Month: April 2026

Posted in noticing

Car headlights – a close call

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by Eugene Triguba on Unsplash

I guess I was on auto-pilot. The sky was just beginning to brighten with the first bit of dawn. It’s a Saturday morning, so there’s little traffic and no school busses on the road.

I saw the headlights. I figured the car would be rounding the corner. But the speed was too fast. The driver came into the curve too wide. The lights came right at me and I knew I better step back. The Great Dane and I stepped a few feet onto someone’s lawn as the car continued right towards us.

It was a close call. The driver barely made the turn. The car clipped the lawn before swerving into the center of the road.

Yeah, I shouted, “Hey!” but I doubt he or she heard me. Whoever was no doubt on getting home from an overnight shift at work. Or focused on their phone. Or zoned out. Or whatever.

I’ll bet they weren’t as startled as I was. They may not even have seen me. They aren’t writing about their close car. Just me.

Most people don’t notice what’s going on around them. They are absorbed in their devices, their tasks, or their worries.

It’s a good thing I notice them.

Posted in holy week, Jesus

Some Good Friday thoughts

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by Paul Keiffer on Unsplash

I’m going to ramble a bit on this Good Friday. My mind is filled with an assortment of thoughts and memories.

First, I doubt that many, if any, of us can imagine what Jesus suffered at the hands of the priests and the Roman soldiers. The physical violence started with the high priest, teachers of the law, and elders who punched and slapped Jesus. After Pilate handed Jesus over the to the soldiers, they beat him with a staff, flogged him, put a crown of thorns on his head, drove nails through his hands, and crucified him.

When one fighter overwhelmingly beats and bloodies the other in an MMA octagon, the referee stops the fight. With Jesus they don’t stop, but dish out more and more punishment. We wince at the “little pinch” of a flu shot, make sure we’re numbed up before the dentist fills a small cavity, and groan when we get up after sitting too long. Jesus has the flesh on his back torn open with a whip, spikes driven through his hands and feet, and is left to hang by his arms to slowly suffocate . The bell never rings ending the round. There no pain relief, other than the drugged wine Jesus refused. There’s no time out. There’s no tapping out. The pain only stops when Jesus dies.

No painting, drawing, or representation of the crucifixion captures the gruesome horror of Good Friday. Crucifixion was a public execution. Some of those who saw it loved Jesus. Others hated him. I wonder if any of us could watch Christ suffer and die. I would turn away.

We gather for worship on Good Friday, at noon, in the afternoon, or in the evening. Our services are adored with beautiful music, encroaching darkness, descriptive words, and silent exits. The only reason it’s not so bad (good?) for us is because it was terrible for Jesus.

A Good Friday Tenebrae (“shadows” or “darkness”) service will conclude in darkness as the last candle is extinguished. The only way out is through the shadow of death, a valley Jesus traverses with us.

I remember my last Good Friday as a pastor because one grandson lit and another extinguished the candles, surrendering the room to the darkness. I took the huge family King James bible my mom gave us at our wedding, raised it high over my head, and slammed it down on the altar with all my might, to remind all of the stone settling into place, sealing Jesus in the tomb.

It’s a powerful worship moment. Everyone who’s been there before knows what’s going to happen. Yet everyone still gasps when it does.

That book was only called into duty once each spring. But it took a beating, the binding barely holding together when I handed it over to my son to use at his church on Good Friday.

The apostle Paul wrote, “We preach Christ crucified.” This is our message. It’s terrible. And yet it’s wonderful. It illustrates how bad we are and what we deserve. It also proclaims how much God loves us anyway.

Posted in communication, God

A message through creation

Posted on by William Douthwaite

Today’s First 15 devotion was about how God speaks through his creation. We know he speaks to us in the bible. But the bible says he speaks to us through his creation.

“For his invisible attributes, namely, his eternal power and divine nature, have been clearly perceived, ever since the creation of the world, in the things that have been made” (Romans 1:20).

In Psalm 147:8-9, and 15-18, scripture tells us that he sends his word to feed the animals and affect the weather.

Jesus said the birds who are fed by the heavenly Father and the flowers he beautifully clothes proclaim a powerful message: stop worrying (Matthew 6:26-30).

Today I journaled, “While there is much about God I can’t learn from creation, I can ask him, ‘What are you teaching me through creation today?'” In that sense, God has much to say through the air I breathe, the water I drink, the food I eat, the sunrise colors I see in the sky each day, and the trees that line my morning walk.

What I learned today:

  • He provides for me. I am alive because he gives me life, breath, and everything (Acts 17:25).
  • He is a creative creator. He came up with so many forms of plant and animal life that not only fit together but benefit each other.
  • He knows what will pique my interest and what will take my breath away. From colors to clouds to creatures (like singing birds), I love to walk down the streets of my neighborhood. There is always something new to notice, appreciate, and give thanks for.

There are many more messages in the starry night sky, the roaring ocean waves, gusty winds bending the trees, and pouring rain soaking you as you dash inside the house.

What are those things saying?

Posted in God, gratitude

A close call

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by Usman Malik on Unsplash

My son slammed on the brakes as red tail lights suddenly stopped in front of us. We couldn’t see beyond the semi ahead, so we didn’t know what was going on. He sighed, “Great. Now what?”

My grandson in the backseat said, “I think a car bounced off the guardrail.”

As traffic slowly passed to the left, we found room to sneak by on the right.

A white sedan with a crumpled front end was turned sideways. Two other cars were stopped in back of the that car. The truck driver had already walked up to check on the driver, who stood next to the car, apparently unhurt. We crept by, just avoiding some torn-off chrome trim on the road.

I couldn’t really tell what had happened, but I was thankful for the timing. Had we been arrived a minute earlier, we might have been involved. A minute later and we’d be in standstill traffic for a while.

Anything can happen driving through Dallas on I-30. And I’m sure it does just about every day. I’m grateful we made it to Fort Worth and back.

I don’t know about you, but I often pray for safe travel for myself and others. I ask God for protection as we go about the day and while we sleep at night. I don’t notice most of the times he answers those prayers. I’m oblivious to the close calls I have. He keeps me blissfully unaware of the dangers around me.

And for that, I am thankful.