The Bible warns about the danger of a hard heart. It warns that a heart can be so hardened that it becomes resistant even to the words of God. It warns that a hard heart is an impenitent heart and that an impenitent heart is a heart that falls under God’s just judgment. In this brief exhortation, F.B. Meyer reminds us of the sobering truth that hearts grow hard slowly and over time, first through small acts of defiance and only later through more serious ones. So “guard especially against heart-hardening,” he warns.

Guard especially against heart-hardening. Hard hearts are unbelieving ones; therefore beware of ossification of the heart. The hardest hearts were soft once, and the softest may get hard.
The chalk which now holds the fossil shells was once moist ooze.
The calloused hand of toil was once full of soft dimples.
The murderer once shuddered when, as a boy, he crushed a worm.
Judas must have been once a tender and impressionable lad.
But hearts harden gradually, like the freezing of a pond on a frosty night. At first the process can be detected by none but a practiced eye. Then there is a thin film of ice, so slender that a pin or needle would fall through. At length it will sustain a pebble, and, if winter still hold its unbroken sway, a child, a man, a crowd, a cart will follow. We get hard through the steps of an unperceived process.

I have many fond memories of my father—memories accumulated over the 43 years we shared this earth. I have fond memories based on my first twenty-one years when I lived in his home and saw him nearly every day. I remember him taking me to old Exhibition Stadium to watch the Blue Jays play. I remember going on a road trip together—just the two of us traveling across Georgian Bay and onto Manitoulin Island. I remember getting up early in the morning and finding that he was already awake, already reading his Bible, already spending time with the Lord. I remember this and so much else.

Then I have fond memories based on the next 23 years of life after I had gotten married and moved out, and after he and the family had left Canada to settle in the American South. Our visits became less frequent then, but no less significant. I remember his joy on those rare occasions when the whole family could be together, the entire collection of kids and grandkids under a single roof. I remember looking out from many church pulpits and conference podiums and seeing his face in the crowd. I remember notes and letters he would send at important moments or following significant events.
But my favorite memory of all is my final memory of all. In June of 2019 dad turned 70 and the family threw him a surprise party to mark the occasion. I made the long journey from Toronto to my sister’s home in Georgia to be part of the fun. It was a wonderful afternoon spent with friends and family, all of whom had gathered to honor dad as he reached a significant milestone. Though I talked to him on the phone after that day, I never actually saw him again and formed no other lasting memories. Just a few months later he collapsed and died at a time that was unexpected but in a way that was exactly as he wanted—with dirt on his hands.
Just months after my father went to heaven, my son followed. It has been more than a year since I last saw Nick, more than a year since I dropped him at Southern Seminary and watched as he walked away, arm-in-arm with the woman who would soon be his fiancée. Though we often spoke on the phone after that time, and though we sometimes connected by video chat, I never actually laid eyes on him again before he, too, collapsed and died at a time that was unexpected and in a way we could never have imagined.
In the aftermath of those two great sorrows, I often find myself thinking back to dad’s final birthday and to my final memory. Though I had decided to make the long journey, the family had determined they would not tell dad that I was coming. Because of flight schedules I was not able to arrive until an hour or two after the festivities had gotten underway. Dad was by the side of the pool when I got there, chatting with a friend. He saw me, he blinked in shock, and his face lit up with joy—the joy of a father who is surprised and delighted to see his son. It was a special moment.
It was a special moment that, in its own way, points me toward another special moment, for on his birthday dad unknowingly foreshadowed the joy I will experience when I finally see my Nick again—the pure and sweet and unadulterated joy of a Father whose heart has longed for the son he loves, the son he misses, the son he so wishes to see, to hug, to hold, to enjoy. The delight that flashed in his eyes, the smile that broke over his face, the tears that glimmered in his eyes, all point me to a time in the future when what is broken will be made whole, when what is sorrowful will be soothed, when what has been torn apart will be stitched back together, a time when son and father and father and son will be reunited, never more to part, never more to grieve.

Grace and peace to you on this fine day.

(Yesterday on the blog: A Year of Sorrow, a Year of Gratitude, a Year of Grace)
Does It Really Matter Whether Adam Was the First Man?
Michael Reeves: “The simple aim of this article is to show that, far from being a peripheral matter for fussy literalists, it is biblically and theologically necessary for Christians to believe in Adam as a historical person who fathered the entire human race.”
Can a Christian Believe in Evolution?
Gregg Allison says there are two different forms of theistic evolution, then asks “Does either version of theistic evolution fit with Scripture? To answer, we need to look at church history and historical Christian doctrine.”
7 Questions about the Septuagint
If you’ve ever wondered what the Septuagint is all about and why it matters, this may help.
Abortion Is Unjust Discrimination
Alan Shlemon: “Abortion-choice advocates consider their view morally superior. They believe they are defending a woman’s right to control her body. What they don’t realize, though, is that their position leads to an act of unjust discrimination.”
The Purpose of Suffering
Sylvia Schroeder has a good article about suffering and the purpose behind it. “Almost three years had passed, since our daughter’s illness, but the pain hadn’t lifted. It wrapped around me like a lead blanket. Peter, Jesus’ disciple and I were buds.”
This Old House
“Is it just me, or is our house falling apart? That’s a rhetorical question—of course it isn’t just me. ‘Falling apart’ has become a rising chorus on both ends of the political spectrum and everywhere in between. I’ve never seen it this bad is a continuing refrain. From my perspective of 70-plus years, the 1970s may have been objectively worse, but seeds sown then appear to be reseeding and reinventing themselves now. How do we understand it?”
Lift Up Your Head
“After Halloween comes Christmas—the light of the world entered the darkness, and at Easter, overcame it once and for all.”
Flashback: Why It Matters that We Call the Final Book of the Bible Revelation, not Revelations
The difference is subtle—a single “s.” Yet that little letter, in its own way, changes the very nature of the book. It matters.

God…invites us into a spiritual family of misfits and outcasts. He welcomes us into a home that’s rarely what we want yet just what we need. —Collin Hansen & Jonathan Leeman