The recent Gulf War played havoc with my schedule. I learned years ago that if I didn’t follow a schedule, I got little done. Thus I rise at 6:30; breakfast at 7:00; read the Scripture and share a time of prayer with my wife from 7:20 until 7:45; and start work at 8:00. I spend a half-hour at lunch and then take an hour for a nap. (I started that discipline when I turned 70.) Then it’s back to work until 6:00, when I take a full hour off for a quiet dinner, sharing the family news with my wife, and listening to Bach, Vivaldi, or Mozart.

I then read and study until 10:00, when I knock off for the day, go to bed, and read Louis L’Amour, Zane Grey, Agatha Christie, or some other novelist who requires no mental energy, until I get sleepy—usually no later than 11:00.

But it wasn’t that way during the Gulf War. I couldn’t keep away from the television. You would think an old man with no members of his immediate family in the war would not be so involved. Yet, I was intensely concerned. The awful destruction of innocent people and the loss of resources were utterly sickening.

First thing in the morning, I’d turn on the television to hear how the war had been going. I went to my work, but again and again I was lured back to the screen during the day. In the evening it disrupted our dinner hour. And before we went to bed, we watched again to see the latest news.

While Others Die

Several things troubled me: Why should I be so privileged as to monitor the news in safety while others were fighting, hoping to achieve a bit more justice in the world? No Christian would think the war would bring either permanent peace or perfect justice. But to secure a better justice, to battle against wickedness in ...

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