“OH NO! NOT ONE OF THOSE GUYS!” You may have said something similar when stumbling across a loud-mouthed preacher standing on a box outside a sporting event, or in a park with a megaphone or just wandering the street shouting the traditional “Repent! For the kingdom of God is near!”
Perhaps you’ve heard about the John 3:16 guy who wore a fright wig and held up that very Scripture verse on a placard at football games.
When I was very young I slept in a basement bedroom shared by my oldest brother, Boyd. He often worked after school and on Saturdays helping my father who made his living as a building contractor. I think I was just a little envious of Boyd because he always had some spending money.
Across the road from where we lived was the “White Spot.” The White Spot was not unlike a Dairy Queen.
PEOPLE THINK HE’S NUTS, AN IDIOT, A RELIGIOUS FANATIC, but 64-year-old Steve Epps doesn’t care because God called him to take up his cross, put some wheels at the base and walk along the southern route from Wilmington, North Carolina, to San Diego, California.
And he’s passing through Johnson City this weekend.
But why would he do such a thing?
When I first saw the picture of that two-toned 1957 Ford hardtop convertible with its sleek lines and graceful fins, I thought it had to be the most beautiful car my eyes had ever beheld. The problem was that my Dad had no use for Fords. He was a dyed in the wool Chevy man—true blue through and through.
PRINCE DIED OF A DRUG OVERDOSE, HUMPHREY BOGART, CANCER. Sir Thomas More was beheaded and former President Warren G. Harding had a heart attack. Apart from all of them dying, do you know what else they had in common? They were 57-years-old.
I turned 58 two days ago. I’m still alive and thank God that he gave me life and breath and everything I have.
A FRIEND OF MINE WAS ARRESTED IN ENGLAND AND FOUND GUILTY for a heinous crime. Was it robbery? Assault? Murder? Nope. None of those. Mike Stockwell got busted, along with his compatriot Michael Overd, for speaking the truth!
I met Stockwell back in 2008 when I was leading a team for a ministry that taught normal Christians how to share their faith by handing out Gospel tracts, having personal conversations and by street preaching.
This is the true story of a man who lived in the 4th century named Phocas as told by ancient bishops.
He has been revered through the years as a real precious saint of God. He lived outside the city gate in a little cottage in Sanopae, Asia Minor, where he tended a small garden.
It was but a small descent from the original settlers of the beautiful Heber Valley in Utah to Aunt Ruby’s front door. As a child I loved our Sunday afternoon forays from Salt Lake City to the frequent family gatherings in her living room. The men would talk deer hunting and dairy farming while the women would catch up on quilting, weddings and recipes.
THE LITTLE DACHSHUND LOOKED SO FORLORN sitting in the shade all alone. It looked as if it were going to cry, if dogs could shed tears.
Normally, cute little Harvey greets me with loud barking and bared teeth while snarling maniacally, the result of too many school children teasing him in his younger days.
Rick Reilly, Columnist for ESPN.com, wrote the following story in 2012 that I believe, in these times of selfishness and turmoil, bears re-telling:
“In the scrub-brush desert town of Queen Creek, Arizona, high school bullies were throwing trash at sophomore Chy Johnson. Calling her ‘stupid.’ Pushing her in the halls. Chy’s brain works at only a third-grade level because of a genetic birth defect, but she knew enough to feel hate.
“’She’d come home every night at the start of the y ...
