Insight for Today
A Daily Devotional by Pastor Chuck Swindoll

"Be imitators of God, therefore, as dearly loved children" (Eph. 5:1, NIV). Maybe you never realized such a statement was in the Bible. What a strange command: "Be imitators of God"! But to do that, to be an imitator of God, requires that we come to terms with the value of quietness.

Marian Anderson, the great contralto who won worldwide acclaim, didn't simply grow great; she grew great simply. In spite of her fame, she remained a beautiful model of humility. A reporter interviewing Miss Anderson once asked her to name the greatest moment in her life.

His face was covered with a full beard. His hair fell almost to his shoulders. When he smiled, his white teeth flashed in contrast to the blanket of brown that concealed his skin. His eyes were blue, clear, and alert. His laughter was strong and familiar to my ears.

Those words aren't original with me. They came from a shrink living in Marin County, California—Pierre Mornell, who wrote a book that bears that title. The issue that concerned Dr. Mornell is found in Christian marriages just as often as in non-Christian ones.

John Gardner, a United States cabinet member under President Johnson, once pointed out that by their mid-thirties most people have stopped acquiring new skills and new attitudes in any aspect of their lives. Does that jolt you? Stop and think, you who are over thirty. How long has it been since you acquired a new skill?

Many years ago one of my mentors told me a story I have never forgotten. A missionary was home on furlough, traveling by car from church to church. Late one rainy evening, facing a long and lonely all-night journey, he asked the Lord to help him stay awake and make it safely to the next place he would minister.

Have you counted your blessings lately? Let me suggest one you might have overlooked. Let's be thankful for angels—those unseen guardians who work overtime, who never slumber or sleep. Angels exist as supernatural creatures in and about heaven, and they are frequently dispatched to earth in human form.

When Christians are up against a wall, it's interesting that they finally turn to prayer. The only thing that will work is the last thing we try. Take a look at this: "Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God" (Phil. 4:6–7).

Okay, folks . . . it's that time again. I'm down to two suits, one sports coat, and only a couple of pants that I can squeeze into. No more excuses. I'm tired of good intentions, secret promises to myself, groans and grunts as I roll out of bed in the morning, and especially those well-meaning comments from first-time visitors.

It was one of those days. Demands. Deadlines. Decisions. Endless interruptions mixed with a nagging headache that Tylenol wouldn't erase and positive thinking wouldn't help. Right in the middle of the mess, a guy poked his head in the door, smiled, and (among other things) dropped a real gem on me.

Most of us did not learn to pray in church. Nor were we taught at school . . . nor even beside our bed at night. If the truth were known, we've done more praying around the kitchen table than anywhere else on earth. From our earliest years we've been programmed: If you don't pray, you don't eat.

What are the benefits of realizing God Incomprehensible? We no longer reduce Him to manageable terms. We are no longer tempted to manipulate Him and His will . . . or defend Him and His ways. Like the grieving prophet, we get new glimpses of Him "lofty and exalted," surrounded by legions of seraphim.

Lost in the silent solitude of recent days, I have been impressed anew with the vast handiwork of our incomprehensible God. The psalmist was correct: The heavens do indeed tell of the glory of God . . . their expanse does indeed declare the work of His hands (Ps. 19:1).

As Christians we live a life that is different—morally excellent, ethically beautiful. It's called a holy life. And God honors that. Because it's like He is. And according to Ephesians 5:1, we are to mimic God, living as He lives. All of our Christian lives we have sung the old hymn "Take Time to Be Holy."

"Some things are better felt than telt," say our Scottish friends. And that is so true. Take insight, for example—that elusive weave of intuition, perception, alertness, and sensitivity. You just can't teach it. You can, however, nurture it. You can even expand it.

Have you ever noticed how uniquely adapted each animal is to its environment and its way of life? On land, a duck waddles along ungainly on its webbed feet. In the water, it glides along smooth as glass. The rabbit runs with ease and great bursts of speed, but I've never seen one swimming laps.

A bomb exploded in our nation some years ago. In mid-America, of all places. The fuse was lit first in the mind of Karl Menninger, but its effect was not felt until his pen detonated the blasting cap. Suddenly—without prior warning—BOOM! His book Whatever Became of Sin stunned and shocked his colleagues.

There was once a cricket on the loose in my former church. When things were quiet and still, his wings sang at top volume . . . like at weddings. And funerals. And during long prayers. And very early on Sunday morning before the place started jumpin' with cars and microphones and organ preludes.

Francois Fenelon, a seventeenth-century Roman Catholic Frenchman, said this about prayer: "Tell God all that is in your heart, as one unloads one's heart, its pleasures and its pain, to a dear friend. Tell Him your troubles, that He may comfort you; tell Him your joys, that He may sober them."

Most noises in church don't bug me. I've heard 'em all. People snoring. Babies crying. Rain falling. Crickets chirping. Sound systems popping. Toilets flushing. Offering and communion plates dropping. Sirens screaming and cars speeding outside. Kids yelling and phones ringing inside.