It has the most powerful bite of any shark on the planet. At 1,300 pounds of bite force per square inch, the Bull shark is even more powerful than the Great White. By the way—puny humans like us have a bite force that maxes out at a mere 150psi.

Bull sharks are found all over the world in saltwater oceans as well as freshwater lakes. They’ve even been found in Alton, Illinois—some 1800 miles up the Mississippi River! Not to creep you out, but almost no one in the water is safe from a Bull Shark.

They eat dolphins and turtles (hard shells easily cracked by the shark's teeth). And Bull sharks will even attack hippos!

But here’s the creepiest fact of all. Bull shark babies, known as pups, usually live in mangrove swamps away from big nasty predators. But adult Bull sharks take advantage of this—eating the young of their own kind.

Disgusting? Absolutely. But what about us?

When we chew on juicy theories about why one of the church’s worship singers left her husband—aren’t we eating our own kind?

When we tear apart the pastor's sermon—over lunch, no less—aren't we eating our own kind?

When we hungrily swallow unflattering words about fellow believers, aren’t we guilty of eating our own kind?

That evil behavior comes so naturally is an ugly proof of Jeremiah 17:9, "The heart is deceitful above all things and desperately wicked."

Today, let’s choose to be gentle—extra gentle—on the people around us. Especially those that rub us the wrong way. Remember—we’re called to be harmless as doves, not ruthless as sharks.

But if you bite and devour one another, take care that you are not consumed by one another.

- Galatians 5:15

It might be the most abused word in the English language: Free.

Aware of our undying quest to get something for nothing, advertisers love to splash this word all over brochures, billboards, and websites. But that free word is almost always accompanied by an asterisk—essentially, a tiny technicality that allows greedy people and their companies to pose as if they are offering something they are not.

Nowhere is this more evident than on the web. Waiting for my flight at O’Hare, I was invited to click on “ORD_free_Wifi."  But if you click it, you are taken to a website eager to take your money for pay-only access to O’Hare’s Wi-Fi.

Try doing a Google search for "Free Photos." You'll see any number of websites all claiming to offer free images. But when you click, you find a mixture of photos displayed, with the most prominent ones offered by fee-based companies like Shutterstock or iStock. Their images are positively not free!

So, why is this kind of misleading representation even allowed? Such a practice violates every notion of false advertising!

This is just one more contrast that makes Jesus so refreshing, so appealing compared to anything the world offers. When Christ says, “Come to me all you who are weary and heavy laden,” He doesn’t present a tantalizing fake offer with fine print.

When He offers to set you free from the power of sin, there’s no charge When He promises free forgiveness, it really is free.

When He offers free salvation, there’s no catch, no small print—and no fee!

Thanks be to God for His no-fine-print gift of Jesus, the Savior!

“Freely you received, freely give.”

--Matthew 10:8b

Emma’s face reddened with embarrassment.

In a large group setting, the five-year-old blurted out a response to a question that was merely rhetorical. Emotion took a few minutes to kick in, but then hot tears drizzled down Emma's cherubic face.

I hugged, kissed, patted, and assured her there was nothing to worry about, nothing to be ashamed of. She quieted some, and Emma brightened at my invitation to play a game of Uno.

Important note: when you play Uno with a five-year-old, their little hands can't hold all the cards. So, Emma and her sister Ava spread the cards out on the table. Even so, Emma almost always wins against us adults. She is that tough a player!

However, I was a bit confused when allowed to nick me with a "Draw Two" or "Draw Four" card—Emma chose a harmless alternative. I pointed this out to her, but she would not budge. Another chance came for Emma to zap me, and again she declined.

As she cuddled against me, I sensed that Emma just might be so grateful for an earlier gift of mercy, she would not be deterred from returning the kindness the only way she knew. Mercy felt that good.

It always does.

Like its cousin, forgiveness, mercy is the gift that everybody wants—but few give. It’s the Band-Aid craved by every bleeding soul.

How much does a hug cost? How pricey is a pat on the back? Would it bankrupt us to offer a word of encouragement? In the economy of Christ, mercy is the gold, and those who have given the most are the only truly wealthy ones.

Who needs your mercy?

Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy.

—Jesus, Matthew 5:7

Our pergola's beautiful new steel roof looks fantastic, and it's so much cooler sitting outside now. But we scarcely had time to enjoy our now-shady space when I looked up to find a hole in one of the boards I didn’t recall drilling.

I chose to ignore it, hoping it was just my imagination. Except the next day, there was no imagining the bits of sawdust raining down on the covers of our outdoor furniture.

You guessed it—we had ourselves an infestation of carpenter bees. And did I mention that their toilet tank empties directly onto our deck chairs when they go to the bathroom? Rude!

Time to call an expert—which we did. He gave us the complete buzz on those bees. Told us how the bees drill into the wood just a little—then bore a 90-degree hole and set up a home for their growing family. They can quickly eat through enough lumber to damage or destroy most structures. Including my deck.

If you go online, you won't lack ideas on how to treat carpenter bees. One person recommended spraying the holes with citrus spray. Or vinegar (yeah, that's basically like fruit spray, right?) You can plug the holes with caulk. Or wood putty. Or—wait—the bees sometimes eat their way through that. So, try wadded-up tin foil. Or steel wool.

Me? I didn’t want to “try” anything. I wanted those bees gone. Immediately! That’s why we brought in an expert.

Those “little holes” in the wood remind me of the “little sins” you and I allow into our lives. Small as they are starting out, they can lead to the eating away of our souls to the point of complete spiritual destruction.

We need an expert exterminator, you and me, and thankfully we have one. In Proverbs 28:13, God warns,

Whoever conceals his transgressions will not prosper, but he who confesses and forsakes them will obtain mercy.

Colossians 3:5 urges,

Put to death therefore what is earthly in you: sexual immorality, impurity, passion, evil desire, and covetousness, which is idolatry.

Those bees of mine are now dead. But what about my sins—and yours? Any chance you might need an appointment with the Exterminator? Don't wait!

The landscaping is as manicured as any garden at Kensington Palace. Inside, the walls are adorned with soothing art. A sunroom lined with rocking chairs beckons us to pause and unwind. But we are not here to relax. We are here to say goodbye.

As we inch down the halls, I struggle to harmonize the solitude I see with my eyes and the storm I feel in my gut. We are here to visit my brother and his dying wife. She has courageously fought three types of cancer over three decades, and her journey now takes her to a hospice center.

Here, the staff is pleasant, the carpeting is pleasant, the lighting is pleasant—but the visit is not. Even for believers committed to the resurrection, we cannot wallpaper over the sadness of death. And for a moment, the cynic in me asks if all this pleasantness is pointless.

Two realities then thump my soul. First, the beauty and serenity of this place are as much for the living as for the dying. Hospice care represents the last of the long goodbyes. Why shouldn't the surroundings be as beautiful and comfortable as possible?

The second reality: we’re all terminal. I’m terminal. You’re terminal. Because of sin, every person you will ever meet is terminal.

The young dudes at your health club—the ones that eat clean and drink all the right juice extracts—they are terminal. The people you game with online, the barista who makes your coffee, the office lady in the adjacent cubicle, and the neighbors next door all have an eternal soul. And they are all terminal.

When someone we care about is in hospice, we go to great lengths to call, visit, and encourage them before they pass away. But dare we show any less concern for our “healthy” friends and neighbors who are without Jesus—and (ultimately) terminal?

If we know Jesus—and they don’t—how can we be comfortable not sharing something of Christ? A kind act, an offer to pray, an invitation to your church or outreach event—it’s time to make a statement for Jesus. Because—we’re all terminal.

“…Each person is destined to die once, and after that comes judgment,”

–Hebrews 9:27

Photo by Bret Kavanaugh on Unsplash