns of doing something in this life worth leaving for the next generation.  All I could tell him is what I’m saying here tonight.  The course behind us is, indeed, behind us and gone beyond recall.  We have the remainder of the course still ahead.  Discouragement and regrets from the past are weights that will slow us down as we get to the point where we need to be “kicking”.  Throw them off!

In my mind’s eye, I can see the runners turning the last corner and heading for the line.  I think that I’ve still got some life left in me.  How about it?

C’mon!  Race you to the end!  Let’s finish strong together.

“I’m strong to the finish, 
‘Cause I eats me spinach.
I’m Popeye the sailor man!”
(“Popeye the Sailor Man” by Sammy Lerner~1933)

“I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, and I have remained faithful.”
(2 Timothy 4:7~NLT)

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2013. All Rights Reserved.

“You take care of it Paul.  I trust you completely.”  I assume that the customer in front of me thought he really meant what he was saying, but those are dangerous words.  Three different people today said almost the exact words to me, as I did business with them.  I want to be proud.

In truth, I am worried.  The trust of a person is a burden which one must bear carefully.  The complete trust of that same person can be a great danger to both the trustee and the trusting.  I would direct your memory to Jim Jones and the so-called “People’s Temple” from the last century.  Absolute trust in a human being will lead to disappointment every time, and in some cases, as then, absolute disaster.  Again and again, trust in men who have demonstrated outwardly that they were trustworthy has been proven to be misplaced, regardless of the evidence which inspired the trust.  Trust is a heavy burden.

What to do?  I have worked for many years to build a good business reputation, as well as a personal one.  What I desire intensely is that people see me as honorable and responsible.  I do, in fact, want them to trust me completely.  Why then, do I balk at being trusted?

I think the problem is that I know who and what I am, deep down.  I am aware of my capabilities, and they are not all honorable, I assure you.  Frequent readers of this column will know that I have stated my desire to be a follower of Jesus, but contrary to popular belief, that desire does not result in instant transformation, at least not of my human traits.  God’s grace does result in immediate reconciliation with Him, but the rest ensues only as we follow His Son.  And, like many of my fellow humans, I’m not as good in that pursuit as it might seem.

The question remains unanswered then.  What to do?  The burden is too much for me.  I know that, sooner or later, I will take advantage of someone who has placed their trust in me or I will fail them miserably.  Perhaps I will just forget that they need me to serve.  My mind isn’t what it once was.  I forget why I go into the next room sometimes.  I might just lose sight of the request which has been made.  I have done it before.  Oh, this trust thing is just too much!  Why don’t they just go find someone else to pin their hopes on?

Perhaps, I have stated my case too strongly.  I don’t want you to believe that I hope people will stop putting faith in me.  I would be devastated to learn that the word on the street is that Paul can’t be trusted.  I have, as I said, spent years in the pursuit of that trust, heavy burden or not.  What I am getting at is this–the suggestion that trust is often a two-way street.  The late U.S. President, Ronald Reagan, put it this way when he spoke of being partners with other nations:  “Trust, but verify.”  Of course, he meant that he didn’t trust the Soviet leader, Mr. Gorbachev, further than he could toss him, but the idea is valid nonetheless.  We trust others, but we help them to be trustworthy.

Isn’t that the way it is supposed to be for us anyway?  The apostle, after whom I was named, suggested that we were to bear each other’s burdens.  Understanding that other cares may have been in mind, the ideal for our corporate life is still that we assist each other to become the people we ought to be.  When we see that our friends are in trouble, we help by reminding, by suggesting, by actually aiding them physically.

I have spoken before of our Creator’s understanding that it was not good for us to be alone.  Perhaps, as much as anything else, He knew that we would have need of assistance to be honorable, to do the right thing, to follow through on our promises.  The Lovely Lady is that assistant for me constantly.  Although the word has been met with vitriolic disrespect over this current era, she is indeed, a helpmeet, helping me to meet my obligations and aiding me in remaining trustworthy.  I ask you.  How is that, in any way, insignificant?  You want to know the truth?  I do the same thing for her. It is not a demeaning position for me or for her.

We need each other.  Not just our spouses, but our friends, our neighbors, and sometimes even the strangers who keep us honest by pushing us to it.  When we are left to our own devices, to face the challenge for ourselves, we often start to believe the flattery.  As people say the words, one of the worst things that can happen is if we accept that we, indeed, are trustworthy.  When we start to give credence to the hype, we are set up for a colossal failure.  Just like that foolish man who built his house on shifting sand, our fall will be great when the temptations and the distractions beat against our shaky structure.  We need reality…in large doses. We get that from people who know us and aren’t afraid to correct and keep us on the straight path.  It’s what friends do for friends.

Of course, it also means that you, my friends, are responsible for me.  Oh, I know that ultimately, every person will answer for his or her own actions, but today we bear the onus together as we walk side by side.  I sort of like the arrangement.

As it turns out, I’m the one trusting you…completely. You won’t disappoint, will you?

“For if any man reputes himself to be something, being nothing, he deceives himself.”
(Galatians 6:3~Darby) 


“There is no better way to thank God for your sight, than by giving a helping hand to someone in the dark.”
(Helen Keller~American author/educator~1880-1968)



© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2013. All Rights Reserved.

“If all your friends jumped off a cliff, would you jump off after them?” 

The boy with the burr cut rolls his eyes.  The red-headed lady is at it again with her tired old saws.  All he wants to do is to go with a few of the boys in his class to the local burger joint for lunch.  The elementary school where he is acquiring an education (of sorts) will allow him to leave the campus if he can finagle a signature out of his mom.  She isn’t such an easy mark for his charm though, having had three older sons from whom to gain experience before his weak attempt.   The young man’s stock argument, “All my friends are going,” is one she has heard many times before, and it draws only the dreaded cliff response from her.  He is frustrated.  As usual, the motorboat starts up.

“But, but, but…what do you mean, jump off a cliff? All we want to do is go to Burger Chef!”  He might as well be arguing with a rock.  The red-head is not going to be budged from her refusal and, with a few muttered words about never getting to do anything, the urchin stomps away.  He just can’t understand…No…he doesn’t want to understand what her words mean, because he might have to admit that she is right.  It will be years later, when he has children of his own, before he will sit and work out the reasoning.  And finally, it will become crystal clear to him.  For now though, he is the odd man out.  All his friends really are going.  He will just have to suffer alone in the cafeteria as they enjoy a trip off campus to the popular hangout.

There will be other (and much worse) instances when he will follow the leader and the pack into places and activities which should have been avoided.  The red-head’s words were said in hopes that those circumstances could be steered clear of later on.  Alas, the heart of the youth is turned to pleasure and not to virtue.  The cliff would be jumped off of in pursuit of the approval of the crowd and the enjoyment of life.  His mother is vindicated, if not satisfied, and the sadder but wiser boy will have to learn his lessons the hard way.  It will take many years for the education to be completed.

Just yesterday the rascal, all grown up now, along with his Lovely Lady, had a chance to see the cliff principle in action again.  It was very nearly fatal (although happily, not for them).  They were traveling to a nearby town on an errand when the event took place.  The traffic light they were coming to was green and the pickup truck in the lane ahead of them was nearly to the signal when an approaching car suddenly turned left in front of it.  That was surprising enough, but since the car beat the truck through the intersection, the couple breathed a sigh of relief.  But, they were shocked to see that the next oncoming car followed the first one across, right into the path of the pickup truck.  Immediately, there was a huge collision and the pickup and car spun around.  The grown up rascal had safely braked their car to a stop, but it seemed certain that there would be injuries in the accident, so he called 911 before getting out and heading to the place where the mangled vehicles had come to a stop.  For a wonder, no one was hurt seriously, but all the parties involved were definitely shaken up.  The young lady who had been driving the car at fault took quite some time to calm down.  After giving a statement to the police, our couple headed back down the highway again, a bit shaken themselves. 

How does this demonstrate the cliff principle, you may ask?  The answer is quite clear.  The first driver who turned in front of the pickup truck was aware of what he was doing.  He saw a break in the traffic and, judging that there was ample space for them to sneak across, sped through the intersection without mishap.  The driver of the second car was completely oblivious to the oncoming traffic, but saw only the tail end of the car before her.  Since she was tailing the other car through the intersection, she met with an entirely different fate.  Following a vehicle ahead blindly puts a driver at tremendous risk, often with calamitous results.  So also, following anyone blindly puts us at risk, regardless of the activity in which we are involved.

Peer pressure is a funny thing. What is it about the words, “C’mon.  It’ll be fun!” that drives all thought of consequences out of our minds?  “Don’t worry.  No one will ever know,” runs a close second.  I can’t begin to communicate the disastrous results I’ve seen, both through personal knowledge and from second-hand reports.  Property has been damaged, arrests made, bodies battered, and relationships permanently broken, to name just a few; all because people follow others without thinking and without objecting.  I watch kids following a strong leader and realize that often it is the followers who pay the price.  The same is true of adults who play the follow-the-leader game, but the price paid is usually much higher and more permanent.

It is almost certainly a discussion you’ve had before and I’ll not spend too many more words on it.  Peer pressure is not always bad.  Many times, it leads to good decisions, as our friends convince us to shape up, to use good judgment where we have erred before.  Often, we benefit from the wisdom of those with whom we associate, especially if we have chosen our companions for the right reasons.  Alas, that is not always the case and frequently, our old pals lose their moral bearings.  For some reason, it is all too common, when that happens, for them to convince their friends to follow them off the path of wisdom and virtue.  Truly, it is said that “misery loves company.”  When morals are jettisoned, the first thing the miscreant wants to do is to convince others to join him or her.  If one believes that a friend has lofty ideals simply because they always have had them in the past, it is easy to veer off of the road into the oncoming traffic of destruction and pain when they do it.  We ourselves must be aware of what is right and what is wrong.  We must be able to refuse to follow even our closest friends if they lead us into questionable activities.  We will be responsible for our own actions, regardless of who urged us down the path.

I’m not a kid anymore, but I still find myself wanting to follow the crowd.  Experience tells me that this is not a wise approach to life.  The blind who follow the blind will come to an obvious and abrupt end.  The cliff of my mother’s tired example is very real and the pit beyond it awaits its victims eagerly.

I’m working at keeping my eyes open and following a trustworthy and faithful Guide.  Even at that, I ask questions frequently and watch for oncoming traffic.  I hope you’ll do the same.  It just makes sense to keep your eyes open.

I’ll be looking for another way down the precipice, thanks!  I’ve been told that it’s not the fall, but the sudden stop that’s the real problem…

“…A blind man cannot guide a blind man, can he?  Will they not both fall into a pit?”
(Luke 6:39b~NASB)

“To map out a course of action and follow it to an end takes courage.”
(Ralph Waldo Emerson~American poet/essayist~1803-1882)

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2013. All Rights Reserved.

His lips hurt.  A lot.  No, he hadn’t been on the receiving end of a knuckle sandwich, as we used to call a fist to the mouth somewhat facetiously.  He had chosen this pain.  In fact, he was actually paying good money for this discomfort.  The fellow was even spending time on a daily basis to insure that it continued.  One might conclude that he had taken leave of his senses.  But, the stubborn young man was determined to see this through.

The newly-wed couple had settled into their little bungalow, a block or so from the university where the young wife was getting her education.  The long-haired young man was busy trying to earn a living, but he was also a horn player and he thought that it was time to move his skills up to the next level.  The instrumental professor at the university and he soon struck up an agreement.  The professor needed an extra horn player in his band and he was willing to take the eager kid on as a student for a reduced price if he would also show up for band practices on the designated days and perform in the concerts. Without hesitation the young man agreed.  He was in!  He had no idea what it would really cost him.

A few weeks later, he was in all right–in pain.  The pain wasn’t from practice.  There was a lot of that, but the agony came from a different source.  The teacher had watched him play for the first few lessons and then suggested that he needed to change his embouchure.  The embouchure (pronounced awm-ba-sure) is the position and movement of the lips in producing the sound of a musical instrument.  The young man was surprised.  He had been playing the horn for almost half of his young life, had performed in honors bands from his region  and had sat second chair in a highly respected band in his state.  Why should he change what he had been doing?  It worked didn’t it?  After a little discussion and a demonstration of the problem and the potential for improvement, he agreed.  It was a major step.

Without going into a lot of unnecessary detail, what he had to do was to move the position of his mouthpiece from one which enabled him to play the high range, but cost him in endurance, to one where he could play the entire range of the horn and also would be able to play for long periods of time without becoming fatigued. The answer was so simple.  Just move the mouthpiece.

A simple thing to say; not so simple to do.  There are not words to describe the frustration nor the physical discomfort which he felt over the next few months as he struggled to relearn his technique.  Then came the final blow.  The university band was performing a piece which included a horn solo.  There was only one other horn player and our young man was certain that with his own newly acquired skills, he would be the obvious choice to play the solo.  The professors in the music department sat to listen to each player one afternoon, as they determined who would play the solo in the upcoming concert.  Our hero was despondent as the panel explained their decision.  “The other player has the high range this solo requires.  Sorry.”  It didn’t help that they complimented him on his beautiful tone.  “If it depended on the tone, you would be the choice, but we need the range this time.”  Nope.  No help.  He was dejected.  He had done everything right!  If he had just left his embouchure alone, he would be playing that solo!  Of that, he was sure.

There was no going back now, though.  The change had been made for better or worse.  It seemed like worse.  But, as he considered the situation, he began to see the positive side.  He had better tone.  Playing the horn is all about tone.  Well…that and playing in tune, but that’s a discussion for another day.  If you could play the high range, you might get the solo, but he had tone–and the prospect of playing the complete range of the horn as he progressed!  Better the whole package down the road than a one-trick-pony here and now!

What’s that?  One-trick-pony?  You know.  You’ve heard of the dog and pony shows, the little circuses that criss-crossed this country in years past.  These low-budget shows would have a number of dogs, trained to do tricks; jumping and climbing, balancing balls, and other equally impressive feats.  Then there was the pony.  It might come in at the end of the show and rear up on its hind legs, walking a step or two while upright…perhaps even hopping…to the delight and amazement of the audience.  The only problem is that if they came to the show again, they would realize that, while the dogs could do a plethora of tricks, the pony had just the one.  It wasn’t nearly as impressive the second or third time.  A one trick pony. 

Do you see the issue?  It is certainly not only performers (either of music or in the circus) who have the problem.  We all tend to become myopic, focusing on the same thing again and again.  You’ve heard politicians who never vary their message; one topic being assured of raising its visage every time they speak.  I’ve known preachers who would invariably come around to the same issue in all their sermons, no matter the passage of the Bible in which they started.  Styles of music, subjects of conversation, even skills in our field of endeavor…all are mediums of choice for the one-trick-pony.  While specialization has its place, it is also the best way I know to become obsolete or, at best, relegated to a niche in the marketplace.  Ask any manufacturer of vinyl records or eight-track tapes.  Examples are easy to find throughout history.

This is true in our spiritual life, as well as in all other aspects of our physical experience.  When we focus inordinately on one area, however important, we tend to lose sight of the larger image.  The Apostle averred to his young protege’ that all of the Word is intended for instruction, and correction, and training.  The result will be a person who is indeed the complete package, thoroughly equipped to do what is necessary.  Not just in one area, but in every facet of their lives.

Many of us are still working on this project.  It is so much easier to pick one area and become an expert in it, but in the long run, we must diversify or become irrelevant.  We rather like the comfort of focusing on one thing and being recognized as the authority for that thing, don’t we?  But if we instead, become students of the full spectrum of what is occurring all about us, we will be able to influence a much larger audience for a much longer time. 

Which will it be for you?  The ponies are certainly more imposing…at first.  But, just one trick, over and over?  Not for me, thanks. I think I’ll be simply another one of the dogs instead.  No headlines, no adulation from the crowds.  Just competence and faithfulness in every regard.  It’ll be hard work and constant training. 

I guess it really is a dog’s life… 

“See how he dances.
See how he loops from side to side.
See how he prances;
The way his hooves just seem to glide.
He’s just a one trick pony (that’s all he is),
But he turns that trick with pride.” 
(from “One Trick Pony” by Paul Simon~American songwriter/singer)


“May the God of peace…equip you with all you need for doing His will.  May He produce in you, through the power of Jesus Christ, every good thing that is pleasing to Him…”
(Hebrews 13:21~NLT)

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2013. All Rights Reserved.

I stepped out of the back door, flashlight in my hand.  The barking of the backyard monsters was quickly silenced, but only momentarily.  As I clicked on the large light source I held, the racket commenced anew.  Observing the general area upon which the dogs were focusing their attention, I focused my light there also.  The powerful three-cell light shone a bright beam, but I still could not see well at all.  Passing through the gate while holding back the excited mutts, I turned and ambled across the street to get a better look at the object of their rancor.  Finally, I saw two glittering spots of luminescence shining back at me from the darkness.  Within seconds, I could make out the body of the cat-sized animal.  I muttered a word of disgust and extinguished the light, bending to pick up a small stone and fling it toward the source of the erstwhile reflective eyes.  The opossum sauntered away through the hedges, barely distressed by my missile. 

I stood and looked at the flashlight I held.  It is a good quality lantern, touted as one of the best on the market.  Why did it not illuminate the repulsive creature from my original vantage point, saving me the trouble of moving near to it before identifying the culprit as just another nocturnal pest?  Its brilliant beam is enough to temporarily blind anyone.  Surely it should make the darkness as bright as day.

My mind went back to another era, many years in the past.  One of my brothers was working as a roughneck, a laborer on an oil rig in the vast empty brush of rural south Texas.  Miles away from any city, these oil rigs were once common sights in that part of the great state.  He wanted to show me where he worked, so I accompanied him on a nighttime trek out into the countryside.  We left the city lights far behind and after many miles, left the traffic of the highway behind also.  We saw no homes along the way; didn’t even see another car after we turned off the highway.  A cloudy, overcast night, there was not even a sliver of moon or the twinkle of stars above us.  No lights were to be seen besides the headlights of our car.  “Watch this,” he said suddenly, braking to a stop.  He turned off the ignition and switched off the headlights of the car.  Pitch black darkness fell.  Amazed, we exited the car and stood near the front bumper.  The darkness was profound.  The only deeper darkness I can remember is what I have since experienced a time or two down below the earth while exploring caves.  To me though, it was darker than I could recall ever having been in to that point in my life.

Suddenly, we heard a sound beside us not far away in the brush, and startled, I jumped for the car door.  “Hold on,” whispered my roughneck brother, pulling a tiny flashlight from his pocket.  In the light which shone from the interior of the car, the single AA cell light he brandished was hardly reassuring.  What was he going to do with that?  “Close the door,” he commanded.  I was not without misgivings, but he seemed confident, so I complied.  He flipped the switch on the flashlight and aimed it into the darkness.  The result was nothing less than astonishing.  In spite of the diminutive size of the light source, we could see every detail of the cactus and mesquite trees next to the dirt road, and then we also saw the two yellow eyes looking back at us for just a moment before the coyote turned tail and fled out of sight.  He had been a little curious about the newcomers to his domain, but he wasn’t staying around with that blazing light focused in his face.  We laughed and after another moment or two, hopped back into the old Ford and headed once again for the bright lights of home.

Back to the present, I stood and gazed disappointedly at my heavy-duty torch (as our British friends know it).  I looked around me.  Lights shone from the windows of my house.  On the corner, a street light shone reassuringly.  Beyond the place I had seen the opossum, the ambient light of a shopping center glowed warmly.  I chuckled.  There was too much light around for my super-duper flashlight to do much good!  What a problem to have.

Tonight, I’m thinking about that again.  You won’t need me to (if you’ll excuse the pun) shed much more light on this subject, will you?  The realization that we must go to dark places so that our light can be seen will be fairly self-evident.  If we stand in the blazing sunlight and shine our puny lights, not much is accomplished, is there?  We have a light inside of us which was put there for two reasons.  The first is to give us light to live by. King David reminds us that it is the Lord who keeps our lamp burning and turns our darkness into light (Psalm 18:28).  But the second reason we possess light is to bring illumination to the darkness that surrounds us.  Just because we live in a place full of light ourselves doesn’t mean that we get to stay there.

I remember a professor who, a number of years ago, spoke to me of the reason he was leaving his position  at the local Christian university for the uncertainty of a job at a state university far away.  “Here, I’m one of many who have a little impact on my students,” he explained.  “There, I’ll be one of very few.  Think of the great influence I can have in that place!”  He died just a few years after going there, but I’m confident that he accomplished his goal of shining brightly in the darkness, even for that short time.  Someday I’ll ask him.

So you see, there is a very good reason to open the gate and leave the safety of our own backyards.  That light you hold was meant to shine in the darkness.  I think I’m going to keep trekking out where it’s still dark.  You?

“Take your candle.  Run to the darkness. Go light your world.”*

“Let your light shine before men so that they will see the good that you do and glorify God in heaven.”
(Matthew 5:16~paraphrased)

“Lighthouses don’t fire cannons to call attention to their shining–they just shine.”
(Dwight L Moody~American evangelist~1837-1899)

* From “Go Light Your World” by Chris Rice. Copyright 1995 BMG Songs, Inc.

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2013. All Rights Reserved.