Being aware of God’s promises and his provision helps us understand the narrative he’s writing, even if we don’t know the next chapter. When he reveals his character, he overpowers our insecurities and confronts our doubt. When he supernaturally interjects sovereign moments into our lives, he’s doing it for our good and his glory.
We are surrounded by fakeness, by post-production. We recognize the camera angles that make our butts look rounder, our thighs stand gappier, and our double chins pull taut. “That’s a composite image,” my professional-photographer wife warned, when I showed her a cool outdoors photo on Instagram.
Until NFL owners and the NFL Players Association are willing to put less money in their pockets, don’t expect their influence to go much farther than celebrity players recording public service announcements. In the meantime, use the awkward courage the NFL refuses to show. Intervene when you see a friend or family member on the verge of abusing alcohol. You might just be saving another precious someone from a different kind of abuse.
Thankfully, this time, that’s all I want out of the trip. I don’t expect God to change my life. I don’t assume I will find a part of me that was missing. I’m not expecting to uncover an Instagram goldmine or a viral Facebook video. It’s just my version of your trip to Disney World or the Outer Banks or New York City. I’m not trying to compete with my past vacations. I’m just doing me.
Since compiling my 2016 reviews, I might have absorbed more nonfiction books than I had cumulatively read in my entire adult life (including 2016). To make that happen, I listened to fewer podcasts and took more nature hikes with headphones. … Continued
Despite the outlandish expense, I don’t regret going to Antarctica. (I know that doesn’t sound like a ringing endorsement.) It left indelible marks on me—visually, relationally, and even spiritually. Most importantly, though, it made me aware of the opportunities I have, the options available to me, the choices I can make. It increased the value I place on the free moments I have back home in garages, at tables, in carpools, and around prayer circles. It reminded me how much I love driving in the mountains, paddling in their rivers, and watching the sun set over their silhouettes.
At both my stops in Argentina on my way to Antarctica, I noticed these big white stickers on the back of vehicles in surrounding traffic. The numbers varied from one vehicle to the next, ranging from 80 to 110. I asked my taxi driver what they meant.
I’m writing from the end of the world to tell you it’s not what you or I think it is. First, wherever you and I find ourselves is not the end. Second, it’s the gateway to beautiful progress. I anticipate that it’s also the preface to some incredible stories—or at least inspiring chapters in the story God’s writing for us and for the world.
If you’ve read this far, you’re one of those people. I’m going to keep writing for you, because I’m going to keep fishing for stories in the pond of my soul. If all goes to plan, maybe we’ll both learn something along the way.
For me, though, it comes back to the prompting. That idea didn’t blossom beyond pity until after it could surpass a common courtesy. The voice in my head was mute until it came with Jesus’ name. It became a holy caper, a fun assignment only after God could turn the episode into something greater. When I joined God’s narrative, I got a story; and he got a little extra glory.
He had stopped my shot but started my destiny.
Though Death took her there, it didn’t win because it had to come to her. It had to play by her rules. It had to waste multiple arrows. It had to face the “rage against the dying of the night.” She wore Death out a little bit, enough to give the rest of us more time. I can’t speak for the rest of my family, but I’m going to use that time to make sure I’ll be missed as much as she will be.
I usually leave the country when I want a grand adventure. I’m closing in on having all seven continents under my belt, and most of my travel to-do list remains across an ocean, the equator, or both. So, I was surprised to find one of the most incredible experiences of my life to be just over the U.S./Canadian border.
While Crystal will never jump out of an airplane or off a bungee platform with me, she will jump into messes. Though she may never run off a mountain in a paraglider, she will run to someone’s aide. While I’m chasing adrenaline, she’s chasing social justice. So, the next time you think I’m the brave one of the two of us, think again.
God makes beautiful things for himself, whether we will ever find it. He paints and sculpts because he can, because he enjoys it. He creates just to store beauty. He curates gardens and fountains where we can’t take credit for them. He has done this for millennia, knowing that we would take centuries to find his masterpieces—that we might never find them.
One thing we can all be a part of, though, is the remedy for whatever we feel ails our local church or even the global Church. Few of us will impact multiple churches. None of us will change the American church as we know it. We can, however, follow Mother Teresa’s call to “help one person at a time, and always start with the person nearest you.”
I don’t know what challenge you’re facing, what God is asking you to relinquish, what painful reality you know you need to accept. I don’t know what style of music reaches your heart or touches your soul. But I hope you find a mile marker song, an undeniable moment, a portion of Scripture to guide your next step. And I hope you find the courage to lean into it.
For the past week, laughter has hurt. Coughing has been torture. Hiccups have not been their usual funny selves. I’ve held my nose to avoid sneezing. Multiple times, I’ve heard Israel’s King Solomon from three millennia ago: “Pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.”
Over my past decade in the church, I’ve sat in literally hundreds of circles with other men. As we talk about our doubts, personal battles, and spiritual journeys, inevitably someone says that they “struggle with lust.” In terms of the … Continued
Growing up in American fundamentalism, I’ve seen or heard about legalism absurd enough to be a punchline on Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt. I was recently surprised with an odd legalistic edict, though. It was a curveball because it came from the … Continued
My prayer today is that God would give all of these souls a respite from their grief. Oh, there’s freedom to rightfully mourn; but today it comes with proud tears, with happy memories, with a renewed hope for a reunion someday. I pray that God redeems their pain and leverages their loss. I plead for peace. I ask that no more brave soldiers will need posthumous plaques, that no more civilians would need victim memorials.
The word revival isn’t in the Bible. Neither is rededication. The idea of a jump start to a dead battery that once was alive rarely makes the Bible’s pages. You’re far more likely to read tales of dead things coming to life. Resurrection. Jesus even disclosed that the reason he left heaven was to bring life and life more abundant.
Recently, my circle of friends has been growing deeper with each other. My Tuesday night study group, specifically, has been embarking into the kind of conversations you’d expect at a therapist’s office. My encounter with Peter Wohlleben’s book happened as we have been in the process of distilling our DNA to make our culture replicable. Several of my takeaways from the book explain why our circle has functioned with such health—and why it continues to grow.
I’ve been diving into the books, articles, and even YouTube videos that have made significant blips on my cultural radar. I’m learning a lot about how to reduce stress, avoid a midlife crisis, and build a legacy—how not to waste my life.
What is possible to experience and what is impossible to know should both draw us to marvel. Both should make us wonder how we got here. We should all be amazed on a regular basis.