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About Tim Gustafson

Tim Gustafson writes for Our Daily Bread and Our Daily Journey and serves as an editor for Discovery Series. As the adopted son of missionaries to Ghana, Tim has an unusual perspective on life in the West. He and his wife, Leisa, are the parents of one daughter and seven sons. Perhaps not surprisingly, his life verses say: “Father to the fatherless, defender of widows—this is God, whose dwelling is holy. God places the lonely in families; he sets the prisoners free and gives them joy” (Ps. 68:5-6 NLT).

More than a Symbol

By | 2019-03-08T13:20:56+00:00 March 16th, 2019|

On the verge of making team history, University of Iowa basketball star Jordan Bohannon intentionally missed the free throw that would have broken a twenty-five-year-old school record. Why? In 1993, days after Iowa’s Chris Street had made thirty-four free throws in a row, he lost his life in a car crash. Bohannon chose to honor Street’s memory by not breaking his record...

The Battle

By | 2019-02-12T16:32:31+00:00 February 13th, 2019|

As artillery rounds fell around him with an earth-shaking whoomp, the young soldier prayed fervently, “Lord, if you get me through this, I’ll go to that Bible school Mom wanted me to attend.” God honored his focused prayer. My dad survived World War II, went to Moody Bible Institute, and invested his life in ministry. Another warrior endured a different kind of crisis that drove him to God, but his problems arose when he avoided combat...

Trying to Impress

By | 2019-01-21T17:04:26+00:00 January 23rd, 2019|

When a college class went on a cultural field trip, the instructor almost didn’t recognize one of his star pupils. In the classroom she had concealed six-inch heels beneath her pant legs. But in her walking boots she was less than five feet tall. “My heels are how I want to be,” she laughed. “But my boots are how I really am.” Our physical appearance doesn’t define who we are; it’s our heart that matters...

Just Another Day?

By | 2018-12-19T15:33:00+00:00 December 26th, 2018|

In Christmas Every Day, William Dean Howells tells of a little girl who gets her wish. For one long, horrible year it is indeed Christmas every day. By day three, the yuletide joy has already begun to wear thin. Before long everyone hates candy. Turkeys become scarce and sell for outrageous prices. Presents are no longer received with gratitude as they pile up everywhere. People angrily snap at each other...

Questions at Christmas

By | 2018-11-26T14:07:03+00:00 December 4th, 2018|

Well before the calendar flips to December, Christmas cheer begins to bubble up in our northern town. A medical office drapes its trees and shrubs in close-fitting strings of lights, each a different color, illuminating a breathtaking nighttime landscape. Another business decorates its building to look like an enormous, extravagantly wrapped Christmas present. It’s difficult to turn anywhere without seeing evidence of Christmas spirit—or at least seasonal marketing...

On the Wrong Side?

By | 2018-11-12T15:40:07+00:00 November 20th, 2018|

When the bridge to Techiman, Ghana, washed out, residents of New Krobo on the other side of the Tano River were stranded. Attendance at Pastor Samuel Appiah’s church in Techiman suffered too because many of the members lived in New Krobo—on the “wrong” side of the river. Amid the crisis, Pastor Sam was trying to expand the church’s children’s home to care for more orphans. So he prayed...

Where Is Peace?

By | 2018-10-10T16:19:52+00:00 October 25th, 2018|

“Do you still hope for peace?” a journalist asked Bob Dylan in 1984. “There is not going to be any peace,” Dylan replied. His response drew criticism, yet there’s no denying that peace remains ever elusive. About 600 years before Christ, most prophets were predicting peace. God’s prophet wasn’t one of them. Jeremiah reminded the people that God had said, “Obey me, and I will be your God and you will be my people” (Jeremiah 7:23)...

God’s Brand

By | 2018-10-01T17:03:42+00:00 October 2nd, 2018|

Scooping up the smallest children, a frantic maid raced out of the flaming house. As she ran, she called loudly to five-year-old Jacky. But Jacky didn’t follow. Outside, a bystander reacted quickly, standing on the shoulders of a friend. Reaching into the upstairs window, he pulled Jacky to safety—just before the roof caved in. Little Jacky, said his mother Susanna, was “a brand [stick] plucked from the burning...”