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.
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.
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.
Maher was describing the blessing I try not to take for granted and the responsibility my friendships often require. If you don’t have this reality in your life, you can. If you do have this luxury in your life, don’t keep it to yourself. There’s a world out there literally dying for what you have.
Kendall embraced this intentional lifestyle instead of the American dream. He bought into the concept of eternity and brought the weight of it into daily practice. He jumped into a lasting legacy with both feet. He walked a path so many regret not taking. He showed us how to do this life thing, even though he was given less time to do it.
I’m not trying to make the case that auctioneers should use repurposed cardboard to promote their auctions and their businesses. It’s just that we would all benefit from more succinct, more candid, and more restrained advertising media.
It’s not surprising that illusionist shows are advertised all over the place. The entire city is a slight of hand trick. Vegas successfully convinces you it’s the ultimate resort, a place where you pay for unmatched entertainment. Not even Disney could make a theme park this extravagant. The sounds and lights and fixtures are all meant to distract you from the reality of loss, even from the mass of bored and crestfallen faces slumped in front of machines.
Wherever Jesus and his truth comes alive most and best to someone is probably where they should congregate—whether at my church or not, a megachurch or not, a contemporary church or not. While you can learn a lot about any church on a Sunday morning, you’ll understand more after diving into its culture outside of its auditorium. Especially mine.
Deep down, though, we all distrust advertising to varying degrees. We wonder what the ad isn’t telling us, what it’s exaggerating, and why so much fine print is often needed. The advertising profession is seen as convincing people they (1) need something they don’t or (2) want more than they need.
The challenge, especially for those of us who consider ourselves self-sufficient, is to reach out to our friends. The reward for this vulnerability is more than refreshment. It brings a renewed sense of purpose, a sense of belonging, an appreciation of the Sovereign.
That shouldn’t surprise us: that’s how God designed it to work.
That pulpit, then, becomes the wall between a certain spiritual have and the have nots. I remember the spiritual place I felt attained by the times my dad lent me his pulpit, a sense of worthiness either doled or earned—sadly the antithesis of what that place should generate.
Too often, I demand my birth rite, my share of my heavenly inheritance. The joke’s on me, though, as I get closer and closer to taking God’s freedom to the pig pen. I’m the chunky chick exposing her immaturity to the watching world.
Do I really want to pursue authentic Christian Community?” It was the same question as my wife’s, just framed in different words. Am I willing to change?