This past year I have spent some time reviewing Christian websites, reading Christian bloggers, and reaching out to Christian book reviewers. Recently, I came across the website of Tim Challies (rhymes with valleys). It didn’t take me long to decide to subscribe to his posts. His website is wonderful, so I thought I would take a moment and share what little I know about him as well as share his website. I am sure as our online “relationship” continues, I will learn more and more about him and his heart for God.

Professionally, Tim is a Canadian pastor, writer, blogger, and reviewer. Personally, he is a husband and father––a father with a broken heart, as he lost his only son (his firstborn) suddenly in November of 2020 (Nick Challies). His post (I Miss My Son Today) I think will speak to many who have lost someone special, but in particular to those who have lost of child.

What I love about Tim’s website is that it is so thorough. It deals with timely as well as timeless issues. He is an avid reader and researcher and vets then shares what he finds with his readers. He is a very talented writer, bringing clarity to difficult issues and putting words to unspeakable feelings. 

I encourage you to take the time to peruse Tim’s website (www.challies.com), and if so inclined, subscribe so you can be blessed daily with his insights and encouragement.

I would like to close this blog the way Tim begins many of his posts: "May the God of love and peace be with you today."

Photo taken from www.challies.com

I recently took part in a surprise birthday party for my uncle who turned eighty. It was perfect. Beautiful outdoor venue. Mild weather. Delicious food. And plenty of family and friends.

The evening was divided into three parts. The first was conversation and a page-long questionnaire to see how well we knew my uncle. Most of us abandoned the “do it alone” directive and went straight to the “cooperative” method, pooling our table’s knowledge. It is amazing how little you know someone whom you have known all your life. Who would have guessed he was binge watching Monk. Go figure.

The second part was to fill in those blanks and reveal a little more. My cousin did the honors of roasting and toasting his dad, and between his quick wit and my uncle’s equally amusing replies, we guests were properly entertained . . . aka . . . a lot of laughing interspersed with looks of surprise. (FYI: Our table did incredibly well. All but that Monk answer.)

But it was the third part that made the biggest impression. The ten grandchildren took to the mic to tell a story about grandpa. The youngest revealed that grandpa bought her candy––with his own money! The next youngest loved going in the truck with his grandpa, but let it be known that grandpa listened to really old music––like the eighties. (My guess was it might have heralded even a little bit further back than that.)

As the ages increased so did the sophistication of stories. The lesson in economics from their farmer grandpa––you don’t pick ripe fruit off the trees for a cousinly “fruit fight.” The consequence? Eat or pay for the fifty avocados you destroyed. The voice of reason––any drama? Drop it at the feet of grandpa to help sort out. The spiritual example––here was a godly man we can emulate. Here is our example.

In the public forum, legacies often come in the form of hospital wings, literary tomes, artistic portfolios, and other physical manifestations of a person’s contribution to society. When we see them, we remember, and most often our lives are enriched.

But the most important legacies take place in the personal realm, those values handed down from one generation to a younger generation. The power and peace of a deep faith. The importance of working hard and wasting not. The life grounded in compassion and reason. And yes, sharing really old music with someone you love, and buying that grandchild candy––with your own money.

​The word slammed into me like a ton of bricks.

I knew both of my grandmothers had had it, so hereditary was not on my side. I also knew that one out of every two women over fifty was likely to get it, so age was not on my side. BUT, I thought my active lifestyle, my pretty healthy diet, my optimism, and my love of ice cream (calcium you know) would all tip the scales in my favor, and I would escape the dreaded diagnosis.

No such luck. The calcium had been slipping away over the years and my bones were becoming . . . well, as the word implies . . . more porous . . . therefore, more fragile.

Many of us, if we are not careful, can suffer from spiritual osteoporosis, a silent and insidious degeneration of our spiritual bone strength. It’s easy enough. We start with good intentions—daily devotion, prayer time, accountability partner, weekly corporate worship with fellow believers. But sometimes, over time, those begin to fade from our practice, or–– perhaps all of those stay in place –– but our hearts and minds slowly drift away, and though we optimistically think we are still taking care of our spiritual frame, bit by bit, little by little, its strength is being diminished.

Fortunately, osteoporosis is not a death sentence but an abrupt wake-up call. Pay attention, put the proper measures in place, and be vigilant and persistent. The bones can be strengthened and a healthy and active life maintained. But it took a scan to look into the secrets of my bones to see the danger.

Likewise, often the slow deterioration of our spiritual life is a secret to us and must be disclosed by another source: the quick, powerful, and sharp Word of God, the convicting presence of the Holy Spirit, or the admonition of a Christian brother or sister.

Though our first response might be denial or even anger, the appropriate response is to take it for what it is––a warning, a wake-up call, a chance to right the ship, to reinstate what is missing, and then to be vigilant and persistent. Then once again, we can enjoy a healthy and active spiritual life.

I have yet another confession to make. I love period-piece miniseries and movies––especially the Victorian era, though I must admit I am drawn more to the posh than the poor. Boring though it may seem, I especially love the evening scenes when they all convene in the drawing room, to read, play whist, take a turn about the room, or listen to someone play the piano.

Recently, I had a somewhat similar experience. No, it was not a grand drawing room, and it wasn’t filled with well-heeled gentlemen and ladies, nor was their a game of whist taking place. BUT, there was a piano and a most amazing young talent, Talon Smith, who performed for about twenty of us in the living room of a very middle-class patron.



As of this writing, Talon is on his way to Warsaw, Poland, to compete in the preliminary rounds of the International Chopin competition. According to the Chopin 2020 competition website, (https://www.chopin.org/2020-competition) Talon was a finalist last year and earned the right to go to Warsaw in April, but then had it put on hold for a year because of Covid. He is an amazing young talent, among what looks to be a slew of talented young musicians, and I was again reminded of all the beauty, talent, diversity, and individuality that God creates.

The beauty of music and the musicians who play it. The beauty of paintings and the artists who create them. The beauty of words, of furniture, of architecture and those who conceive, build, and envision them.

I am struck by the ability of those who heal the human body, those who can fathom the workings of the internet and its technology, and those who can wire my house and fix my plumbing.

And I am in awe at how very different each and every one of us is in looks, thoughts, and talents. There is a lot of talk . . . an inordinate amount of talk . . . about diversity these days. Yes, in this broken world there are cultural and ethnic inequalities that need, and will always need, to be addressed, but I think we should appreciate diversity the way God intended us to . . . as unique individuals, each with something valuable to offer––ourselves included.

Sometimes I think we forget David’s observations in Psalm 139:13-16:

“For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother's womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. . . .Your eyes saw my unformed substance; in your book were written, every one of them, the days that were formed for me, when as yet there was none of them.”

I may not be able to play a Chopin Nocturne or draw a straight line or fix my own heater, but I can appreciate those who can, and I can thank and praise God for the unique talents and opportunities He has created and selected just for me and for others. I think we all can.

Photo taken from Chopin.org