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January 11. Chuck Stecker. Chuck is the Founder and Executive Director of A Chosen Generation—a Christ-centered ministry that exists to train up leaders for intergenerational ministry. 

As an Army Lieutenant Colonel, Chuck served as a leader, including three years on the Joint Staff in the Pentagon. Combining business experience, twenty-three years of military service and more than thirteen years of full-time ministry, Chuck delivers a clear strategy to equip, train, empower, and release a whole new generation of leaders. These leaders would develop clear pathways to keep young adults actively connected to their churches and to help them develop into the leaders that will impact every area of our society. 

A Chosen Generation is all about intergenerational ministry. Today’s story begins at a “When Men Pray” event at Nashville’s Ryman Auditorium, and it’s all about intergenerational too. 

A godly man resists the temptation to judge another man’s actions. 

Retired Lieutenant Colonels did not cry. And if they ever were to cry, it would not be in a huge public event in the Ryman Auditorium. 

But when the man with the microphone said God would heal men who had never received their father’s blessing, Chuck’s stoicism flew out the arched windows. He hadn’t seen his father in twelve years. Wasn’t sure where—or if—he lived. And Chuck bawled like a little kid. 

It was the When Men Pray conference, and a friend saw Chuck crying. The man hugged Chuck and prayed a father’s blessing over him. 

During the next month, Chuck began to heal, but it was hard to release the poison from years of resentment. 

Then Chuck traveled for ministry, and he carried a letter with a Wichita address—his father’s last known place of residence. On the way home, when Chuck reached Memphis, he had to choose between two routes. One was I 40 through Wichita. Did God really expect Chuck to seek his biological father? 

Chuck was in no mood to be spiritual. “I’m tired, God. I’m going the shortest route home.” Chuck grabbed his Rand McNally map and counted the mileage. Twice. Chuck took I 40. Then turned north on I 35 toward Wichita. 

Finally he approached the place his father lived. Trash, beer cans, and needles littered the street in front of the dilapidated apartment building. His father’s name was on a mailbox. Chuck tugged on the front door. Locked. 

Chuck leaned against his car. “What now, God?” 

Just then, a woman appeared and opened the door from the inside. 

He stood still, kept his hands in sight, and relaxed. The woman was clearly frightened. 

“I’ll stay right where I am, ma’am,” Chuck said. 

She gazed at him. “You’re one of the old man’s boys.” 

What was she talking about? “I’ve never been here before,” he said. 

“You’re one of the old man’s boys,” she said again. “He’s told us for years one of you would come. But it’s been so long, none of us believed him anymore.” 

She flung open the door, ran back into her apartment, and spoke through a slit in her door. “Third apartment on the right.” 

Chuck walked down there. Printed on a grimy piece of tape was his father’s name. 

Chuck knocked. Knocked again. No answer. 

A neighbor stepped from her apartment. She banged on Chuck’s father’s door. “Open up!” 

Finally, the door opened. 

And there he was, bowed over like a baboon and wearing only boxers. 

His father stared at him. “Well, I’ll be damned.” 

Chuck stepped onto a greasy carpet pocked with beer cans. He sat on a broken-down chair. And huge cockroaches scuttled up the wall. 

After an awkward visit, Chuck said he would return in the morning, and he made his escape out to his car. 

But in his hotel room that night, Chuck couldn’t sleep. 

God asked, “What control do you have over your father?” 

“None,” Chuck said. 

“What control do you have over yourself as a son?” 

“That’s what I get to control,” Chuck said. 

“Honor thy father and mother.” 

As a boy, Chuck had to be very careful around his father. If you backed him into a corner, he would coil up like a rattlesnake and strike. 

Chuck wished Scripture said to honor your father unless he was an idiot, a drunk, or a jailbird. 

But it didn’t. 

The Holy Spirit repeatedly asked the same questions and whispered, “Honor thy father and mother.” 

The next morning Chuck returned to his dad’s. On hands and knees on the dirty carpet, Chuck clutched his father’s feet and prayed aloud, “God, forgive me. I have not been the son I should have been. I have resented my father. I have not honored him.” 

His dad didn’t say much. 

With the promise to stay in touch, Chuck left. 

And Chuck kept his word. His father installed a phone to make it easier. Chuck realized no one had taught his father how to love. Yet Chuck had held his dad responsible for what he didn’t know. Based on his own needs, expectations, and desires, Chuck had judged his father. 

Three years later, during one of their visits, Chuck’s dad asked spiritual questions. 

“You have never accepted Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior, have you?” Chuck asked. 

“No,” his dad said. “If that’s why you’re here, that’s not what I’m going to do either.” 

“Dad, heaven and hell are real. I’m not much of a theologian, but I know heaven will be in the presence of God. Hell will be out of God’s presence. For eternity. 

“Someday I’ll be the family patriarch, and I’ll make sure your grandchildren know about Jesus. But if I get to heaven and you’re not there, it won’t be the same without you.” 

His dad sobbed. Then he knelt on the exact spot of carpet where—three years before—Chuck had knelt. Now they knelt  together and cried together. His dad accepted Jesus. 

“There’s a little bit of Pharisee in all of us,” says Chuck. “We hold people to standards we ourselves can’t stand up to.… I judged myself by my good intentions and my dad by his actions.” 

God’s grace changed Chuck—then it changed his dad. 

“We are careful not to judge people by what they seem to be, though we once judged Christ in that way” (2 Corinthians 5:16 CEV). 

How do you measure yourself? Is it how you measure others? A godly man resists the temptation to judge another man’s actions. 

Based on an interview with Chuck Stecker, May 23, 2020. 

Story written by: Shelli Mandeville, https://worthy.life/ 

January 9. Richard Wurmbrand. In his younger years, Wurmbrand  was an atheist. He prayed: 

“God, I know surely that You do not exist. But if perchance You exist, which I contest, it is not my duty to believe in You; it is Your duty to reveal Yourself to me.” 

But in time, Wurmbrand learned the truth about himself, about God, and about Jesus. Not long after that the world turned upside down; politics suddenly made no sense.  

In 1941, Nazis overran a city in Romania and massacred 13,266 Jews and sympathizers, including many Jewish Christians. That’s the world where Wurmbrand was a Christian, a husband, and a pastor. Here’s what happened. 

At times, your only option may be to speak up. Be bold. 

In 1944, when a million Russian troops poured into Romania, Wurmbrand saw it as an opportunity to share the love of Christ. He felt compelled to help the Russian soldiers know who Jesus was. 

Wurmbrand knew the Communist Party had hijacked these men’s minds; they could no longer think for themselves. They were unable to believe in God unless they were ordered to. 

And the Communist takeover was beyond swift. Twenty-three-year-old King Michael the First had been left on his own to deal with the sudden shift of power. There was no time for a propaganda campaign to sway the masses’ attitudes toward Stalin. 

When the Foreign Secretary of the Soviet Union barged into King Michael’s office, he demanded that Communists be given government positions. Young King Michael could not resist. Communists muscled their way into the Romanian government while war-weary American and British forces finished off the Nazis in Europe. 

Once police and military power in Romania had been dismantled, the overthrow was complete. Churches and their leaders were now subject to Communists, who bombarded the people with constant propaganda and intimidation. 

Knowing Romanians had a strong interest in religion, the Communists sought to consolidate power by gaining the support of all the different kinds of religious leaders. In 1945 they held a meeting of four-thousand pastors, priests, and ministers in the Parliament Building at Bucharest. Stalin was the honorary president of this so-called “Congress of Cults.” 

As a pastor, Wurmbrand was required to attend. One by one, ministers, priests, and bishops from various denominations stood and praised the Communist regime, said the Church could co-exist with Communism, and assured their loyalty to its Stalinist rule. 

“Stand up and wash away this shame from the face of Christ,” Wurmbrand’s wife Sabina told him. In her eyes, they were spitting on Jesus. 

“If I do, you will lose your husband,” Wurmbrand said. 

“I don’t wish to have a coward for a husband,” she answered. 

There was no turning back. Wurmbrand stepped up to the podium in front of a packed audience and praised Jesus, proclaiming that God and His Son Jesus Christ demanded their full loyalty. He broadcast live throughout Romania. 

The powers accused Wurmbrand of counter-revolutionary lies, and he spent 14 years behind bars. His wife Sabina was consigned to slave-labor for three years. Wurmbrand was starved, beaten, tortured, whipped, and pressed to betray his brethren. 

“Why don’t you give in? It’s all so futile. You’re only flesh, and you’ll break in the end,” a tormentor asked him. 

But Wurmbrand wouldn’t break. He knew he was more than flesh—he knew he was a child of God. 

Jesus said, “For whosoever will save his life shall lose it: and whosoever will lose his life for my sake shall find it” (Matthew 16:25). 

Have there been times when what you believe about Jesus has demanded you speak up? At times, your only option may be to speak up. Be bold. 

Would You Like to Learn More About This Man? 

On the night Wurmbrand became a Christian, he wrote, “I do not understand everything that has happened to me, but I believe that my whole life, and the life of all His [God’s] children, has been planned by God, down to the smallest detail.” 

“Richard and Sabina Wurmbrand: Founders of Voice of the Martyrs.” March 29, 2016. Plough. https://​www.plough.com/​en/​topics/​faith/​witness/​richard-and-sabina-wurmbrand. 

Voice of the Martyrs. “Tortured for Christ: The cost of discipleship for Richard Wurmbrand.” June 26, 2018. CHRISTIAN TODAY. https://​www.christiantoday.com/​article/​tortured-for-christ-the-cost-of-discipleship-for-richard-wurmbrand/​129834. htm. 

Wurmbrand, Richard. Tortured for Christ. Bartlesville, OK: Living Sacrifice Book Company, 1967. 

“Our Founders.” Accessed September 21, 2020. The Voice of the Martyrs. https://​www.persecution.com/​founders/. 

“Who Was Richard Wurmbrand?” Accessed September 21, 2020. The Voice of the Martyrs. https://​www.torturedforchrist.com/​about/​who-was-richard-wurmbrand/. 

Colón, Peter. “The Story of Richard Wurmbrand.” September/October 2010. ISRAEL MY GLORY. https://​israelmyglory.org/​article/​the-story-of-richard-wurmbrand/. 

January 7. Gus Patterson. Gus had always been an athlete, and this is a man who likes a challenge. In 2017, he won a 5K race, and now he was about to turn 40. Clearly—the time had come to run a half-marathon. 

Gus was all in. The training schedule was intense. And that’s how he liked it. Gus liked to win, and winning demanded many long runs, even if he had to run after he put the kids to bed. He never made excuses. He just did what it took to win. That’s where today’s story begins. 

Run to win, or live to build others up. Choose the better thing. 

For their seventeenth anniversary, Gus and Ruby wanted to do something together—running a half-marathon together would be ideal. 

While Gus’s goal was to win, Ruby’s goal was not to die. 

They trained for three months—running thirteen miles on mostly flat terrain. Gus was killing it. He would hit his goal—to run an eight-minute mile. Ruby was averaging a steady twelve-minute mile. 

Race day was cool, the trail mostly shaded, and Gus ready to run the race of his life. As they started off, Gus saw that Ruby was giving it her all, but the course was much more rigorous than either of them had anticipated. 

The race pamphlet had mentioned “rolling bluffs.” No problem. 

Turned out: “rolling bluffs” is code for steep, sandy hills. It was much harder than the flat terrain they had practiced on. Gus was fine with it, but it was clobbering Ruby. He kept looking back. She was really struggling back there. But he needed to press on. This was his race. 

But he couldn’t abandon her. So he went back and stayed with her until they got to the first water station at the five-mile mark. He would make sure she was strong enough to handle the other eight miles on her own. With eight miles left, he would be able to make up the time. 

Ruby said she knew how important winning this race was for him; he should go ahead. She would wait for him at the aide station. 

But Gus knew Ruby was capable, and he wanted her to see it too. Seeing her gain confidence was worth more than winning any race. 

Through the next 8 miles Gus ran ahead of Ruby and pointed out potential tripping hazards and paced her. Gus ran as fast as he could to the top of a big hill and jumped up and down and cheered, “Come on, Ruby, you got this! You’re almost there!” 

Ruby said she felt as if she were dying and couldn’t understand where Gus had found his super-human strength. He saw that his exuberance encouraged her, but once in a while, she looked a little ticked-off too. 

Every time she wanted to give up, he reminded her how proud of her he was and what a pleasure it was to do this together. 

The more fatigued she got, the more Gus wanted to be there for her. 

He ran back to meet her at the bottom of the hill this time running behind her, “Ruby, you can do this, and I am not going anywhere. We started together; we are finishing together.” 

His voice behind her and the open space ahead gave her the chance to set the pace. Gus knew that was what she needed. He was OK with letting Ruby set the pace. Ruby was always kind of bossy; that’s what had made him fall in love with her. 

Finally, on flat ground and one mile to go Gus pulled beside Ruby and grabbed her hand. But Ruby told Gus, “Finish strong! You go on. I can’t run anymore.” 

Gus—with the patience of Saint Roadrunner, held her hand tighter. “Together, Ruby. We finish together.” 

“This is why I write these things when I am absent, that when I come I may not have to be harsh in my use of authority—the authority the Lord gave me for building you up, not for tearing you down” (2 Corinthians 13:10 NIV). 

Who can you run alongside this week who needs your encouragement? Can you use your strengths to help someone else find theirs? Run to win, or live to build others up. Choose the better thing. 

January 5. David Murrow. Murrow has been a television producer, and in 2002, he produced Sarah Palin’s first TV commercial. 

He’s been in government. In 2009, he announced the incoming governor of Alaska as Sarah Palin stepped down. He’s never been a pastor, but he is driven to find a way to make men comfortable in church, and—to that end—he started “Church for Men.” 

Murrow has also authored three best-selling Christian books—and one of them is about a treasure map. Today’s story is about Murrow’s hunt for that treasure. 

God’s love for a man is often a great mystery until he finds the true treasure. 

More than anything, Murrow was on the lookout for new ways to give men a church where their gifts and skills were used, and they felt comfortable. But when he first heard about a real-life treasure map that could help men connect with Jesus, Murrow was skeptical—at best. 

But mysterious messages, a free trip to Greece, and more questions than answers drew him into the hunt. 

When the clues were added up, it turned out that if Murrow wanted to find the treasure map, he would have to go to Greece and talk with an old monk. So he did. 

On his third day in Greece, at the Monastery, Murrow still didn’t know where this treasure hunt was headed. But as planned, he and a priest-friend met the old monk. The monk claimed he could help Murrow find the treasure, and for Murrow, the treasure was how to do church so that men would get it and feel accepted. 

Eventually, the monk directed his new guests to his car. To Murrow’s way of thinking, the old Greek monk behaved a little individually. 

In the monk’s car, the three men rode through the countryside and talked about Greece, but suddenly the monk swerved off the main road, bumped onto a tiny trail, and slammed the car into park. “Be quiet,” he whispered. 

A black Mercedes had been following them. There it was. In the monk’s car, the men lay low until the Mercedes passed. 

After a few minutes, they started up again, but the engine died. Out of gas. 

Insistent, the monk stayed with the car, gave Murrow and his friend a note in Greek, and sent them on foot to find some gas. 

For thirty minutes, they hiked and finally found a farm, where they met an old farmer—who did not speak English. Even so, Murrow and his friend successfully traded the note for a plastic jug of gasoline. 

They hiked across the uneven ground back to the car. Hot and thirsty and tired. 

But the car and the monk were gone. 

Murrow and his friend searched the entire area. But no monk. No car. And it was getting dark. 

Now, frustrated and a little scared, at least for the monk, the men needed a safe place to sleep. So they hiked back toward the farm. 

But when a pair of bright headlights barreled at them—the same black Mercedes—Murrow grabbed the priest, and they dove into some very scratchy bushes. Quietly, they crawled, inching along the roadside under cover of weeds until they thought it was safe to stand and double-time it back to the farm. 

Finally, the non-English-speaking farmer welcomed them again, fed them, and let them bed down in the rat-infested barn. 

Swamped by the odor of manure, Murrow wished he were anywhere else. Except—of course—in the sinister black Mercedes. 

Come morning, the two men set out for the monastery, and they didn’t look forward to having to report that the poor old monk and his dead car had disappeared. 

About then, drivers of a horse-drawn cart pulled up and offered to help Murrow and his friend. So they hopped in the back among the hay bales. But only minutes later, the same black car appeared and forced the cart to stop. 

Murrow found it hard to breathe. He and the priest buried themselves in the hay, but the two men from the Mercedes dug them out. Said the monk had sent them. 

But the monk had disappeared. Was he even alive? 

Wary, Murrow politely declined the offered ride. They would travel back the hard way, thank you very much. And they did. 

Finally, dragging themselves into the monastery, Murrow found the monk—alive and well. And when the old man asked Murrow to recount the events of the night before, Murrow obliged. 

Fetched gas and hiked back. Monk had disappeared. Hid in ditch. Back to farm. Slept with rats. Rode in hay cart. Discovered by Mercedes guys. Dragged themselves back to the monastery—to find the monk was perfectly fine. 

With patience, the monk revealed that the whole adventure had been an object lesson about how men learn. How they engage. 

He told Murrow that in America, everything is at the fingertips. ‘“In the West, you think that study is the key to discipleship. You listen to sermons. You gather in circles and read the bible. Words go into your brain and are supposed to change your heart. Sometimes this works—but mostly it fails, especially with men.”’ 

In the previous night, Murrow had been stripped of protection and communication and safety. Everything had been out of his control. The monk asked Murrow if it sounded like anyone he knew. 

Murrow drew a blank, so the monk explained. 

“He left his throne in heaven and became utterly powerless,” the old monk said. ‘“He was born in a barn and slept in hay. Men tried to kill him, but he fled to Egypt.”’ 

That old monk was a very good teacher. 

“Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant looking for fine pearls. When he found one of great value, he went away and sold everything he had and bought it” (Matthew 13:45–46 NIV). 

What kind of treasure are you hunting for? God’s love for a man is often a great mystery until he finds the true treasure. 

Murrow, David. The Map. Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2010, pp. 40–72. 

Murrow, David. CHURCH FOR MEN: Calling the Church Back to Men. Accessed August 26, 2020. https://​churchformen.com/. 

Would You Like to Learn More About This Man? 

To read the rest of the treasure hunt, see Murrow’s book: The Map by Thomas Nelson Publishers, 2010. 

Story written by: Abigail Schultz, https://www.instagram.com/abigail_faith65/ 

January 4. Peter Marshall. As a young man in Scotland, Peter believed he had been called to be a missionary, but he didn’t have the education or the money to get it. So he emigrated to the US. “I worked hard for long hours,” he said. “I dug ditches. I wielded spade and shovel. I was unemployed.” 

Peter relocated to Alabama, where he joined a church, became the president of its young people’s group, taught men’s Bible class, and got ready for seminary. 

In seminary, he learned about preaching with a “sanctified imagination.” He explained it to a classmate: “What we need to do is take a passage of Scripture and so carefully and accurately reconstruct the context of it that the scene comes to life. We see it first ourselves. Then we take our listeners to the spot in imagination. We make them see and hear what happened so vividly that the passage will live forever in their minds and hearts.” 

Peter’s preaching did stir hearts. On this date in 1947, he was elected chaplain of the US Senate. 

When obeying God tests our faith, God is always faithful. 

When Peter Marshall was elected chaplain of the US Senate, he had already been praying in front of packed auditoriums for more than fifteen years. 

His spontaneous conversations with God had inspired congregations as much as his word-picture sermons. But—for the convenience of the Senate’s official reporters—this new position required Marshall to write out his prayers ahead of time. 

No more spontaneous conversations with God. How could he be authentic if he had to write out and read his prayers in place of simply talking to God? He didn’t do that with anyone else in his life. 

Marshall knew God had opened this door for him to minister to the country’s leaders, so he had to find a way to work through his discomfort. He put the problem before a respected friend. 

“So, you’re afraid God can’t direct a prayer that has to be composed ahead of delivery and read. Is that it?” his friend challenged. 

Yes. That was the issue. Put like that, it sounded a little lame. 

His friend said, “Let’s ask God to write those prayers through you.” 

Together they prayed and asked God to be the author of the prayers for the benefit of the Senate. 

It didn’t take long for God to answer Marshall. He settled into his routine of writing out his Senate prayer a couple of days ahead of time. 

One morning, Marshall entered the Senate chamber and read his prepared prayer: “Gracious Father, we, Thy children, so often confused, live at cross-purposes in our central aims, and hence we are at cross-purposes with each other,” he began. “Take us by the hand and help us to see things from Thy viewpoint …” 

After he finished and left the chamber, a senator caught him in the corridor and offered an apology for his behavior. 

Marshall had no idea what had sparked the man’s contrition. Only later did he discover that the night before, after heated debate over the nomination of the chairman of the Atomic Energy Commission, this senator and another came close to blows. And on that very next morning, Marshall’s prayer spoke into the current conflict and led to repentance. 

Marshall’s pre-written prayers spoke into immediate situations several more times during his service as chaplain, but they also served another purpose. When he first began opening Senate sessions in prayer, few senators were actually on the floor—or even paying attention—while he was praying. 

But as he continued to believe God was in those typed prayers, Marshall saw a change. Senators chose to be present for the prayer. Pageboys and reporters made a point to be there, too. So did visitors in the gallery. The power of God was evident. 

Marshall continued to pray to his “Chief” as he liked to call God, and God continued to reveal His presence to others and to grow Marshall’s faith. 

“But if any of you lacks wisdom, let him ask of God, who gives to all generously and without reproach, and it will be given to him” (James 1:5 NASB). 

Is there an area of your life in which God is asking you to trust Him by obeying Him, however uncomfortable you feel? When obeying God tests our faith, God is always faithful. 

Rogers, Harold B. “Dr. Peter Marshall Elected Chaplain After Party Fight.” Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.). January 5, 1947. http://​chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/​lccn/​sn83045462/​1947–01–05/​ed-1/​seq-1/. 

Marshall, Catherine. A Man Called Peter: The Story of Peter Marshall. Bronx, NY: Ishi Press International, 1951. 

Hussey, Paul J. “Peter Marshall: Preaching with a Sanctified Imagination.” Accessed July 25, 2020. https://​www.preaching.com/​articles/​past-masters/​peter-marshall-preaching-with-a-sanctified-imagination/. 

January 3. Mark Edge. Mark was a youth pastor and ​assistant pastor for fourteen years and then a pastor for sixteen. On this date in 2017, he made a major career change. He still does weddings and funerals, but he is now a sales rep for ADT Security. Mark was Sales Rep of the Year for 2018 and 2019 out of the Memphis office.  

He attends church, but doesn’t serve in the church any longer. He says, “I am discipling my son. That’s all I do. Go to church, work, try to lead my son to faith and growth in Christ.”  

Look in the mirror, the best and hardest lessons are often learned there. 

Mark was at a retirement party when he spotted Beth from a distance. A pang of guilt stung him. It had been three or four years since he had seen her, and that last memory wasn’t a good one. 

He had been a pastor then. He had followed all the rules, even stood a step or two up on his ministerial high horse. When Beth and her husband came to him for guidance because they were struggling and on the verge of divorce, Mark prayed for them. 

He encouraged them to work things out, and not to give up. But Beth was having none of it. She was done. 

Yet Mark was certain they could salvage things, and it frustrated him that Beth wouldn’t budge. Why couldn’t she try? Why couldn’t she realize she was even a small part of the problem and press through? Mark started to look down on her, and as much as he didn’t mean to, he judged her. 

And she knew it. Beth felt the ugly heft of his judgment, and after Beth and her husband divorced, she left Mark’s church. 

As that darkness of judging people crept into his life, more bleakness descended in Mark’s own marriage. Soon, he ended up in a similar situation—married, but his wife was … done. 

But he was the pastor! How could he talk about that? 

He didn’t; he shared it only with a few close friends for fear others would judge him. 

It was the very thing that had snared him when he had worked with Beth, and now that he thought of it, probably others, too. 

Now Mark was single. Divorced. But also changed. Stripped of all dignity and reputation, he understood the meaning of grace in a way he never had before. In the middle of this time of conviction, God drew Mark close and soothed him. 

Mark felt God’s love and forgiveness, which exposed areas of self-righteousness he hadn’t been aware of, and now he had a full grasp of the truth: we’re all on the same level at the foot of the cross. We all need grace, forgiveness, and love. 

And that’s what Beth had needed years before. Mark should have been a friend; he should have been like Jesus. 

He had failed. 

But now here she was, all these years later. He was no longer a pastor, and he was definitely off his high horse. He had no horse. No pride left. Nothing to lose. He decided to say something to Beth. 

He approached her. “Hey.” They casually greeted each other. 

“I want you to know,” Mark said. “When you were going through your divorce, I wasn’t kind to you, and I know that now. I want you to know I’m very sorry about that.” 

“Thank you.” Beth smiled. “I absolutely accept your apology.” 

It’s not like it had been a fix-all for Mark and that he magically felt like a new man, but after his short conversation with Beth, he walked away a little lighter. It was good for them to see each other as they were, no one better than another, just regular human beings. Broken. Forgiven. 

Coming to this realization was a turning point for Mark—seeing people more like Jesus sees them and loving them more like Jesus loves them, no matter how imperfect they are. 

“The faithful love of the LORD never ends! His mercies never cease. Great is his faithfulness; his mercies begin afresh each morning. I say to myself, ‘The LORD is my inheritance; therefore, I will hope in him,’” (Lamentations 3:22–25 NLT). 

Has darkness crept into any part of your life? Look in the mirror, the best and the hardest lessons are often learned there. 

This story is based on several interviews with Mark Edge, July 2019. 

January 2. Hal Donaldson. On this date in 1994, Hal Donaldson founded Convoy of Hope, a global humanitarian relief organization. 

In 2010, before the earthquake—7.0 on the Richter Scale—Convoy of Hope was already serving 13,000 meals every school day. Within days of the disaster, Convoy brought in a bigger team to do more. By 2019, they were serving meals to 90,000 children. 

In 2015, when an Ebola epidemic tore through West Africa, it devastated families, healthcare, agriculture, education, and employment. Borders closed, and food was scarce. Convoy of Hope provided 4 million meals and partnered with a coalition of 1,700 churches to get them distributed. 

As of 2020, Hal Donaldson is still the CEO of Convoy of Hope, a project that started with a bunch of guys with pickups and good hearts. Here’s how it happened. 

Where you start in life doesn’t have to dictate where you end. 

One August evening, twelve-year-old Hal Donaldson and his two brothers were alone at home and getting ready for bed when the doorbell rang. 

The boys opened the door. 

Two police officers stood on the doorstep, and their eyes looked worried, their mouths serious. Fear zipped through Hal’s chest. The officers stepped inside, sat the boys down, and told them that a drunk driver had hit their parents’ car. 

Dad was dead. 

Hal tried to take it in, but everything was cloudy. In intensive care, Mom was fighting for her life. He and his brothers were all alone in the world. It was overwhelming. 

But minutes later, neighbors and family friends flooded the Donaldson’s front yard. One of the officers asked if anyone would be willing to take the boys for the night. Otherwise, they would end up in the police station. 

A young couple with four kids of their own—Bill and Louvada Davis—took Hal and his brothers in for the night in their small mobile home. 

That one-night sleepover turned into many months of the boys living with the generous family, while Hal’s mom slowly recovered from broken bones and internal injuries. 

In the small mobile home, there weren’t enough beds for all ten people, so they took turns sleeping on the floor. The Davises emptied their savings to provide for three extra children, and Bill worked extra hours at the rock quarry to feed everyone. Louvada spent her days “cooking, cleaning, and folding laundry.” 

After Hal’s mom learned to walk again, she found a job as a mail clerk and rented a place for the family. But there had been no health insurance, so the family lived under the crushing weight of debt of the medical bills. Hal went to school with holes in his shoes and horrendous haircuts and came home to empty cupboards. 

The loss of his dad and the poverty that followed filled Hal with bitterness. But the Davises continued to speak truth into Hal’s life: “Don’t allow the tragedy of your childhood to become a lifelong excuse,” Bill said, “because where you start in life doesn’t have to dictate where you end.” 

Over time, Bill’s words worked their way into Hal’s young heart, and resentment faded. 

Determined to free himself from the ugly poverty monster, Hal studied hard and graduated from San Jose State University with a bachelor’s degree in journalism. He got a job as a journalist and set his sights on earning money, raising a family, and traveling the world. 

But everywhere he went, Hal encountered the poor: an orphaned boy without shoes, a homeless mother clutching her lifeless child, a Vietnam War veteran who had lost his legs. And when Hal saw these people, he couldn’t help but remember the how the Davises had showered him with kindness. Their generosity had embedded itself in Hal’s character. 

They could have offered tears and pity, made excuses, and walked away. Instead, they had acted. 

Inspired by their example, Hal laid down his own excuses. He joined forces with his two brothers and several friends, and together they loaded pickup trucks with groceries and distributed them to poor working families. 

Their work grew into Convoy of Hope—an organization that has now fed and cared for more than eighty-million people. 

“Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland” (Isaiah 43:18–19 NIV). 

What do you need to put behind you so that you can move forward? Where you start in life doesn’t have to dictate where you end. 

Donaldson, Hal, Noonan, K. Your Next 24 Hours: One Day of Kindness Can Change Everything. Grand Rapids, Michigan: Baker Books, 2017. 

Smith, Cory. “2008 12 People You Need to Know: Hal Donaldson.” Posted December 23, 2007. http://​sbj.net/​stories/​2008–12-people-you-need-to-know-hal-donaldson,30357.