Dr Paul Allen

Spiritual failure at this level — among those who love the world and thus abandon Christ for it — injects tremendous pain into families, into marriages, into friendships, into local-church communities, and into the ministries, these people leave behind. 1. Paul writes, “Demas, in love with this present world, has deserted me and gone to Thessalonica” (2 Timothy 4:10). I think Demas was once a faithful partner because, over in Colossians, Paul says, “Luke the beloved physician greets you, as does Demas” (Colossians 4:14). And now he’s gone and he’s forsaken, Paul. That’s number one. 2. Just being alone in the ministry, not just forsaken, can be a trial. Paul says, “Crescens has gone to Galatia” (2 Timothy 4:10). I don’t think that means he forsook Paul. I just think there were some ministry things that Paul wanted him to do. “Crescens has gone to Galatia, Titus to Dalmatia. Luke alone is with me” (2 Timothy 4:10–11). So once upon a time, there was quite a team here. And now it’s just

When my daughter Eliana was 6 years old, I wrote her a lullaby that included these words: You, Eliana, remind me each day That God does answer the prayers that we pray. And though the night falls and we cannot see, He will bring light when the time’s right for you and me. These four lines are packed with profound meaning for me. I rarely can sing them without tears. They refer to an extended season of what Christians call spiritual darkness, a dark night of the soul, or a faith crisis, which I experienced the year before Eliana was born. Since I told this story in some detail a number of years ago, I won’t recount it all here. I do, however, want to recount the moment God brought light into my night because it was a transformational moment when I experienced the biblical truth David describes in Psalm 139: If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me,      and the light about me be night,” even the darkness is not dark to you;      the night is bright as the day,      for darkness is

Of late, I’ve noticed I’ve been getting worse at being alone. That sanctuary of solitude with God, a place where hours could pass unnoticed, has fallen victim to a life filled with activity. “Quiet times” have become harder to bear. Money-changers now sit in my house of prayer, noisily selling pigeons and livestock. And what is worse, I invited them in. But why? “That sanctuary of solitude with God, a place where hours could pass unnoticed, has fallen victim to a life filled with noise.” Blaise Pascal explains well enough why the unredeemed world hates silence. “Diversion. Being unable to cure death, wretchedness, and ignorance, men have decided, in order to be happy, not to think about such things” (Christianity for Modern Pagans, 170). Pascal sees men without God fleeing their Creator, and themselves, at every turn. This world swirls with hustle and bustle, men busily chase what they don’t want because fallen humanity will not — cannot — endure the frowning thoughts that meet them in

One of the hardest things for me about suffering is loneliness.Inevitably I feel isolated. Though my friends can help, they cannot share my sorrow. It is too deep a well. When loss is fresh, people are all around. They call, offer help, send cards, and bring meals. Their care helps ease the razor-sharp pain. For a while. But then they stop. There are no more meals. The phone is strangely silent. And the mailbox is empty. No one knows what to say. They aren’t sure what to ask. So mostly they say nothing. Sometimes that’s fine. It’s hard to talk about pain. And I never want pity, with the mournful look, the squeeze on the arm, and the hushed question, “So how are you?” I don’t know how to answer that; I don’t know how I am. Part of me is crushed. I will never be the same again. My life is radically altered. But another part of me craves normalcy. A return to the familiar. To blend into the crowd. I Don’t Know What I Want I want to be grateful for my friends’ support. And on the bes