Insight for Today
A Daily Devotional by Pastor Chuck Swindoll

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.

Can't seem to get where you want to go fast enough? Leave it to God. Worried about your kids? Leave it to God. Living in a place you'd rather not be? Leave it to God. Looks like you won't graduate with honors? Leave it to God. No matter how hard you try, your life's partner simply is not responding? Leave it to God.

Philip Melanchthon and Martin Luther were once deciding on the day's agenda. The former was disciplined, intellectually gifted, serious, and goal-driven; the latter was equally intelligent but much more emotional, risky, even playful. Melanchthon said, "Martin, this day we will discuss the governance of the universe."

In an age of equal rights and equal time, it seems only fair to give dads equal attention. Sometimes it seems the only time that happens is during the big commercial buildup for Father's Day, and then it's all buy, buy, buy! Families wonder whether to wrap us in robes, fill us with food, . . . or just cover us with kisses.

While jogging early this morning, I found myself humming the tune Bob Hope immortalized during several wars. I can still remember his tailor-made lyrics, fitted to each occasion. He sang them to lonely soldiers, sailors, airmen, and marines from steamy jungles to frozen reservoirs.

Once a spider built a beautiful web in an old house. He kept it clean and shiny so that flies would patronize it. The minute he got a "customer" he would clean up after him so the other flies would not get suspicious. Then one day this fairly intelligent fly came buzzing by the clean spiderweb.

All of us played follow-the-leader as kids. But even then, when the guide in front was too daring or foolish, we would step aside. There were definite limits on how far we would follow. Sadly, this is not always true in the spiritual realm, where leaders unworthy of the name sometimes command blind devotion.