This morning I again made the 25-minute drive to work in silence. I've been commuting in silence for almost two years now. You see, my car stereo and the electrical system are not getting along. A few "handy" friends have looked at it, and all agree: The system is shot.

At first, the lack of noise really drove me crazy (no pun intended). I just hated to drive, drive, drive without any entertainment or distraction. No music. No talk shows. No NPR. To fill up the airtime during the hour or so I commute back and forth, I started chatting, chatting, chatting on my cell phone. Near-accidents and big bills helped me cut back on that escape.

In time, I began to stop resisting the silence. I got used to being alone with my thoughts, even the torturous ones that incessantly reminded me of all the things on my to-do list. I began to embrace the quiet and even protect it from carpool wannabes.

I began to use my drive in to work to get myself settled with the Lord. I open my heart to His voice, and together we look forward to what I have going on that day. I talk to Him about my concerns for what is before me. Sometimes I sing praise songs to Him. (I've even made up a few myself!) Other times I pray for my co-workers. When I see the school children at bus stops I pray for them, my own niece and nephews, and the children of my friends.

On the way home, I'll "debrief" with the Lord about my attitudes and actions in the office. Was I kind today? Was I truthful? Did I believe in and bring out the best in my co-workers? Did I look for ways to encourage others? Am I listening and looking for the Lord in the details of life? Where do I need to take steps of faith?

I'm finding that this quiet time before and after work is helping me to be a better leader and a better friend. Richard Foster, one of my favorite spiritual writers, says, "If we want to be genuinely helpful to people, we need the perspective that only comes from solitude and silence."

Thanks to my busted stereo I'm beginning to see what Foster means. What was at first uncomfortable has become . . . necessary. What I once resisted is now welcomed and essential.

And my life is the richer for it.

As a new believer, I often tripped over my standing with God. When I didn't feel close to Him or when I knew I had sinned, I wondered if I needed to receive Christ all over again. I spent 10 years living as if I had to earn His favor to continue to be His child. Not until my college years did I understood assurance of salvation.

"And the testimony is this, that God has given us eternal life, and this life is in His Son. He who has the Son has the life; he who does not have the Son of God does not have the life. These things I have written to you who believe in the name of the Son of God, so that you may know that you have eternal life" (1 John 5:11-13).

Throughout John's letter, he clearly spells out the basis for our salvation. Tell someone around you who may be plagued with uncertainty that they can know beyond a shadow of a doubt where they stand with God.

One of my freshman philosophy students at Azusa Pacific University admitted to checking out Islam because she so admired the seriousness with which Muslims practiced their religion. I was stupefied. What could I say to her? After all, she already knew the gospel. She was attending a Christian university and had taken courses in Bible and theology.

Although we spoke for a long time, I couldn't get rid of the nagging feeling that any defense of Christianity I could give would fall short of the mark. Why? Because my words could not give her what she really needed—hands-on contact with a robust community of believers who practiced Christianity with gusto. Now, I could have taken her with us to our church—except our church was 50 miles away.

So, I found myself wishing that I could introduce her to Christians from another age—such as those in the second century who sold themselves into slavery to gain money to feed the poor! Or to the Celts, who first became Christ-followers in the third century, integrating their faith with the most tedious daily tasks. Even while stirring up embers from last night's fire in the cold, pre-dawn morning, they offered up prayers of trust for the coming day.

May this century's followers of Christ radiate this fervor so that students today take notice.

Brad Kallenberg teaches at Azusa Pacific University and Fuller Theological Seminary. The avid runner lives in San Bernardino, Calif., with his wife, Jeanne, and three sons.

In 1988 wildfires swept through 1.4 million acres of Yellowstone National Park and threatened the Old Faithful Inn. Firefighters soaked the lodge with water to protect it from a thundering wall of flame. Thankfully, the fire turned to the northeast. Though 24 other buildings burned, the landmark inn still stood. Months later the forest grew with new vigor. The heat from the fires had split open the hulls of the pinecones, sprouting a forest of little saplings. In the place of dead underbrush, spring-green grass and wildflowers popped up.

In the Bible, God's holiness is sometimes pictured as a fire. A.W. Tozer writes, "In fire He appeared at the burning bush; in the pillar of fire He dwelt through all the long wilderness journey. The fire that glowed between the wings of the cherubim in the holy place was called the Shekinah, the Presence."

What does a fire do? It destroys the dead, purifies, and transforms the landscape. No one can stand up to the heat and fury of a firestorm, yet nothing can bring regeneration like fire.

God's holiness has even greater power. Moses, who saw God's holiness in the burning bush, asked, "Who else among the gods is like you, O Lord? Who is glorious in holiness like you—so awesome in splendor, performing such wonders?" (Exodus 15:11, New Living Translation).

Of all God's attributes, none compares to the splendor of His holiness. Unfortunately, to a large degree, God's holiness has been ignored because Christians are filled with the dead brush of sin and pride. Our unwillingness to acknowledge a holy God reflects our failure to recognize who God really is. The Hebrew root word for "to be holy" means to cut or to separate. God's supreme holiness infinitely sets Him apart from His creation.

In the eighth century B.C., Isaiah had a vision of heaven and the Creator. In Isaiah 6:1-4, he says, "I saw the Lord. He was sitting on a lofty throne, and the train of His robe filled the Temple. Hovering around Him were mighty seraphim, each with six wings. With two wings they covered their faces, with two they covered their feet, and with the remaining two they flew. In a great chorus they sang, ‘Holy, holy, holy is the Lord Almighty! The whole earth is filled with His glory!'" (NLT).

Prior to his vision, the prophet Isaiah focused on the sins of others, calling people to repentance. Now that he found himself in the very presence of our holy God, he became dramatically aware of his own unrighteousness. Terrified, he exclaimed in verse 5, "My destruction is sealed, for I am a sinful man and a member of a sinful race. Yet I have seen the King, the Lord Almighty!" (NLT).

True knowledge of God's holiness elicits humble worship from us. Moses fell to his face before the burning bush. Isaiah said, "Woe is me!" We cannot stand in the presence of God without acknowledging His holiness and seeing our own sin.

Many people no longer believe in sin or its consequences. If you want to have extramarital "safe" sex, just use a condom. If you commit a crime, hire a good lawyer who can get you off on a technicality. Stealing items from your employer is OK because everyone else is doing it. The lack of teaching on morality in our public schools and in society has lowered the standards for holy and righteous living.

This is how we sometimes approach God too. "Our sins are not so wrong," we say. "What others do is much worse." The person who believes this has not understood the holiness of God. One small sin, one white lie, one hurtful word is enough to separate us from God's holiness. The only way we can come into His presence is by having our sins covered by the blood of the Lamb, Jesus Christ.

I have heard some believers confess, "I just can't live the Christian life!" They conclude that it is difficult to live. I agree—and I go one step further: It is impossible to live a holy life on our own. Even with determination and our best efforts to become holy, we will always fail.

This is the secret: Jesus is the only person to ever live a holy life, and He now resides within every believer through His Holy Spirit. We can live a holy life if we yield to the Spirit.

Stand before the fiery presence of God's holiness, let Him expose and clear away your sin. Then let Him bring new regeneration to the landscape of your life through the filling of the Holy Spirit.

Women pushed each other down, parents camped out in front of department stores, and people went into debt. All for one reason—the pursuit of the Cabbage Patch Kid.

In the early '80s, I would have traded our family dog for one. I requested a Cabbage Patch doll for Christmas, but they were rare, and my parents were too practical. They rejected the idea of sleeping outside the toy store, and refused to pay some con artist $1,000 for a doll that retailed at $30.

One afternoon while shopping at Kmart, my mom told my sister and me that we could each pick out a "Flower Kid" if we promised not to hound her anymore for a Cabbage Patch doll. Flower Kids looked somewhat like Cabbage Patch Kids, but any second-grader could tell that those dolls were not the real McCoys. Thinking we'd never wrap our arms around a Cabbage Patch Kid of our own, my sister and I settled.

That doll could not replace a Cabbage Patch Kid, though. I longed for the authentic doll. I had accepted a substitute, and I knew it.

I often do the same thing in my relationship with God. I settle for the things of this world, accepting them as substitutes. I'll buy clothes to make me happy or I'll spend evenings with my friends and neglect spending time with God in His Word. Not that clothes or a social life are bad, but at times I put them above my first love—Jesus. Rather than going to the One who truly fills to overflowing, I attempt to fill myself with things that don't satisfy. When I realize what I've done, I go back to God, confess it and trade in my substitutes for the real thing.

Months after settling for a Flower Kid, a man at Target rolled out a cart of Cabbage Patch Kids right in front of me. I looked at my mom. She nodded. I chose Sissy Yvonne, a sandy blonde with pigtails and a dimple. The Flower Kid? I don't even remember her name.