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About the Book
"Things Pondered" is a collection of devotional reflections written by bestselling author Beth Moore. Each entry offers spiritual insight and encouragement, drawing readers closer to God through intimate reflections on life, faith, and the struggles we all face. With warmth and wisdom, Moore shares her own experiences and insights, inspiring readers to deepen their relationship with God and find peace in the midst of life's challenges.
Charles Colson
F Scott Fitzgerald once said: "There are no second acts in American lives." Charles Colson might have caused him to reconsider. In 1972, Colson, who has died aged 80, boasted to his colleagues in Richard Nixon's White House that he would "walk over my own grandmother" to get Nixon re-elected. His path led not over his grandmother, but through the Watergate scandal to prison, and then to a remarkable transformation into an evangelical Christian leader, bestselling writer and prison reformer.
"Chuck" Colson called himself Nixon's "hatchet man", and it was in this role that he drew up the president's famous "enemies list". High on that list was Daniel Ellsberg, the US military analyst who leaked the Pentagon Papers to the New York Times in 1971. The papers were a series of secret reports commissioned by John F Kennedy's defence secretary Robert McNamara which contradicted the public policy statements of three American administrations over the Vietnam war. Nixon assigned Colson to discredit Ellsberg.
Colson, armed with a budget of $250,000 from the Committee for the Re-Election of the President, had already hired his former college classmate E Howard Hunt to create the White House unit known as "the plumbers", as they were intended to stop embarrassing leaks. Hunt's team burgled the offices of Ellsberg's psychiatrist, and made plans to have Ellsberg beaten, while Colson leaked smears to the press.
In early 1972, Colson got White House approval for a plan concocted by Hunt and G Gordon Liddy, another of the plumbers, to "gather intelligence" for the upcoming election. Hunt's burglars were caught by a sharp-eyed security guard inside the Democratic party's headquarters at the Watergate complex in Washington. An address book found on one of them led back to the White House, but the scandal failed to have an impact on the election, which Nixon won. Colson joked with Hunt that Watergate would be remembered as a brilliantly conceived escapade to "divert the Democrats' attention from the real issues, and therefore permit us to win a landslide we probably wouldn't have won otherwise". Without realising it, Colson had created the template which now dominates modern politics.
But after the election, the Watergate investigations persisted. As Nixon's aides toppled one by one, Colson led the effort to smear those testifying, including another White House lawyer, John Dean, whose evidence against Nixon was particularly damning. Finally, Colson, too, resigned, in March 1973. A year later, he was indicted for his part in the cover-up. Facing an impeachment trial, Nixon resigned on 9 August 1974.
Colson's religious conversion began while he was awaiting trial. Thomas Phillips, chairman of the defence contractor Raytheon, gave him a copy of CS Lewis's Mere Christianity, and he joined a congressional prayer group. When the 60 Minutes interviewer Mike Wallace challenged his sincerity, Colson decided to atone. Colson's lawyers negotiated a plea bargain of guilty to one count of obstruction of justice relating to the Ellsberg break-in. Sentenced in 1974 to one to three years, he served seven months in federal prison and was released in January 1975. Ellsberg himself said that he doubted the conversion, noting that Colson continued to deny more serious crimes.
Colson was born in Boston. His father, Wendell, worked for the Securities and Exchange Commission. Colson attended Browne & Nichols, an elite school in Cambridge, Massachusetts, and then went to Brown University in Providence, Rhode Island, on a naval reserve programme. After graduation, he served in the marine corps, then became an aide to the Massachusetts senator Leverett Saltonstall. Through Saltonstall, he met Nixon, then US vice-president, and in his own words, instantly became "a Nixon fanatic".
After getting his law degree from George Washington University, he worked on Saltonstall's successful 1960 re-election campaign, before founding a law firm which became influential. In 1964 he wrote a memo to Nixon, who had lost the California gubernatorial election, outlining his plan to return Nixon to prominence; and in 1968 he joined Nixon's campaign. Nixon won the presidency in 1969 and appointed Colson his special counsel.
In prison, Colson embraced born-again Christianity. In his biography Charles W Colson: A Life Redeemed (2005), the former Tory cabinet minister Jonathan Aitken says that Colson "transferred his huge drive, intellect, and maniacal energy from the service of Richard Nixon to the service of Jesus Christ". After prison, Colson wrote a bestselling memoir, Born Again (1976), which was filmed in 1978.
He also founded a series of non-profit organisations, such as Prison Fellowship Ministries, which aimed to convert the convicted. Colson wrote more than 30 books, channelling the royalties into his ministries, to which he also donated the $1.1m Templeton prize, for promoting religion, which he won in 1993.
In 2000, the Florida governor Jeb Bush reinstated Colson's voting rights (in that state, a convicted felon may not vote), saying: "I think it's time to move on. I know him, he's a great guy." In 2002 Colson joined fellow evangelicals in signing the Land Letter, urging President George W Bush to pursue a "just war" in Iraq. In 2008 he received the Presidential Citizens medal from Bush.
Colson is survived by his second wife, Patricia, and by two sons, Wendell and Christian, and a daughter, Emily, from his first marriage, which ended in divorce.
Charles Wendell Colson, political aide and prison reformer, born 16 October 1931; died 21 April 2012
Are You a Friend to the Poor
God’s heart is for the least of these: the suffering, lost, and lonely. "Do you know the name of a poor person?" a young man in his twenties who was sharing about his experiences as a missionary in Moldova posed the question to me in church. His phrase was tricky because if he'd said, "Do you care about the poor?" I might have tossed it in that drawer where you keep all the stuff you've heard a million times and are supposed to ponder but probably won't do much with. When he asked if I knew the name of a poor person he exposed a glaring gap in my Christianity: Whose name did I know? Not whose face had I passed on 21st Street on my way to grab coffee; not what homeless man had I handed a dollar for the paper he peddles at the stoplight; not what anonymous tsunami victim had received an online donation I'd made. Whose name did I know? I was left to consider this very important question because if I didn't know the name of a poor person, I didn't really know a poor person. (This is one of the biggest problems with going to church — the possibility of getting all convicted and stuff.) I always knew that if God's heart was for anything it was for the least of these: the suffering, sick, needy, uneducated, foreigner, lost, lonely — this much was clear. And it's true that these were people I cared about, prayed for, and on whose behalf I tithed, but how many of them called me friend? Who had my phone number, been to dinner at my house, or sat beside me at church? Without condemnation, I had to recognize that I was someone who cared for the poor mostly from a distance but who had yet to intimately involve herself. My first step: Learn a name. In the Law of Moses God commanded the Israelites to leave their extra sheaves, olives, and grapes for the alien, fatherless, and widow — for all the people who didn't have what the Israelites had and who didn't have the means to get what they had. At the end of this recurring command the Lord gave His people an intriguing reason for why He required this, "Remember that you were slaves in Egypt. That is why I command you to do this" (Deut. 24:22, NIV). Didn't God want them to leave their excess food for the poor and outsider because these people were hungry, because they needed community, because they couldn't provide for themselves, because He loved them? Wasn't that why? Oh I'm sure those were all reasons, but I believe God first had to deal with that sneaky mind-set, the one that tries to trick us into thinking that when we step over a stalk of wheat to leave it for the poor we're doing something really noble, plain over-the-top gracious. That we're going above and beyond by giving away what is rightfully "ours." The Lord was staving off this kind of thinking by saying, "Hold your fancy horses. Remember you used to be slaves too! Don't forget to tap into what that felt like." The Israelites were no strangers to poverty, oppression, or powerlessness as ones who had once been enslaved in Egypt. It was only because of God's deliverance they were now free, only because of His goodness they were blessed with flourishing fields and bursting branches. By remembering their once low estate, they were poised to welcome the foreigner, fatherless, and widow, not out of self-righteousness, guilt, or duty, but out of the love God had shown them. Last night I served dinner to an Iraqi couple and their 2-year-old daughter, a family some of my friends and I have gotten to know. I'd hoped that chicken, broccoli, and couscous were safe selections to serve these well-dressed Middle Easterners, though I sensed I may have been pushing it with the hot apple cider. I was going for the American autumn experience, and judging by their first and only sip, this went over moderately. As we settled around the table I asked them why they'd left Baghdad to come to America. The husband replied, "Because there are less car bombings here," and then he broke out into hysterical laughter. (Safwat's a sanguine.) His wife was less buoyant, confiding that the war had been devastating and that they'd fled here as refugees hoping to find jobs but so far without any success. My eyes welled up as she spoke because her suffering was not that of a nameless Iraqi, but it belonged to her, a real-life woman with a name, Rida. As the adults carried on, Rubaa fingered the icing on her cupcake and tapped her shoes on the hardwood floors, just like any other baby girl in a bright red dress who wanted the room to be enchanted with her — some things are the same everywhere. When it was time for them to leave, Safwat shook my hand, Rubaa blew me a kiss at her mother's urging, and Rida kissed my right cheek, left cheek, and then back to my right cheek again (it's that third one I always forget). As we said our good-byes I realized what a privilege it was to know their names, because knowing their names meant I was getting to know their stories. And knowing their stories reminded me in deeply spiritual and emotional places that I, too, was once a foreigner outside of God's kingdom, but because of Christ, I am now a daughter. Kelly Minter