When she was in college, my daughter went on a trip to a part of the world that she brought home in her heart and brought into the hearts of our family. It was back when the Soviet Union was beginning to collapse. She was on a Christian music team on a tour to the Baltic states, formerly Soviet areas. They were actually pursuing some historic opportunities to present Christ in public settings. But what really impressed them were the local believers. And that impressed them even more than the meetings that they were able to hold. And they saw in those people a hope of freedom.

By Ron Hutchcraft

There's a mountain in northern New Jersey that has an intriguing view. It's called Garrett Mountain, over the city of Paterson, New Jersey. In the 1980s, Paterson happened to be the fourth poorest, middle-sized city in America. Now, if you had driven around that city then and that's all you saw, you would think the whole area of north Jersey was poor. But just beyond Paterson on the horizon, you can see some of the wealthiest communities in America.

He's a real American hero! He received America's highest military honor, the Congressional Medal of Honor. It was November 14, 1965, Major Bruce Crandall flew a Huey helicopter assigned to lift troops into La Drang, which was to become known, in Vietnam, as the "Valley of Death." His mission to deliver the troops was done. But pretty soon he realized the plight of those troops. There were 450 American soldiers hugely outnumbered by 2,000 enemy troops. Major Crandall began flying into that Valley of Death to bring out the wounded and to bring in ammunition. Before that day was over, he had flown for 14 hours straight - 22 flights barraged with enemy fire. It took three different choppers to do it all; two were too damaged to continue. One officer said, "Without Major Crandall, our battalion would almost surely have been overrun." Crandall simply said, "They knew we would come if they needed it no matter what." That's heroism.

Over the years, one of my areas of giftedness has been in the area of sleeping. So, when my children were teenagers and came home at night, they could ring the doorbell, could stomp upstairs or even over our bed, and I would probably barely stir. Oh, but not my wife. I think there's something about the way many mothers are wired. They sleep real light - if at all - until everyone's home safe. It's a mother thing. They just can't rest until all their children are in.

By Ron Hutchcraft

It was about 11 o'clock at night when I suddenly got a cryptic text from my son - "Please turn off your porch lights." Excuse me?

Next weird thing - there are a dozen people in my front yard, all looking up at the sky. I can't really see them. Oh, but I can hear them in the dark.

Then I get it. They've come where it's further from any light to see the show in the sky. The northern lights. The aurora borealis. That spectacular display of colored lights, seldom seen in the lower 48. Caused this time by an unusually large storm on the sun.

By Brad Hutchcraft

I heard some whispers in church recently that made me smile. That Sunday, we sat down after singing, and a video played introducing a new teaching series. This particular video had some clips about the life of Jesus and the first disciples. As the images appeared on the screen, I heard the voices of two nearby children whisper, "It's Jesus!" Not just once, but they repeated it a few times in their whispers - hushed yet filled with wonder.

It's the Super Bowl of the Skies! No ticket required.

In a world of people addicted to screens, countless millions of us are stopping everything to see a spectacle in the skies. When a celestial switch is flipped and the lights go out.

The solar eclipse of 2024.

It started with an almost unthinkable radio transmission to an emergency number.

"The entire Key Bridge has fallen into the harbor."

Then the video - like something from a sci-fi movie. One minute the heavily traveled Outer Harbor bridge stood there majestically. The next minute it was gone, in pieces in the river. And then the deep sadness of knowing the workers on the bridge had gone with it.

There I was, digging out the sweaters again, turning up the thermostat, and hoping the weatherman was wrong about snow and ice.