Illustrations and Stories
Beauty From the Broken
Back in 1974, a major news service ran a headline that sounded almost impossible: “From landfill in Paraguay, sweet music emerges.” In the outskirts of Cateura, Paraguay, there is a community built right on top of a landfill where more than a thousand tons of garbage are dumped every single day. Many of the families who live there survive by picking through that trash with long hooks called ganchos. They call themselves gancheros.
When a young musician named Favio Chávez arrived to volunteer, he immediately saw the overwhelming poverty of the children in that community. He wanted to offer music lessons, but he had a problem. He only had five instruments, and fifty eager students. So he turned to one of the gancheros, a man named Nicolás Gómez, and asked him to look for anything in the trash that could be fashioned into instruments. Nicolás started collecting bits of metal, wood, and discarded items, and he began constructing what can only be described as musical miracles.
A cello made from an oil can and old cooking tools.
A flute shaped from tin cans.
A drum set with X-ray film stretched across the tops.
Bottle caps serving as the keys of a saxophone.
A double bass formed from chemical cans.
And a violin made from an aluminum salad bowl, strung and tuned with old dinner forks.
Piece by piece, from the very things the world had thrown away, they built an orchestra. And not just any orchestra. These young musicians learned to play beautifully — classical pieces, folk songs, even pop music — all on instruments crafted from trash. They jokingly call themselves the Landfill Harmonic Symphony. But their story is no joke.
Reflecting on what he witnessed, Chávez said “We shouldn’t throw away trash carelessly…We shouldn’t throw away people either.”
Foundations that Point to God
Some of the most iconic monuments in our nation stand along the National Mall in Washington, DC. Among them is the Lincoln Memorial. Its design is intentional. Thirty-six massive columns circle the structure, representing the thirty-six states that made up the Union at the time of Lincoln’s death.
Inside that memorial, Lincoln’s words live on. On one wall, his Gettysburg Address. On the other, his Second Inaugural Address. Both are filled with references to God. They’re not printed on paper or hanging in a frame. They’re carved in stone — a reminder that Lincoln’s faith convictions were not just footnotes, but foundational to his leadership and vision for a divided nation.
A few minutes’ walk away stands the Washington Monument, the tallest structure in the city, rising 555 feet into the sky. Its architect had a very specific intention. He wanted the very first rays of dawn, breaking over the eastern horizon, to strike the monument’s capstone — an aluminum block that catches the morning light. Etched into that capstone are two small Latin words: “Laus Deo.” Translated, it means, “Praise be to God.”
Think of that. Every morning, as the sun hits our nation’s capital, the very first words it illuminates are “Praise be to God.” From the foundations of our history to the first light of every day, our story (as a nation) has been marked by an acknowledgment of God. It serves as a quiet but powerful reminder — Leaders and nations rise and fall, but the praise due to God remains.
Faith Sees the Potential
In the mid-1970s, a young engineer named Steve Sasson walked into a meeting with something the world had never seen: the first digital camera. It was heavy, awkward, and only captured a blurry image, but Sasson saw its potential. He filed a patent and presented the idea to his company, Kodak.
They rejected it. They believed film would always be king. They protected what felt familiar and dismissed what was new. Decades later, digital photography became the standard, and Kodak — the giant of the industry — eventually filed for bankruptcy. They missed the opportunity sitting right in front of them.
And here’s the spiritual truth: God often begins new things in small, unfinished ways.
Isaiah 43:19 says, “See, I am doing a new thing… do you not perceive it?”
Kodak didn’t perceive the future, and they paid for it. The same can happen spiritually. If we cling too tightly to the way things have always been, we may miss what God is trying to do next. Faith listens. Faith stays open. Faith perceives the new thing God is bringing to life.
When Saying No Costs You
Sean Connery, one of the most iconic actors of his time, was once offered the role of Gandalf in The Lord of the Rings. He read Tolkien’s book, he read the script, and then declined. His explanation was simple: “I don’t understand it.” He wasn’t impressed.
The studio didn’t give up. They offered him $30 million. He said no. Then they made an extraordinary offer — 15 percent of the box office revenue. That share today would be worth hundreds of millions of dollars. He missed this moment because he just couldn’t see the value of what could be. There’s a spiritual truth in that. God often places opportunities before us that don’t make perfect sense in the moment. Stay open. Don’t say no to something that God may be saying yes to.
Prayer Demands Our Focus
About 500 years ago, Martin Luther received an honest request from someone close to him. His barber, Peter, said, “Master Luther, I want to learn how to pray. Will you teach me?” Luther didn’t dismiss him. He sat down and wrote a simple guide built around the Lord’s Prayer.
Near the end of that guide, Luther offered Peter a picture he would understand. He wrote: “A good barber keeps his thoughts and eyes on the razor. If he lets his mind wander, he may cut his customer’s nose or throat. So this prayer calls for some concentration.”
Luther was making a point. Prayer cannot be mindless. It cannot be empty repetition. He warned Peter not to simply recite the words of the Lord’s Prayer as if they were a formula. “Rather,” he said, “I want your heart to be stirred and guided by the thoughts contained in this prayer.”
Luther understood what Jesus taught (Matthew 6:7–8), real prayer engages the mind, awakens the heart, and draws us into genuine communion with God.
Don’t Play Near the Edge
Millions of people visit the Grand Canyon every year. The view is stunning, the drop is staggering, and the temptation to get just a little closer is always there. Park rangers say that, on average, about a dozen people lose their lives each year by slipping from the rim. Most of those accidents share a common thread: someone ignored the warning signs.
Not long ago, a father climbed onto a low stone barrier so his daughter could take a photo. Behind the barrier was a narrow ledge. After the picture, he decided to play a quick joke. He leaned back as if he were falling. In that split second, he lost his footing. What he thought was harmless ended in tragedy. He fell hundreds of feet — all because he stepped off the safe path.
The spiritual lesson is sobering: Danger usually comes when we step away from the boundaries meant to protect us. God gives us a path to walk. The safest place is always within the wisdom of His Word and the guardrails of His truth.
When Less Becomes More
On November 19, 1863, the nation gathered at Gettysburg to dedicate a cemetery for those lost in the Civil War. Two speakers were invited. The first was Edward Everett — a brilliant statesman and the most celebrated orator of his generation. Before a huge crowd and reporters from around the world, he delivered an eloquent, two-hour speech that drew repeated applause.
Then Abraham Lincoln stood — weary, thin, carrying the weight of a divided nation — and spoke for just two minutes. When he finished, a reporter whispered, “Is that all?” Lincoln replied, “That is all.”
The newspapers mocked him. They printed Everett’s entire speech and dismissed Lincoln’s. But today, no one can quote a single line from Everett’s two hours. Meanwhile, Lincoln’s two-minute address — “conceived in Liberty… all men are created equal” — became one of the most enduring statements in American history.
Not long after, Everett wrote Lincoln privately: “I wish I could have come as near to the central idea of the occasion in two hours as you did in two minutes.”
Here’s the point: God often chooses what seems simple to accomplish what is lasting. Lincoln stood next to a man with more polish and more applause, yet God used his sincere, brief words to move a nation.
In Scripture, God repeatedly chooses unlikely voices:
a shepherd boy,
a reluctant prophet,
a teenage girl,
a fisherman,
a tax collector.
1 Corinthians 1:27 says, “God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong.”
The world may overlook you. Critics may underestimate you. But God can use your humble, faithful obedience in ways far greater than you imagine.
What Our King Brings
When Queen Elizabeth II visited the United States, reports said she brought nearly four thousand pounds of luggage. Two outfits for every occasion. Forty pints of plasma for emergencies. Her own hairdresser. Two valets. And a large team of staff to manage every tiny detail. Earthly royalty does not travel light. Everything has to be carried for them.
But now contrast that with the King of kings. When Jesus entered this world, He came with no entourage, no luxury, no mountain of luggage. Born in a borrowed stable. Slept in borrowed homes. Preached from borrowed boats. Rode into Jerusalem on a borrowed donkey. And after His death, was placed in a borrowed tomb.
Here’s the point: earthly kings require everything — our King brings everything. Where human royalty needs others to carry their burden, Jesus came to carry ours.
In Matthew 11:28, Jesus says, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”
We don’t have to bring everything to Him. He brings everything to us.
Stepping Forward
Near the end of World War II, a U.S. military plane crashed in the dense New Guinea jungle. Twenty-four men were on board. Only three survived. Their injuries worsened daily. Infection. Gangrene. Starvation. And they were stranded in a valley known for cannibal tribes. They had no way out.
A rescue mission was the only hope. The Army turned to a special parachute battalion of 66 men. Their commander was told to recruit 10 volunteers, including two medics, to parachute into uncharted territory, reach the survivors, and guide them out.
When the lieutenant colonel gathered his men, he didn’t hide the danger. He said, “The map lists the drop zone as unknown. The jungle canopy is so thick you may not make it through the trees. And if you get past the trees, the tribes in the valley may be hostile.”
Then he asked for volunteers. All 66 men stepped forward.
Here’s the point: They didn’t step forward because it was safe. They stepped forward because people were dying in that valley. And, that is the heart of the Gospel.
In Luke 19:10, Jesus said, “The Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost.”
He entered our valley because we were dying and needed rescue. And now He calls us to go, not because it’s easy or safe, but because people still need rescuing.
Eternity In the Heart
Across history and around the world, people have carried an instinctive belief that life does not end at the grave. Australian aborigines pictured Heaven as a distant island beyond the western horizon. Early Finnish settlers described eternal life as an island in the faraway east. Ancient Mexicans, Peruvians, and even Polynesians believed the soul would live forever on the sun or the moon. The Babylonians imagined eternity as the resting place of heroes and even included a “tree of life” in their story — an echo of the biblical account. In Egypt, maps were buried beside royalty in the pyramids to guide them into the world beyond.
Even Seneca, the Roman philosopher who did not follow Christ, wrote, “The day you fear as your last is the birthday of your eternal life.”
Different cultures, different lands, different eras — and yet one common thread: deep inside the human heart is the unshakable conviction that death is not the end. Why? Because God stamped eternity within us.
As Ecclesiastes 3:11 states, “He has set eternity in the human heart.”