MSI Press Blog

The Civil War was fueled by competing moral visions of what America should be. Each side believed it was defending the nation’s true soul — not merely a policy preference, but a moral imperative. That absolutism made compromise impossible; to yield even an inch felt like surrendering the very meaning of the country. Today, we see echoes of that same rigidity. Our public discourse has grown brittle, shaped by a belief that compromise is betrayal, that nuance is weakness, that the “other side” is not just wrong but dangerous. Moral certainty has become a kind of armor — a way to signal purity, loyalty, and belonging. But armor also restricts movement. It keeps us from reaching toward one another, from imagining solutions that don’t fit neatly into ideological boxes. The tragedy is that most Americans are not extremists. They are simply afraid of being misunderstood, misrepresented, or morally condemned. So they retreat into camps where the rules are clear and the enemies are obvious. The...

  My cat has never billed a single hour, never drafted a motion, and certainly never attended a CLE. Yet somehow she has become the most influential mentor in my legal career. She runs a full continuing‑education program in this house, and I am—regrettably but undeniably—her star pupil. Lesson 1: Stealth is a litigation skill. She can cross a room without making a sound, materializing beside me like a furry apparition. I learned to do the same when slipping into court with a stack of last‑minute exhibits. A quiet entrance is sometimes the most strategic one. Lesson 2: Cross‑examination begins with curiosity. My cat interrogates every grocery bag, every closed door, every suspicious rustle. She does not assume; she investigates. I adopted her method: assume nothing, inspect everything, and never let a fact escape without being sniffed—metaphorically, of course. Lesson 3: Negotiation is 90% posture. When she wants something, she sits three feet away, fixes me with a steady g...

  “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.” It’s one of those lines we know so well that we stop hearing it. And sometimes we quietly wonder: Does this mean God gives me everything I desire? Everything I long for? Everything I think I need? If only it were that simple. “Shepherd” is the key that unlocks the verse. A shepherd doesn’t indulge the sheep; he guides , protects , corrects , and provides what is truly necessary . A sheep may want to wander into a ravine, eat something poisonous, or bolt toward danger — but the shepherd’s job is to give the sheep what leads to life , not what satisfies impulse. So “I shall not want” isn’t a promise of unlimited fulfillment. It’s a promise of enoughness . Enough strength for the day. Enough guidance for the next step. Enough mercy to cover yesterday. Enough hope to keep going. It’s the quiet assurance that under God’s care, I will not lack what is needed for the path He is actually leading me on — even if that path doesn’t match the one...

Is the Bible still relevant today? It’s an ancient text, written in times and languages far removed from ours. Yet its words continue to echo through modern life — in art, ethics, law, and the quiet questions people ask when life feels uncertain. The Bible’s relevance doesn’t depend on historical accuracy or cultural familiarity. It endures because it speaks to the enduring human condition: fear and hope, justice and mercy, loss and renewal. Its stories are not just about ancient people; they are about us — our choices, our failures, our longing for meaning. For some, the Bible remains sacred scripture. For others, it is literature, philosophy, or moral history. But even outside faith, its influence persists. Phrases like “turn the other cheek,” “love your neighbor,” and “let there be light” have shaped how we think and speak about compassion, forgiveness, and creation. Perhaps the question isn’t whether the Bible is still relevant, but how we choose to read it. When approached with c...

Goodness is not loud. It doesn’t demand applause. It doesn’t announce itself with trumpets or banners or slogans. Goodness is the neighbor who checks on you without posting about it. It is the parent who keeps showing up even when exhausted. It is the friend who listens without needing to fix. It is the stranger who chooses kindness simply because they can. We often mistake goodness for softness, but goodness is anything but soft. It is stubborn . It is resilient . It is defiant in the face of cruelty. Evil exhausts itself quickly—it burns hot, then collapses. Goodness endures. It rebuilds. It forgives without forgetting. It refuses to surrender its humanity even when humanity feels undeserved. The quiet strength of goodness is found in its refusal to imitate the harm it resists. It does not need to shout down darkness; it simply refuses to participate in it. Goodness is not naïve. It sees clearly. It knows the cost of compassion. It knows the risk of vulnerability. It knows that choo...