Sixty years. 

That's how long my parents have now been married. 

From nearly any standpoint, that's just plain remarkable. Number 60 is called the Diamond Anniversary—that's how rare it is.

According to a U.S. Census Bureau report, only about 5% of married couples ever make it their 50^th anniversary.  So a celebration of 60 years together is no small achievement.

In so doing (saying I do and then sticking together) David and Virginia have definitely defied the odds—on many levels.  Yet their six decades together, I know for a fact, are not the product of sheer will power or a gritting of teeth (though I'm sure both have been required at times).  Nor is this milestone simply the byproduct of chance and good health.

In brief remarks at an extended family gathering both Dad and Mom credited the Lord Jesus Christ with saving them and keeping them (and their marriage) together.  Interestingly, each quoted from the Psalms.

Mom selected Psalm 100: 3,4:  “Know that the Lord Himself is God; It is He who has made us, and not we ourselves; We are His people and the sheep of His pasture. Enter His gates with thanksgiving and His courts with praise. Give thanks to Him, bless His name.”

Dad spotlighted Psalm 13:6: “I will sing unto the Lord because He has dealt bountifully with me.”

Sitting there together—all six children and their spouses and their children at this anniversary celebration was a special moment.  Guess you could call it a “once in a lifetime” experience—and not be overstating things.

Of course, no parents are perfect (just ask MY kids).  Nor would my parents claim to have done everything right.  As Joe Stowell reminds us, “We are a fallen race in a fallen place.”  But what a huge advantage we give our children when we give ourselves first to Christ.

Thanks, Mom and Dad!  And congratulations!

Holiness has fallen on hard times. An ad campaign for a Las Vegas hotel promises, “Just the right amount of wrong.”  Yet holiness—or more specifically, its lack—is not just a problem out in the big bad world, but also in the hearts of those who claim to follow Christ. 

In church, we sing worship choruses with gusto, but are nearly mute on the habits of holiness. We dish up sermons by the pound on God's love.  We talk a ton about “felt needs.”  But mere ounces are devoted to holiness.

Holiness lacks flash and fun.  It has no drummer, no distortion guitar, and doesn't seem to fit with a fog machine.  There's no app for holiness. And how do you fit holiness into Snapchat—let alone Facebook?  Which means in a culture like ours, holiness is not just antique...it's a dinosaur.

At its core, holiness means set apart for God's service. 

Conformed in all things to God's will.

I dare you to make a pie chart of all your activities this past week. How many hours—or maybe, just minutes—would you describe as set apart exclusively for God and His service:

• Time spent reading, studying and meditating on God's Word.
• Time spent communication with God through prayer.
• Time spent actively pondering God.

The exercise might just make you a bit uncomfortable (it does me!).

The truth is, holiness requires time. 

Holiness requires soul silence. 

Holiness requires discipline. 

So, many of us just never get started.  Instead we reach for our smartphones, our tablets, our e-Readers and amuse ourselves to distraction.  Rich in toys and technology, we are—many of us—impoverished in holiness. 

But as the Scripture says, “Without holiness, no one will see the Lord” (Heb. 12:14). 

Once, there was a little boy named Tim who loved to fish.  At a favorite campground, Tim had plenty of opportunity in a small lake that yielded lots of action.  What the water lacked in trophy-sized fish, it made up for in volume.  A worm on a hook meant a fish on the line. Yet often, Tim's dad forgot bait.  Or hooks.  Or bobbers.

Enter a quiet couple in the trailer next door—George and Julie.  It was uncanny the way George always seemed to be ready with an extra hook or bobber.  And well stocked with bait—night crawlers he shared generously with Tim, weekend after weekend.

Neither Tim, his mom, or his dad had any idea how all these mysterious “coincidences” occurred until many years later.  That's when George's wife let it out that there was no mystery at all. George and Julie actually planned for our camping weekends.  They stocked up just for us—for Tim.  They looked out their window to be sure he had everything needed.  And when he didn't, their door—and their hearts--swung wide open. 

That little boy, Tim, is now grown up and married.  He still goes fishing in that same lake, armed with considerable experience and a fisherman’s resolve to go for the bigger catch. His dad still goes with him sometimes, but usually it's his beautiful wife, Beth, at his side.

Recently, I watched as he hauled in a 23 inch catfish.  Beth was right there with a net to scoop the thing up.  Me?  I snapped pictures.   

Now, the story of a fish that large made its way quickly around a campground accustomed to sunfish and small bass.  Tim was promptly urged to share his fish photo with our old friend, George, which he did, via a cell phone.  George's text reply: “Beautiful fish.  Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy.”

All these years later, George is still looking out for Tim.

They say life's most valuable lessons are caught, not taught—kinda like a fish.  That said, who are you watching out for?

For Moody Radio, I'm Tim's dad...and those are my thoughts. 

He’s the first grown man I ever saw cry.  To me, he is a living legend.

Art Rorheim is 98 and has traveled to more than 50 countries, met several Presidents and continues to memorize large quantities of Scripture as he approaches the century mark.   

As a boy of nine at Camp Awana, I remember Art telling about his older brother, Roy, who was 13 and dangerously ill.  Spinal meningitis was a rare and new disease in 1928, and young Roy understood the odds.  A new Christian, he pleaded with his parents from his hospital bed on behalf of his younger brother: “Dad, you are a Christian, Mom, you are a Christian, but Art is not a Christian and we have got to win him for the Lord.”

Roy succumbed to his illness, but Art soon trusted in the finished work of Christ.  Recounting this scene, tears formed in Art's eyes.  But I've since watched him cry many times—and always over the same thing: people who don’t know Jesus, people headed for Hell.  

Art Rorheim went on to co-found Awana International, a Bible memorization ministry now active in more than 100 nations. Each week, more than 2 million children and youth, 330,000 volunteers and 260 field staff take part in Awana in 30,000 churches around the world.

Months ago, he lost his wife of more than 70 years, Winnie. Yet Art soldiers on.  He witnesses. Shares gospel tracts. And still memorizes entire books from the Bible!

Though emotion ought never to be manufactured, I’m convinced there’s something highly instructional—and incredibly right—about a heart that weeps for lost people. A heart like Art’s.  Being with him this weekend has forced an inventory of my own heart.  When was the last time I have been so concerned about another’s soul that it made me cry?  I’m ashamed to say it’s been awhile.

What about you?

What do you enjoy reading?  Mysteries....devotionals...Christian biographies?  

When people ask me, I tell them, “Just about everything.”

People fascinated with food are known as foodies.  They'll try just about anything and like most everything.   Well, I'm a bookie—not with bets—but with books.  I'll read just about anything and like almost everything.

I love Dickens and Tolstoy, Arthur Conan Doyle, Louis L'Amour, John Grisham, Clive Cussler and Dorothy Sayers.  In the Christian world, I'm a fan of William Gurnall, J.C. Ryle, Calvin Miller, Tim Keller, Lee Strobel, and—of course—C.S. Lewis. 

These days, I find myself drawn to the Puritans.

They are very much out of favor in our culture.  The very word, “puritanical,” has sadly become twisted to mean nothing more than ridiculously prudish and out of touch. 

But in reading puritan John Owen, I was jolted by his warning, “Be killing sin—or sin will be killing you.”

Through Richard Baxter, I discovered a hundred reasons for thinking daily about heaven—The Saints' Everlasting Rest.

Many Christians know John Bunyan for his Pilgrim's Progress, believed to be the second most printed book of all time, beside the Bible.  Yet in his work, A Few Sighs from Hell, Bunyan 's portrayal of the horror of hell leaves you panting for a swallow of water, and gasping for a breath of cool air.

It’s true the Puritans didn’t get every single point right.  Who has?  Yet they lived boldly, thought deeply and wrote richly. 

Summer is here.  Time to enjoy some good reading.  What better time to discover the Puritans?   Sure their language and writing style can be a challenge at first.  But the view with any satisfying hike or climb usually comes with a challenge.

Given the wealth of their legacy, I say the Puritans are worth reading.  Now more than ever.