365 Christian Men | 365 Christian Men

May 15. Paul White. Paul is an internationally recognized author of Christian nonfiction. He has pastored and taught in several churches and conferences for almost thirty years.

He hosts the Deeper Daily Podcast and talks listeners through the Scriptures. Seeing believers awaken “to the goodness of God’s grace through Jesus is Paul’s greatest passion.” On this date in 1971, young Paul pitched his first Little League Baseball game.

My failures don’t define me; my Father does.

The aroma of fresh-brewed coffee heightened my senses, and I realized Dad must be eating breakfast. Still groggy from the restless night, I managed to dress and stumble into the kitchen. I had to make my plea before my dad’s schedule for the day was set.

Being one of twelve children meant I had a father who worked sixteen-hour days, six-to-seven days a week—just to make ends meet. And the infrequent days he didn’t have to work quickly filled with errands.

He looked up from the table, and I said, “Dad, guess what.” I didn’t wait for an answer. “I’m pitching my first game today.” Most of little-league season, I’ve spent warming up in the pitchers’ box. I’d nearly lost all hope of pitching in a game. But after repeatedly hassling my coach, he gave in.

“That’s great son.”

I hesitated hoping for something more.

Nope.

“Dad, you think you can come to the game?”

“Son, I’m expecting to be called back into work this evening. There’s just no way I can take time this morning to watch a ballgame.”

I said I understood, and I tried to understand, but my ten-year-old heart had just been stomped. I didn’t want my dad to watch a ballgame. I wanted him to watch me.

Besides, what difference did it make if I pitched a no hitter if my dad wasn’t there?

Later, I stepped onto the pitcher’s mound and tried to muster up some enthusiasm. After all, I’d worked all season to get to pitch. But it seemed pointless.

I threw a warm up pitch. And then—leaning up against the fence behind home plate— I saw him. My dad.

My heart raced like a thoroughbred, and beads of salty sweat trickled down the side of my face. I tried to concentrate. It’s the arsenal of throws that separates a good pitcher from a great one. I signaled to the coach I was ready. The batter stepped into the batter’s box. I glanced at my dad for a second and then tried to focus on the batter.

Standing on the mound, with 46 feet between me and my opponent, I pictured my four-finger fastball sizzling across the plate.

Strike one.

I’d mesmerize my opponent and my dad with my curve ball.

Strike two.

With only one strike left to go, I’d take the first batter out of the game with my unpredictable slow-moving knuckleball.

But my first pitch sizzled right into the leg of the batter. I felt a churning in the pit of my stomach as the umpire shouted, “Take your base!”

I tried to play it off as an intentional walk and hoped my dad would think it was a strategic pitch. And I did manage to strike out a batter here and there, but things continued to spiral downward.

By the end of the 4th inning, I had no command of the ball. My arm was at the point of blowing out. To keep me from suffering a severe injury, my coach took me out of the game at the bottom of the 5th.

I sat in the dugout and sulked until the game was over. My team never did regain the lead. I had lost us the game and humiliated myself—in front of my father.

While the other team hooped and hollered, “We’re number one!” I shuffled over to my dad doing all I could to avoid eye contact. The word “failure” like a neon light flashed in my mind. As I fought back the tears, I felt the warm embrace of my father’s arm around my shoulder. “You’ll get ’em next time, Son.”

Looking back on that experience, I realize the importance of seeing myself as the Father sees me.

“He predestined us to adoption as sons through Jesus Christ to Himself, according to the kind intention of His will, to the praise of the glory of His grace, which He freely bestowed on us in the Beloved” (Ephesians 1:5-6 NASB).

Have you ever failed at something important? Is that your whole identity now? My failures don’t define me; my Father does.

This story is based on an interview with Paul White, 2020.

Story read by Nathan Walker

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May 14. Francis Collins. Collins is a physician and geneticist who spearheaded the Human Genome Project, which studied DNA and completed finished sequence of the human DNA instruction book. Collins also discovered the genes associated with a number of diseases. Since 2009, he has been director of the National Institutes of Health and the largest quantity of biomedical research in the world.

He is a member of the National Academy of Medicine and the National Academy of Sciences, was awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom in November 2007, and the National Medal of Science in 2009. Today’s story takes place before Collins was famous.

Believing a lie can blind a man, but accepting the truth can open his eyes.

In the mind of young Dr. Francis Collins, anything that could not be scientifically proven wasn’t worth exploring.

At lunch, Collins listened to some fellow medical students discussing their faith in Jesus.

He shook his head. Nice people, he thought. They’re nice, but crazy.

Normally, he’d have avoided them entirely, but the cafeteria was full that day, and he was lucky to find a seat. He’d have to stick his nose in a book and try to stay out of what he viewed as their silly discussion about church and the Bible.

But when he was working, his patients talked about Jesus, too. And he couldn’t avoid them. Collins believed they were just as crazy as the students in the cafeteria, but he couldn’t deny that these patients had something every sick person desperately wants and needs: hope.

Collins gave one elderly patient a warm smile. She smiled back and squeezed his hand. Studying the woman’s chart, it was clear she didn’t have much time left. Despite all the best treatments, the patient’s age was working against her. But she didn’t appear the least bit bothered by it.

And this wasn’t new. Several of his patients displayed great calm—even when they got news that would have sent others into an emotional tailspin.

There was the cancer patient given only months to live who simply nodded, smiled, and said he was praying for a miracle. There was the cardiac patient—his second heart attack—who confidently told Collins he wasn’t worried, because God was in control.

Collins convinced himself that his patients were kidding themselves. They were delusional; wracked with grief. It was easier to turn to an invisible God than it was to face the truth, he told himself. What he couldn’t understand was why they weren’t angry at God.

But then Collins considered DNA and other aspects of the human body, and there was so much intrinsic design that science alone couldn’t explain.

“It was the fact that there is something instead of nothing. … The fact that the universe seems to be fine-tuned to make complexity possible and therefore life possible. That actually, nature follows these elegant mathematical rules of second-order differential equations that I had solved. Why should that be? Why should nature be like this?

“It seems like there should be a mathematician and a physicist behind all this. Oh my gosh, that sounds like God.”

“Basically, science is the way to uncover valid, trustworthy information about how nature works, about things about the natural world. But if you limit yourself to the kinds of questions that science can ask, you’re leaving out some other things that I think are also pretty important, like why are we here, and what’s the meaning of life, and is there a God? Those are not scientific questions.”

“When I consider your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars, which you have set in place, what is mankind that you are mindful of them, human beings that you care for them?” (Psalm 8:3-4, NIV).

Right now, is God telling you something true you could really embrace? Believing a lie can blind a man, but accepting the truth can open his eyes.

Smith, Samuel. “NIH Director Francis Collins Details His Path to Christ after Living as an Atheist.” The Christian Post, The Christian Post, 31 Mar. 2019 www.christianpost.com/news/nih-director-francis-collins-details-his-path-to-christ-after-living-as-an-atheist.html.

Begley, Sharon. “Francis Collins Talks About Science and Faith.” Newsweek, Newsweek, 1 Aug. 2011,
www.newsweek.com/francis-collins-talks-about-science-and-faith-68851

Story read by Chuck Stecker

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May 13. Doctor Verle Bell. Bell is a psychiatrist and an ordained minister who has served in the US Air Force, in community health clinics, in hospitals, and in private practice. He works with all kinds of patients with all kinds of issues, and encourages them to address all the components of their lives: medical, social, and spiritual.

Bell’s missionary childhood in India enabled him to understand the Bible in a particularly helpful way. As he puts it, the tools described in the Bible are the same he saw in India on a daily basis, from oxen treading grain to women grinding food in their mortars and pestles.

He organizes outreaches through his church, through radio counseling programs, through podcasts, and through his writings, including audio recordings and his book: True Freedom. On this date in 1967, Bell was sent away from India with only $10 in his pocket. This is today’s story.

Nobody else may see what you need, but you’re never invisible to God.

Nine-year-old Verle Bell climbed higher in the tall evergreen tree in India. For him, a kid shipped off to boarding school at four years old, the best place to be was 100 feet up. Sitting in the top of the tree, Verle could read the Bible, compose music, and talk to God. On the ground, it was his job to do everything right. To have no needs. To be invisible. And life below was lonely.

Too soon Verle had to climb down. Today was his birthday, and his parents had sent money to the school for a party. He’d invited about ten kids. When he and the other boys arrived at the celebration, treats were on the table. Verle looked for the adult who would host the party. But there wasn’t one.

It didn’t matter that he was nine years old, probably the shyest kid in school, and had no idea how to help all those kids have fun. It was his job to take care of others, even on his birthday.

After the party, Verle wrote to his parents that it would be better if there were no more birthday parties.

Now seventy, Verle said, “I have had a life of intense loneliness.” His struggle with loneliness was compounded by the misperception that personal needs were irrelevant. All that mattered was the ministry one did. It’s how his parents, who were missionaries, had operated.

As Verle grew up and served others as a psychiatrist, he started with the same mindset. But God confronted the lie and showed him that the person—the one who received help and the one who gave it—was what was important.

As God taught Verle, he helped a lot of people. Still, he says the struggle of his life has been “to believe for myself what I give to everyone else. Sometimes I feel like I’ll get to heaven, and God will say, ‘What are you doing here?’”

But God faithfully shows Verle that He sees him, cares about him, and wants to be with him. “God doesn’t see me only as a useful tool to use. He actually likes me,” Verle said. “It makes me cry.”

Once Verle was returning home from vacation. He’d had fun playing with his grandchildren, but they required a lot of energy, and he was tired. He prepared to board his plane, but the flight was canceled. He tried to get on the next flight home, but that plane was full. It looked like he’d be up all night—with three hours to get to work.

Verle thought about how Christians are called the bride of Christ. “I’m your bride, right?” he prayed. “If my bride was stuck in the middle of nowhere, and I had the resources, I’d get her home.” He paused. He knew he was whining. “I’m being silly, Lord. Please give me strength.”

Suddenly Verle’s name was called, and he got on the plane. It was a defining moment—a reminder that Verle was never alone. “The Lord counts the hairs on my head,” said Verle. “When I see that… I am helped.”

Jesus said, “Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? Yet not one of them is forgotten by God. Indeed, the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows,” (Luke 12:6–8, NIV).

Next time you struggle with loneliness, ask God to help you believe you are not forgotten by Him. Nobody else may see what you need, but you’re never invisible to God.

Bell, Verle. “A Psychiatrist’s Take on the Bible.” Podcast. https://www.listennotes.com/podcasts/a-psychiatrists-take-on-the-bible-verle-70oOrPbIQnZ/.

blog. Accessed August 8, 2020.https://verlebellmd.com/2020/04/02/welcome/.

Based on an interview with Dr. Verle Bell by Paula Moldenhauer.
Visit his blog: https://verlebellmd.com/2019/05/28/it-is-i/ For his Youtube presentation, “Taking Charge of Your Mental Well-being,” visit https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uX1gYB1MHQM

Story read by Nathan Walker

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May 12. Count Nicolaus von Zinzendorf. Zinzendorf was a man out of step with his own time, but in step with God’s heart. Like Luther before him, Zinzendorf was a German reformer, with a heart to correct a wrong direction he thought the church was taking.

Unlike Luther, though, the church that Zinzendorf was co ncerned about was the Lutheran Church itself. Protestantism was about 200 years old when Zinzendorf offered land and support to establish a small community of oppressed Christians. He hoped that this community would be a model for other “little churches within the [Lutheran] Church,” and that each little church would contribute toward the spiritual health of the whole.

But Zinzendorf’s beliefs and practices antagonized the aristocracy, the town guilds, and the Lutheran church. Eventually, the government banished him from his own estate. Though, eleven years later, they rescinded his banishment.

He had an ecumenical vision for the church, long before ecumenism was a watchword. He rejected certain Enlightenment principles because he believed that Christianity should be a “religion of the heart” rather than a search for pure doctrine, and this belief led him to tolerate doctrinal differences. His heart led him to send missionaries around the globe 60 years before the modern mission movement started. On this date in 1727, Zinzendorf began a prayer movement that lasted for the next 100 years. Here’s his story.

Evil can seem overwhelming, but one faithful man can turn the tide.

When Christian VI was about to be crowned King of Denmark, and the Royalty and the elite traveled to Copenhagen to celebrate, Count Zinzendorf arrived.

The palace—full of light and food and flowers—resounded with polite conversation and civilized laughter.

During the festivities, Zinzendorf—“a lover of Jesus, and a friend of man”—got involved in a conversation with a slave from St. Thomas who had accompanied his master to the coronation.

Anthony Ulrich, the slave, seized the opportunity to tell Count Zinzendorf about the horrific life his people were enduring in St. Thomas—a small island, which had become a slave market under Danish rule. And here was Zinzendorf celebrating the coronation of the new King of the Danes.

Ulrich and Zinzendorf discovered they were both Christians, and as Ulrich poured out his heart about the desperate need for the Gospel on the island of his ancestors, Zinzendorf was deeply moved. But these islands had been under European control a long time. How could it be they hadn’t already heard the Gospel?

Zinzendorf returned to his estate, and God was already at work, preparing an answer to the prayers of the oppressed slaves in St. Thomas, who had not yet heard of the hope of Christ.

On a small parcel of his own land, the Count had offered refuge to a community of Christians, who’d escaped religious persecution in nearby Moravia. Zinzendorf had grown to love these Moravian refugees. They understood the pain of injustice, the power of prayer, and the mandate that “the evangelization of the world was an imperative obligation for the living Church.” They knew Jesus’ command to go and make disciples of the whole world was a “must-do.”

Zinzendorf went straight to his Moravian brothers and told them about the talk he’d had with the Christian slave from St. Thomas. With passion, the Count described the atrocities that Ulrich and his people were enduring as slaves, and how the Count was convinced that the only answer to the tragic realities in St. Thomas was for others who knew Christ to bring them the hope of the Gospel.

Two Moravian refugees, Leonard Dober and Tobias Leopold, were so moved by Zinzendorf’s words that they decided to leave their lives in Herrnhut and commit to take the hope of Christ to the slaves of St. Thomas.

“Now to Him who is able to do infinitely more than all we ask or imagine, according to His power that is at work within us, to Him be the glory in the Church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, forever and ever, Amen,” (Ephesians 3:20-21, BSB).

How can you use what God has placed in your hands to impact the needs of those around you? Evil can seem overwhelming, but one faithful man can turn the tide.

Lindt, Gillian. “Nikolaus Ludwig, Count von Zinzendorf: German Religious Leader.” Encyclopedia Britannica. Encyclopediabritannica.com. Accessed August 8, 2020.
https://www.britannica.com/biography/Nikolaus-Ludwig-Graf-von-Zinzendorf.

“Nikolaus von Zinzendorf: Christ-Centered Moravian ‘Brother’.” Christianity Today. Christianitytoday.com. Accessed August 8, 2020.
https://www.christianitytoday.com/history/people/denominationalfounders/nikolaus-von-zinzendorf.html.
https://howlingpixel.com/i-en/Christian_VI_of_Denmark
https://www.oneforisrael.org/bible-based-teaching-from-israel/zinzendorf-the-messianic-trailblazer/
https://www.christianitytoday.com/history/people/denominationalfounders/nikolaus-von-zinzendorf.html
http://www.moravians.net/joomla/about-us/34-moravian-moments/67-moravian-moment-4

Story read by Daniel Carpenter
Story written by John Mandeville, https://www.johnmandeville.com/

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May 11. John Wimber. Prior to his conversion, John was part of a Los Angeles musical group called the Paramours, who later became the Righteous Brothers. But his life then was anything but righteous. He described himself as a beer-guzzler, a drug-abuser, and a chain smoker.

After his conversion in a Quaker church, John became best known for his leadership in the Vineyard churches, churches with both evangelical and charismatic roots.

Between his conversion and his tenure at the Vineyard, John led multiple Bible studies and taught at a seminary. In 1977, John planted the Calvary Chapel of Yorba Linda. On this date in 1980, the Holy Spirit fell on Calvary Chapel. In 1982, Calvary Chapel was renamed Anaheim Vineyard, and it became the flagship church of the Vineyard movement, a movement that spread first across the US, and then across the globe. Here’s his story.

Christ calls us to die, so we can live.

On his knees, John Wimber scrubbed the oil residue from the inside of another barrel.

It had only been a few months since he was John Wimber—the accomplished musician, known for touring the Las Vegas nightclub circuit in various show bands, his successful arrangements, and for his role in the creation of the The Righteous Brothers.

Now, he was John Wimber, the man who worked at a manufacturing plant and cleaned oil from the inside of used barrels.

One day, an old friend of John’s from the music business heard that he was working at this manufacturing plant and decided to pay him a visit. Everything John touched seemed to turn to gold. So expecting John to be climbing the corporate ladder, the friend arrived and asked for directions to John’s office.

The visitor followed the directions to the back, behind the plant. Certain he had taken a wrong turn, he looked around for help and found an employee bending over, cleaning out an oil drum. Again, the visitor asked for directions to John Wimber’s office.

“This is my office,” John said.

The man hadn’t recognized his friend beneath the layer of oil on his face. “What are you doing, man? Have you lost your mind?”

“Yes,” John said. “I have lost my mind, and I don’t believe I’ll ever find it again.”

Months earlier, John was sprawled out on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably as he’d encountered the love and forgiveness of Christ. It was there, face-first on the ground, that he determined to spend the rest of his life living for Christ, no matter how much it cost him.

Then John’s pastor taught on Matthew 13:45-46. “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” (NIV).

John knew he had found the pearl of great value in his new relationship with Jesus Christ, but he wondered how much of his life he really had to be willing to sell for it.

John decided to pray about this question, and the Lord showed John that he had become too preoccupied with his lucrative musical career and the prestige it offered him. John realized that if he really wanted to put Christ first in his life, he had to be willing to sacrifice anything that he valued more than his new relationship with Christ.

Shortly after, John quit his job and let all his contracts expire, which effectively ended his musical career. Then he accepted the only non-musical job he could find: a thankless job at the oily manufacturing plant. Even though this sacrifice cut to the depths of John’s pride as a man, he knew that God was with him.

About this season, John said, “If God’s got me nailed to this cross for my good, I’m not going to climb down off the cross and wreck the whole purpose of this painful experience. I’ll just go through it, until he’s done with me.”

“I’m change in his pocket.” Wimber would often say, “He can spend me anyway he wants to.”

Where is Jesus calling you to step out in faith and rely on Him? Do you trust that Jesus has the best intentions for you? Christ calls us to die, so we can live.

“History and Legacy.” Vineyard USA. Accessed August 8, 2020 https://vineyardusa.org/about/history/
“John Wimber.” Vineyard USA. Accessed August 8, 2020. https://vineyardusa.org/about/john-wimber/
Wimber, Carol. John Wimber: The Way It Was. Hodder & Stoughton, 1999, p 71.
“John Wimber.” Vineyard USA vineyardusa.org/about/john-wimber/.

Story read by Chuck Stecker

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May 10. Father Damien. A young man named Pamphille prepared for ministry and intended to serve in Hawaii, but when the time came, he was who was too ill to go. His younger brother went to serve in Hawaii in Pamphille’s stead. That younger brother came to be known as Father Damien.

When he heard about the miserable condition of lepers on the island of Molokai, he volunteered to serve there. And he spent the next eight years trying to get permission to go to Molokai and ministering on the big island of Hawaii. On this date in 1873, Father Damien arrived at the leper colony of Kalaupapa on Molokai.

For the next sixteen years, he lived among the lepers and provided spiritual, emotional, and physical comfort.

While on the island, Father Damien founded schools, orphanages, bands, and choirs. He improved food and water supplies, developed better housing conditions, and planted trees. In 1884, Father Damien contracted leprosy, and he died from it in five years later. This is his story.

Whatever you’ve got to give, give it freely. Give it often. Give it all.

In 1866, the Hawaiian government forced everyone with leprosy to move to the remote island Molokai. The place became a colony of lepers, forgotten and herded together like cattle with Mad Cow Disease.

Life on the island was thick with hopelessness. The people suffering from this nerve-killing disease knew death would take them, so morality just didn’t matter. The island turned lawless and brutal. The strong overpowered the weak, and women and children were often horribly mistreated.

Into this abyss of suffering, Father Damien wanted to serve. He’d already spent nine years in Hawaii trying to get permission before he was finally allowed to go to Molokai.

And by the time he arrived, things had gotten so bad that all the men and women with leprosy thought of themselves as less than human. They believed they weren’t worthy of love.

Father Damien began to give the lepers all he had.

At first, he looked down on the lepers, too. But he soon discovered that a leper’s awful self-concept could be changed. These people, who nobody would dare touch, needed Father Damien’s healing hand.

He walked past the already dead—rotting bodies on the ground that gave off a repulsive order. And he realized that for the lepers to have dignity in their lives, they had to have dignity in their deaths. So, he established a decent cemetery and burial procedures.

Over time, he talked about the lepers he worked with as “his sons and daughters.” Father Damien became part of their community. He touched the lepers often, even though his supervisors in the church told him not to. He hugged his sons and daughters and kissed them. He bathed their wounds. He put his thumb on their foreheads and blessed them. Father Damien knew to touch their souls, he had to touch their bodies.

One day, Father Damien filled a bucket with hot water to wash his feet. When he lowered his feet into the water, he felt no heat. He knew this meant he had contracted the disease. In one of his last letters to his brother in Europe, he wrote, “I make myself a leper with the lepers to gain all to Jesus Christ. That is why, in preaching, I say ‘we lepers’…”

“Therefore, I urge you, brothers and sisters, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God – this is your true and proper worship” (Romans 12:1 NIV).

Here’s a challenge for you: what can you do to offer God your body as a living sacrifice today? Whatever you’ve got to give, give it freely. Give it often. Give it all.

The Editors of Encyclopedia Britannica. “St. Damien of Molokai.” Encyclopedia Britannica. Encyclopedia Britannica.com. April 11, 2020 https://www.britannica.com/biography/Saint-Damien-of-Molokai.

“Father Damien.” National Park Service. Accessed August 7, 2020.
https://www.nps.gov/kala/learn/historyculture/damien.htm.
http://www.nps.gov/kala/learn/historyculture/damien.htm
https://www.catholicworldreport.com/2016/05/04/the-suffering-and-faith-of-saint-damien-of-molokai/

Story read by Blake Mattocks

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May 9. Derek Carr. Derek played high-school football in Texas and California, and he received a scholarship to play college football at California State University at Fresno, where he won numerous awards.

On this date in 2014, Derek was drafted into the NFL by the Oakland Raiders. He was the first rookie quarterback to start a season opener for the Raiders. Here’s his story.

Saying you’re sorry can heal the wounded; showing you’re sorry can change a life.

“You’re not the man I thought you were.” Those words—more than any others—changed Derek’s life. Keep in mind, this is a man who has heard his name after the phrase: “With the 36th overall pick in the NFL draft, the Oakland Raiders have selected….”

While at Fresno State, Derek had lived the proverbial Big Man on Campus life. As his talents rose on the field, the demand for his attention rose off the field. Parties. Clubs. Girls. Everyone wanted some of Derek’s time. And he was more than happy to give it.

He spent his days talking about how important his faith in God was and how Jesus had changed his life. But his nights were filled living in the opposite direction.

Heather, a friend who had just recently become more than a friend and would one day become his wife, remembers that time. “He would say one thing but act the opposite way,” she said. “He was talking about God and how much he loved God, and then I would see him going to the parties, hanging out with girls.”

After she’d seen enough of Derek’s double life, she wrote him a letter—a page and a half of describing the behavior she saw and begging for a change. In it, she told him, “You’re not the man I thought you were.”

“That’s what God used to grab my attention to live for him,” Derek said. “After living both ways…I’ll never go back.” From that moment on, fueled with the kind of determination he once reserved for football, Derek hurled himself down a path to make things right.

He found Heather and begged for her forgiveness. With tear-stained cheeks, he thanked her for caring enough to be honest with him and wanting the best for him.

Once that relationship was healed, he turned his attention to the group of men who’d been put under his leadership, his teammates. Sitting in the locker room in Oxford, Mississippi, minutes before a big game against the Ole Miss Rebels, the entire Fresno State Bulldogs were focusing in on the game that lay ahead. That is, everyone but Derek. He only had one thing on his mind. Confession.

He stood and gathered the attention of his teammates. He spoke about foolish choices. Being a Christian who wasn’t living like one. Failures he wished he could take back. He admitted all his mistakes and humbled himself before the team and asked for their forgiveness. He finished his speech by echoing Paul’s words from 1 Corinthians, “I am a Christian. Watch how I live my life now.”

“Therefore, confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed” (James 5:16 NIV).

Who do you need to ask for forgiveness today? Don’t waste any more time. Do it now. Saying you’re sorry can heal the wounded; showing you’re sorry can change a life.

“Derek Carr.” The Famous People. Accessed August 6, 2020.
https://www.thefamouspeople.com/profiles/derek-Derek-15575.php

Derek Carr. Faith. Family. Football. Accessed August 6, 2020. http://derekDerekqb.com/story.php

Ellsworth, Tim. The Baptist Press. Southern Baptist Convention. June 27, 2017.

Galvaiz, Anthony. The Fresno Bee. Fresno, CA. August 27, 2017.

Story read by Nathan Walker

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May 8. Benjamin Breckinridge Warfield. Warfield was one of the greatest American theologians of the late-nineteenth and early-twentieth centuries. His education spanned two continents, and he could have chosen to teach and travel extensively across the US and throughout Europe, but he chose instead to remain close to home to care for his invalid wife. This decision proved to benefit the church at large, as Warfield penned “a steady stream of articles, reviews, lectures, collections of sermons, and monographs…”

On this date in 1875, after he had spent two years as a student at Princeton, Warfield was licensed to preach. He received his divinity degree a year later.

He became the editor of the Princeton Theological Review and taught at Western Theological Seminary and then at Princeton. Today’s story is set in Warfield’s classroom.

When you’re in a position of power, protect the intimidated.

The commotion of chatter filled Professor Warfield’s lecture hall, and the next class of students quickly made their way to their seats eager to hear Warfield lecture. The professor’s unparalleled intellectual prowess spanned the world of theology, and his agile mind lined up scientific facts with faith.

As the clock struck the top of the hour, Warfield called the lecture hall to order. This collegiate classroom, which had been described as “his domain,” fell immediately silent. In his typically deliberate voice, he greeted the students warmly, and he briefly outlined the agenda. Then he glanced down the student roster and called the first young scholar forward for the customary before-lecture quiz on the assigned reading, which dealt with a question. Do miracles still happen?

The student stood and strode to the front of the room, the leather heels of his congress boots clicking rhythmically across the hardwood floor. As the young man approached, Warfield asked the first question.

The student answered, and Warfield posed another question.

The student paused, then thoughtfully replied to the Professor with his best answer. Yet the longer he spoke, the more his flawed logic revealed a thread of confusion—even doubt—about the meaning of what he’d read. He’d let his understanding of the material be influenced by his own opinion about whether miracles still happen.

With a series of nods, Warfield affirmed the young student and patiently waited for him to finish. With a twinkle in his eye and a knowing smile, he posed another question, his words forming as if they walked on velvet.

The overly confident student floundered, now obviously aware of his problematic answer, and he blushed. One by one his fellow students across the lecture hall leaned in, waiting to see what would happen next.

The student on the hot-spot stammered, shuffled his feet, and hem-and-hawed his way firmly into a conversational corner. The lecture hall was silent.

Finally, Warfield spoke. In the kind, corrective, and inescapably accurate way he always spoke, he said, “Gentlemen, I like the supernatural.” Now he turned and to the entire class.

With a wink and a chuckle, Warfield began shoring up the shortcomings in the young scholar’s thinking, which was rooted in his opinions rather than in Scripture. Warfield guided his students back to the eternal truths he had staked his life and scholarly reputation on:

All of Scripture is inspired by God

It authoritatively exists without need of any additional validation by human opinion or any scientific fact

As the living Word of God, Scripture stands alone, without qualification, as unique among all texts, for all time

By these definitions, the Scriptures are supernatural and miraculous indeed

Warfield paused for a moment to let his words sink in, turned to the quizee, and asked, “Is there any question you would like to ask?”

The student shook his head no. His look of confusion and embarrassment was replaced by a broad smile.

Professor Warfield then turned to the class, as he did at the end of every student’s quiz, and asked, “Has anyone a question?”

“Lead me in your truth and teach me, for you are the God of my salvation,” (Psalm 25:5, ESV).

How could you allow the eternal truth and reliability of God’s Word to impact an area of misbelief in your life today? When you’re in a position of power, protect the intimidated.

“B. B. Warfield.” Banner of Truth. Baneroftruth.org. Accessed August 5, 2020 https://banneroftruth.org/us/about/banner-authors/b-b-warfield/

“B.B. Warfield.” Theopedia. Accessed August 5, 2020.https://www.theopedia.com/bb-warfield.

Waugh, Barry. “Benjamin Breckinridge Warfield.” The Southern Presbyterian Review. Digitization Project:

Author Biography. Accessed August 5, 2020.

https://www.pcahistory.org/HCLibrary/periodicals/spr/bios/warfield.html.

https://www.monergism.com/sermons-and-essays-works-b-b-warfield

https://www.monergism.com/thethreshold/sdg/warfield/Biblical_Doctrines_-_B_B_Warfield.pdf

https://www.monergism.com/sermons-and-essays-works-b-b-warfield

https://img0.etsystatic.com/038/0/5495306/il_570xN.540671698_eln6.jpg

https://www.presbyteriansofthepast.com/2014/12/25/b-b-warfield/

http://bbwarfield.com/

Story read by Daniel Carpenter
Story written by Shelli Mandeville https://worthy.life/

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May 7. Charlie Plys. On this date in 2016, Charlie started a new job at a golf course, and that job provides the setting for today’s story.

You don’t always need the right answer; sometimes you just need to listen.

At the golf course in Minnesota one Monday afternoon, Charlie Plys and his coworker Thomas were bartending. Generally speaking, bartenders can be good listeners, and Charlie was exceptional; he listened with purpose.

“I’m done with the church. I’m done with God,” Thomas said to the other coworkers around him.

This line of conversation caught Charlie’s ear. He, too, had been hurt by the church—a church he’d been deeply involved with for many years, even employed at. And the sting still lingered.

Charlie knew what it was like to not be heard, and he also knew what it was like for someone to listen him and to value what he had to say. He’d experienced both sides of this scenario and learned a valuable lesson—men are not God. God was different from man.

God was good.

“Done with God forever, huh?” Charlie wiped the counter. “How’s that workin’ out for ya?”

Thomas had gone through addiction and overcome it. He was a winner in a huge battle. But today, he felt hurt. “I’m done,” he said. “I don’t need to be looked down on when I go to church because of what I’ve been through. I don’t need to be preached at and told how bad I am. I already know that.”

“You’re right,” Charlie said. These ideas were familiar to Charlie. “What you need is some hope.” What he also needed was a listening ear, and someone to help him see that man does not equal God.

Over the next many weeks, Charlie and Thomas talked a lot. Charlie soon discovered that Thomas’s two adult kids were also struggling, even getting into the same tough lifestyle Thomas had just escaped.

“Do you want your kids to be done with God, too? Like you are?” Charlie asked. “If they’re struggling like you say they are, you might want to encourage them to move toward Him, not away from Him.”

Thomas shrugged, obviously unsure if he could trust God or not.

“What are your kids’ names?” Charlie asked. “I’d like to write their names down and pray for them.”

Thomas looked surprised. “You’d do that?”

“I would.”

And he did. Charlie wrote their names on a sticky note and put them near his computer, and every time he looked at them, he said a few simple prayers over Thomas’s kids. Every single day.

Over time, Thomas talked; Charlie listened and kept reminding Thomas that Jesus can be a true friend, someone he can trust, and someone who won’t look down on him because of the things he’d done in the past.

And over time, Thomas changed: He went from giving up on God and church, to being willing to give them both another try.

Within a year of their first conversation, Thomas got a new job and moved away, but he left with a willingness to try again with God. He even said that after his move, he was going to find a new church.

“God’s way is perfect. All the Lord’s promises prove true. He is a shield for all who look to him for protection,” (Psalm 18:30, NLT).

Have you ever been allowed to be a listener for someone who needed to talk? You don’t always need the right answer; sometimes you just need to listen.

Charlie Plys’s story is based on interviews in July and August, 2019.

Story read by Joel Carpenter

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May 6. Milton Hershey. When Hershey was 26, he was broke. But eight years later, he sold his caramel-making company for a million dollars and had a town named after himself.

He founded The Hershey Chocolate Company, and in 1907 he created the Hershey Kiss. During World War II, Hershey’s machines were switched over to produce Ration D Bars for the military—chocolate candy that wouldn’t melt in a pack and could keep a person going for a day.

Now—every day—more than 60 million Hershey’s Kisses are produced. Today’s story lets us in on the kind of man Hershey was.

Live a life that matters, or waste it on things that don’t.

Milton Hershey and his wife Kitty sat quietly in a well-appointed hotel room in Germany disappointed that a second trip to Europe hadn’t yielded a cure for Kitty’s worsening neurological disorder. She’d always be the love of his life. But now some days were more challenging than others, and walking required two canes. Some days she became so weak she was completely consigned to bed.

Now, here in the hotel, who knew how much time Milton and Kitty had to share their blessings? He told her, “I think it would be a sin to die a rich man,” he said. The words seemed to reverberate in the room as if they’d been ringing in Milton’s conscience for some time. Great wealth brought great responsibility.

Milton wanted to leave a lasting impact on the world for good. He hoped Kitty would agree. Perhaps the words of Jesus came to mind, “For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?” (Mark 8:36, KJV).

Milton’s wealth accumulated over the years producing caramels and milk-chocolate bars. But riches hadn’t changed him. He’d been born among God-fearing Mennonites on a farm in Pennsylvania, and preferred simple living—straw hats, plain clothes, and honest hard work.

Now Milton Hershey wanted to do more than build more than towns and businesses. He wanted to build lives.

Kitty’s heart ached as she looked into her husband’s wistful eyes. He’d always been inspired by business, but who would inherit his wealth? Suddenly God gave her an idea.

“We should use our wealth to help orphaned children! We could open a boarding school for orphans right in town.”

Milton’s eyes lit up. He loved the idea. They’d build and staff a school in town for orphaned boys, an industrial school where boys would get a chance to learn and grow and develop skills—a school where Christian values would be instilled!

In 1909, their dream became a reality, and the school filled quickly. Milton and Kitty signed the founding trust for the school together and were involved in every aspect of its administration. The boys soon came to be known in town as “Milton’s boys.”

Then one day in 1915, Milton walked down a flight of stairs to get Kitty a drink she’d asked for. She’d been suffering from a severe bronchial infection. Suddenly, her nurse stepped out of the room and called him to come back. Kitty had slipped away to heaven.

Grief-stricken, Milton was left to ponder the best way to honor her.

On November 13, 1918 Milton secretly met with his lawyer and signed over 90% of his fortune to the Hershey Industrial School for orphans—over sixty-million-dollars’ worth of stock held in perpetuity as a trust for the school, which is still in operation today—changing lives.

We all have a choice. Live a life that matters, or waste it on things that don’t.

Janet & Geoff Benge, Heroes of History, Milton Hershey, More than Chocolate, Emerald Books, P.O. Box 635, Lynnwood, WA 98046 2012 Janet and Geoff Benge

https://hersheystory.org/milton-hershey-history/ The Hershey Story, the Museum on Chocolate Avenue Milton S. Hershey, the Man Who Started it All, 2015-2020

Milton Hershey School website – https://www.mhskids.org/about/historyhttps://www.mhskids.org/success-stories/william-harding-78/

Story read by Daniel Carpenter
Story written by Toni M Babcock https://www.facebook.com/toni.babcock.1

Would You Like to Learn More About This Man?

How the Hershey’s Kiss Got Its Name

For the first 14 years, Hershey’s Kisses were wrapped by hand. But in 1921, the process was automated, and when a machine deposited a glop of chocolate onto the conveyer belt, it made a sound like “Kisses,” and that’s how the candy got its name.

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