What do you do when God doesn’t fix things? If you’re a believer, does that fit into your worldview?

There are lots of things I wasn’t aware of when I became a Christian. My faith was shallow, because I was just a baby in the faith. I didn’t know there were times when God doesn’t fix things. I thought if I prayed just the right kind of prayers and believed, then everything would go my way.

No. It doesn’t work that way. Right?

I made the comment the other day that the natural state of the Christian was suffering. (That statement is a great platform for church growth, right?) What I’ve come to understand, though, is that suffering doesn’t cancel out joy. What a paradox.

Fact is, sometimes God doesn’t answer, at least in the fashion we believe He should. It’s that old adage of God answers all prayers, either with yes, no, or wait.

“No” doesn’t suit us well. That means that in some cases, God doesn’t fix things, at least the way I wanted Him to.

Ancient script is full of this line of thinking. I don’t know why we gloss over 2 Corinthians 12:7-10, like this was something unique to the apostle Paul and not to us:

^{7 …}or because of these surpassingly great revelations. Therefore, in order to keep me from becoming conceited, I was given a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me.⁸ Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me.⁹ But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.¹⁰ That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.

Paul sort of answers his own question here, because God doesn’t fix things, at least in the manner he begged Him to do.

Paul prays the same prayer three times. The first time, I just bet he believed that God would deliver. That mystery thorn? One and done.

Not.

I wonder how Paul’s prayer sounded:

“Lord, I really need you to help me. I need to have this thorn dealt with and removed. It’s awful, and painful, and I’d be much more effective for You if You’d take it away. It’s satanic.”

God responds: “Sorry, pal.”

Paul gives it another shot:

”God, really. I don’t get it. Things aren’t better. They may even be worse. I feel like I’m handicapped. I don’t see how I can serve like You want me to. I’d be a much more effective leader, teacher, and friend. I know You can deal with this thing, once and for all. Can I count on You to be God and bring glory to Yourself by delivering me?”

God says, “Your prayers are noted. Carry on.”

Paul, round three:

”Almighty God, I know when Jesus died He took all our sins on Himself on the cross. If I’m in sin in some way, and that’s why You aren’t dealing with this horrific thorn, then please forgive me. I repent. I’m in such awful pain, and I don’t know how long I can go on like this. I’m begging, in Jesus’ name … heal me and take this away from me.”

And God said, “I don’t guess you get it. Here’s what you need to learn: My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.“

Paul says, “Roger that.”

Here’s our lesson, and it’s a good one to embrace. Hard, but good. It’s what we need to learn when we think God doesn’t fix things:

• When you’re weak and in the lowest of lows, guess what – you actually are strong.
• God understands when you’re crushed by grief, when you’re about to lose it, when you’re frustrated to the max, and you are at the end of your proverbial rope.
• The transaction is for you to exchange your weakness for His strength. It’s totally okay to admit you ain’t got what it takes.
• You are part of The Plan. You may not be privy to it, but that’s okay, too. Just accept the ride.
• Here’s your word for the day: Release.
• Be well. Be blessed.

We can fight for our beliefs without demonizing each other.

Not everyone knows this, apparently.

I have a love/hate relationship with social media. I love being able to reconnect with friends that I haven’t heard from in years. It’s pretty wonderful to find a former student from one of the youth groups I led 30 years ago and hear how they’re doing Kingdom work and loving Jesus.

That’s the love side of things. What I hate, though, is when I run across some political or social screed and just shake my head. Or, worse, when I let myself get suckered and drawn into a no-win discussion, i.e., argument. It devalues my soul.

In a world bursting with diverse opinions and beliefs, it’s easy to find ourselves at odds with others. Do we live in a divided country or what? But as Christians, we’re called to a different standard — one of love, understanding, and peace.

The Apostle Paul reminds us inRomans 12:18, “If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone.” This isn’t just a lofty ideal; it’s a practical guide for navigating our interactions, even when we disagree.

Understanding Over Judgment

One of the first steps in bridging differences is striving to understand rather than rush to judgment. Remember James 1:19, which encourages us to be “quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry.” Understanding doesn’t mean we have to agree with every point of view, but it does mean acknowledging the sincerity and humanity in others’ perspectives.

That’s hard. I’ll read something from a friend or acquaintance and think, “Dude, you must be possessed. How can you believe such nonsense? Who are you listening to? What are you reading? What are your sources?”

Then I remember: Everyone has a story. Their story isn’t my story. They came to their beliefs based on their worldview, their upbringing, their environment, and a whole host of other factors. Just like you and I did.

I’d like to think I work hard at this. I once found myself in a heated debate with a friend over a social issue. As we talked, I made a conscious effort to listen, not just to respond but to understand. It didn’t change my viewpoint, but it certainly softened my heart towards my friend’s experience and reasoning.

Love as Our Guiding Principle

In every interaction, love should be our guiding principle. Jesus couldn’t have been clearer when he said, “Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another” (John 13:34). This love isn’t just a warm feeling; it’s patient, kind, and self-controlled, as detailed in1 Corinthians 13:4-7. It’s choosing to respond with gentleness even when we’re tempted to be harsh, showing kindness when it’s easier to be indifferent.

Just be kind.

The Strength in Diversity

Our differences can be a source of strength, not division. Proverbs 27:17 tells us, “As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another.” Engaging with diverse viewpoints can challenge us to think deeper, understand more broadly, and grow stronger in our own beliefs. It’s like a community garden with a variety of plants; each contributes something unique to the overall beauty and health of the garden.

When I talk about diversity, I’m simply saying that we aren’t all alike. I’m not talking about a union of light and darkness, of sin and holiness. What I am saying is that just listening to others, even if you find their stances repellant and even wicked, can’t hurt. Just make sure you are secure in you own beliefs, and stand firm on biblical truths.

Bridging the Gap with Grace

Finally, grace is the bridge that spans the gap between differing viewpoints. Ephesians 4:2-3 encourages us to “be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love.” Grace involves listening, forgiving, and sometimes agreeing to disagree, all while maintaining respect and dignity. It’s recognizing that we’re all works in progress, journeying together towards understanding and truth.

As followers of Christ, we’re called to stand firm in our beliefs while also extending love and respect to those who differ from us. This balance isn’t just a nice idea; it’s a scriptural mandate and a practical pathway to peace and unity in a diverse world.

Let’s embrace our differences, not as barriers, but as opportunities to demonstrate the love, understanding, and grace that are at the heart of our faith.

I was a repulsively good kid growing up. I don’t think I would have been classified as a “goody goody” – does that term even exist anymore? – but I just didn’t get in that much trouble. As an only child, I was pretty spoiled, and I didn’t want to mess with the good deal I had. 

Still, I had spectacular failures. I’ll not share those because they’re none of your business, and we don’t know each other that well. On one occasion, Mama laid on me the title of this article: “Michael Anthony Martin, you should be ashamed of yourself.” It’s always bad when parents call you by your whole name. 

So – being ashamed. I think there was a time when Southerners had the capacity to be ashamed because of something we did or said, but that may be a lost ideal. 

In our modern world, the concept of shame often gets a bad rap. It’s seen as an outdated, negative emotion, something to be avoided at all costs. But have we, in our quest to be free of discomfort, lost sight of the transformative power of shame? As Christians, we understand that shame, when understood and approached correctly, can be a catalyst for positive change.

The Lost Art of Feeling Ashamed

In a society that champions the mantra of “doing what feels right,” the idea of feeling ashamed for our actions seems almost archaic. We live in a world where personal truth often overrides absolute Truth, and the notion of feeling embarrassed by our negative behaviors is increasingly rare. But is this lack of shame a sign of progress or a warning of lost moral compass?

Shame in the Biblical Context

The Bible doesn’t shy away from discussing shame. In fact, it’s often presented as a natural response to sin and wrongdoing. Proverbs 14:34 reminds us, “Righteousness exalts a nation, but sin is a reproach to any people.” This reproach, or shame, is not meant to be a permanent state but a moment of realization, a turning point.

The Role of Shame

Shame’s true role is not to condemn but to convict. It’s like a mirror, reflecting back our imperfections, not to discourage us but to encourage us to seek better. In 2 Corinthians 7:10, Paul talks about godly sorrow leading to repentance: “Godly sorrow brings repentance that leads to salvation and leaves no regret, but worldly sorrow brings death.” This distinction is crucial. Godly sorrow, or shame, should lead us to a place of positive change.

Moving from Guilt to Grace

Feeling shame for our negative thoughts and behaviors is a starting point, not the end. It’s where grace enters the picture. Ephesians 2:8 reminds us, “For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God.” Grace doesn’t negate the need for shame; rather, it provides the means for moving beyond it.

Practical Steps to Growth

• Acknowledgment: Admitting our faults is the first step towards change.
• Seeking Forgiveness: This involves both asking God for forgiveness and seeking to mend our relationships with those we’ve wronged.
• Learning and Growing: Use your experiences of shame as lessons for personal growth.
• Resting in God’s Grace: Remember that your identity is not in your failures but in Christ.

Encouragement for the Journey

The journey from guilt to growth is not a solitary one. We’re reminded in Galatians 6:2 to “Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.” Let’s not shun the feeling of shame, but use it as a tool for growth, encouragement, and positive change.

Have we lost the ability to feel ashamed? Perhaps in some ways, we have. But as Christians, we have the unique opportunity to reclaim shame as a step towards redemption and growth. It’s not about wallowing in guilt but about embracing the journey from conviction to grace. Let’s walk this path together, encouraged and ready to grow into the people God intends us to be.

I’m preaching to myself this morning, and thought I’d let you be part of my one-person congregation.

Here’s what is true. You are carrying a burden that gnaws at your mind and heart. It’s heavy, isn’t it? That feeling of something being not quite right, of decisions left unmade or actions not taken. This burden? You know it well because, truth be told, it’s self-inflicted. You know what to do but won’t do it. It’s like knowing the path but refusing to walk it. And I get it. We’ve all been there.

But here’s the thing about this burden – it’s corrupting your life, your relationships, everything. It’s like a little bit of rust that, left unchecked, weakens the strongest metal. It’s not just about you anymore; it’s about how this burden spills over into every interaction, every relationship. It might start small, but it has a way of growing, doesn’t it?

Now, let’s pause for a second. I know this sounds serious but hold on. Here comes the good part. Listen closely. In Christ, you have nothing to hide. You see, those things we bury deep inside, those mistakes or regrets we’re afraid to face, in Christ, they’re out in the open – and yet, we’re safe. There’s no need to put on a mask, to pretend to be someone you’re not.

Nothing to prove. That relentless drive to show the world how capable, how successful, or how unbothered we are? In Christ, that pressure is off. You’re already valued, loved, more than you know. It’s not about what you do; it’s about who you are in Him.

Nothing to fear. This is a big one. Fear can be paralyzing – fear of failure, of rejection, of the unknown. But in Christ, fear loses its grip. It’s like stepping out into a storm and realizing you’re not alone, and the one who’s with you can calm the wind and the waves.

And finally, nothing to lose. In a world where we’re constantly told to protect our assets, our status, our egos, it’s liberating to know that in Christ, what truly matters can’t be taken away. It’s a security that isn’t based on the shifting sands of circumstance but on the solid rock of His love and grace.

So, what’s the solution to this burden you’re carrying? It’s simple, yet profound. Repent. Obey. Repentance isn’t just about saying sorry; it’s about turning around, going a different way. It’s about choosing a path that leads to healing and wholeness. And obeying? It’s about aligning your steps, your heart, your life with His. It’s about taking those steps, even when they’re hard.

I just gave you and me the solution to basically every problem we have. He wants to make you whole again. It’s not just a nice thought; it’s a promise. A promise of a life filled with purpose, peace, and joy. A promise that no matter how far you’ve strayed, you’re never too far from His reach.

So, take a deep breath. Let go of that burden. Step into the light of His love. You’ve got this, not because of who you are, but because of who He is in you. And remember, in Christ, you truly have nothing to hide, nothing to prove, nothing to fear, and absolutely nothing to lose.

Papa Wilson, my grandfather, died when I was eight years old. This was in 1964. I don’t remember many details about his actual death, but I do remember that he was 84 when he died. I thought that was positively ancient.

Mama was part of a family of twelve kids. At some point you cross the threshold of having a family and it becomes a litter. She was close to her daddy, and she indeed grieved.

There was some debate with Daddy and her about whether or not I should go to the funeral. Maybe they thought I’d be traumatized. I was up for it. I had sort of a morbid fascination with the whole process. I had a nebulous idea about how all this worked from TV shows and movies. I knew it was all about preparing the body for burial, picking out a casket, having the funeral itself (which these days more often referred to as a “memorial service,” as if the term “funeral” is too archaic or disturbing. Maybe they’re two different things.)

I also knew that there’d be a procession – that Papa Wilson’s casket would be carried by the pallbearers across the road from the church to the cemetery itself, and there he’d be “interred” (another infrequently used word) by being dropped into a vault in the ground and subsequently sealed and covered up in dirt. I remember thinking “what IS a pall anyway?” The whole thing, from the time the body was prepared for burial until the time it was lowered in the ground, was choreographed with the panache of a Broadway musical.

The most intriguing part of the process was what was called the “viewing.” “Wake” is another term. The excitement I felt at the time was knowing that I was going to be able to see a dead person. I loved Papa Wilson too, but I had no fear about seeing his body. I found the term “viewing” to be very accurate. We all had to take a look at him. It was part of the process, and was supposed to bring some closure. I’d add, too, that in southeast Alabama, another term was prior to the funeral you had a “sitting up,” aka wake, where someone spent the night at the funeral home or the house and sat with the body, as if it were going anywhere. The custom came from the need to keep mice and other vermin from making themselves at home in the casket – they needed to be shooed off. Or to keep the cat from sitting on the body. It didn’t matter if there were mice or cats around. You were simply expected to keep the departed company.

Papa Wilson lay in state in his house, in the parlor. I remember relatives and friends milling around on the front porch, talking in subdued whispers, as though if you were too loud it might disturb Papa Wilson. When you walked in the front door of the house, you came in the living room, and through French doors from the living room you’d enter the parlor/dining room.

So here’s young Tony, standing on the front porch, flanked by Mama and Daddy. Mama said, “Would you like to say goodbye to Papa?” I didn’t know about that … I knew he wouldn’t be able to hear me, but I also figured the goodbye was more for me than him. I said yes, but it was more of me wanting to see what he looked like than say any farewells.

So I was ushered into the parlor. People parted to let us come in. I saw the casket, gleaming in the subdued light, with the top opened, or at least half of it. I saw a white ruffle of pleated fabric spilling over the side. But because I wasn’t tall enough, I couldn’t really see into it. I could see Papa Wilson’s nose and not much else.

At we approached the side of the casket I was able to peek in. Papa Wilson was dressed in a fine suit. I heard Mama sniffling, and I glanced up at Daddy. His jaws were working, his teeth clenched.

“Doesn’t he look sweet,” Mama said.

“He looks like he’s asleep,” Daddy said.

My thought? “He looks like he’s dead.” I wasn’t fooled.

Like his grandson is now, Papa Wilson was bald. Typically his head shone like a polished hubcap. This time, however, it was so powdered that it looked like parchment. His face was stretched tight, almost like a mask. His mouth was what disturbed me – it was though it was made of wax. (I’ve since learned that mouths can be a real problem for undertakers – because the mouth is always in motion, to see it perfectly still is an anomaly.)

I stood still and examined him with frank curiosity. I think my folks expected me to cry, or run, or something. I did none of these. Candidly, I didn’t feel anything. My primary thought was, “That’s not Papa Wilson. That’s just the horse he rode in on.”

Since that day I’ve been to many more funerals and performed a fair share, too. It’s given me plenty of opportunities to observe grief. Here’s your takeaway – everyone grieves differently, and you are in no place to judge if someone doesn’t grieve the way you would. Grief is necessary.

To an observer of the eight-year-old Tony, they might feel that I didn’t grieve appropriately, if at all. That may be so.

When you think about it, grief is a part of closure, or should be. The overarching need is to move on. Grief, whatever its source, is a milestone, a transitional point from what was to what is. To get stuck in the what was can be a recipe for despair. Losses will happen, and there’s nothing that can be done about that. But staying bogged down in that loss, refusing to move on, is to doubt the bigness and sovereignty of God, who has no desire for us to be mired in the past, and is aware and present in our loss and perhaps even engineered it.

How do you move on?

This may be shallow, but … you just do. While your emotions may be raging and drowning you, understand that they are transient (unless there is some clinical problem, which we won’t go into here. I understand the reality of chronic depression, anxiety, anger, etc.).

There is no proper way to grieve. Every individual deals with loss in a way unique to themselves. Be wary of saying, “I know how you feel.” Uh, no. You might know how you would feel or have felt, but the other person? They aren’t you, and don’t cast them in your autobiography.

Say this familiar biblical phrase: “And it came to pass…”

What is isn’t what will always be. And while we may always have a sense of loss after a tragedy, the reality is that it doesn’t have to cripple us. It is legitimate to miss what once was. But, armed with the knowledge that you can’t go back, and by listening to your head as well as your heart, it is possible – and necessary – to move forward toward a new horizon. What happens tomorrow may be a mystery, but it is no mystery in knowing that no matter where you’re headed, God is already there.

“The Gate of the Year” is the popular name of a poem by Minnie Louise Haskins. She titled it “God Knows.” I’ll share its best-known stanza in a moment.

A quick history lesson.

According to Wikipedia, the poem was written in 1908 and privately published in 1912. King George VI quoted it in his 1939 Christmas broadcast to the British empire. It was thought that his wife, Queen Elizabeth, the Queen Consort, shared it with him. Now it’s believed that Princess Elizabeth, aged 13, gave the poem to her father.

The Gate of the Year gave comfort to the Queen Mother all her days, and was a real inspiration to Brits in the Second World War. She had its words engraved on stone plaques and mounted on the gates of the King George VI Memorial Chapel at Windsor Castle.

These are some powerful words:

And I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year:
“Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown.”
And he replied:
“Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the Hand of God.
That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known way.”
So I went forth, and finding the Hand of God, trod gladly into the night.
And He led me towards the hills and the breaking of day in the lone East.

I wish I’d written this.

So why this current fascination on my part? Let me parse it.

And I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year: “Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown.”

Here are two fundamental wishes. These are especially meaningful when you have some hard questions and answers aren’t forthcoming (hello, 2024!)

The desire for light is self-evident. You want to be able to see where you’re going.

“Tread safely into the unknown.” If light is available, then the unknown isn’t quite as scary. In these dark days, if you knew what lay ahead, wouldn’t you be comforted by knowing? (Or not; if what lay ahead is disastrous, you might not want to know.)

There have been times in my life – and, in all likelihood, yours too – when you took a leap of faith and hit the ground with a sickening thud. Your faith was misplaced. You let the clamor of the world drown out that still, small voice. Or, worse, you “followed your heart.” Ancient script teaches that the heart is deceitful above all things. Following your heart sounds noble, but it’s not a good idea.

And he replied:
“Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the Hand of God.
That shall be to you better than light and safer than a known way.”

Yes yes yes.

You’ve probably said things like:

I thought God wanted me to marry him.

I thought I was supposed to take that job.

Moving to a new house felt right, somehow.

Here’s the lesson here:

• It’s not a matter of removing the darkness. It’s a matter of accepting the darkness and prevailing in it.
• God’s hand is big, protective, and firm. He doesn’t let go of you. People might. He won’t.
• If it’s safety you crave, then the most perfectly safe place in the universe is in the hand of God, and it doesn’t matter how dark it is.

So I went forth, and finding the Hand of God, trod gladly into the night.

Here’s a subtle nuance. The picture is of someone (you? me?) moving first and then finding the hand of God. It’s knowing that He’s already there, whether you have reached Him or not. The poet draws the picture of taking God’s hand and trodding gladly into the night. No fear, no apprehension. Just the simple joy of knowing God’s got you.

It doesn’t matter the circumstances of what brought on the darkness. They might not change.  The mandate is to be glad in those circumstances. Crazy, I know. But it all is centered in God holding your hand.

And He led me towards the hills and the breaking of day in the lone East.

Sweet.

Get this picture.

• God leads, and the journey begins in darkness.
• He leads toward the hills. Hills conceal, but there is the promise of something else beyond what can be seen.
• The day breaks in the East. There is the certainty of sunrise, and, blessedly, visual confirmation that it is indeed dawn. A new day with new possibilities and new hope.

The Gate of the Year

So heart be still:
What need our little life
Our human life to know,
If God hath comprehension?
In all the dizzy strife
Of things both high and low,
God hideth His intention.

God knows. His will
Is best. The stretch of years
Which wind ahead, so dim
To our imperfect vision,
Are clear to God. Our fears
Are premature; In Him,
All time hath full provision.

Then rest: until
God moves to lift the veil
From our impatient eyes,
When, as the sweeter features
Of Life’s stern face we hail,
Fair beyond all surmise
God’s thought around His creatures
Our mind shall fill.^[3]

As Christmas approaches, it’s hard not to get swept up in the whirlwind of lights, carols, and the overall spirit of the holiday. One carol that always tugs at my heartstrings is “O Holy Night.” Its lyrics carry a profound message of hope and joy, especially the line, “A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices.”

In today’s fast-paced world, it’s easy to feel overwhelmed. News headlines often paint a bleak picture, and personal challenges can sometimes seem insurmountable. Yet, in the midst of these trials, the message of “O Holy Night” resonates more deeply. It reminds us that no matter how weary the world may seem, there is always a glimmer of hope.

The carol speaks of a night that brought about a monumental shift in history. The birth of Jesus marked the beginning of a new era, one where light overcomes darkness. This isn’t just a historical event; it’s a continual promise. The lyric, “Long lay the world in sin and error pining, till He appeared and the soul felt its worth,” beautifully captures this. It’s an affirmation that in God’s presence, we find our true worth and hope.

This hope isn’t fleeting or baseless. It’s grounded in the steadfast love and faithfulness of God. It’s a hope that doesn’t ignore the realities of pain, suffering, or injustice. Instead, it confronts these realities with the assurance that they do not have the final word. The line “Chains shall He break, for the slave is our brother; and in His name, all oppression shall cease,” speaks to this powerful truth. It’s a reminder that in God, there is liberation and a definitive end to all forms of oppression.

Hope in God is both a comfort and a call to action. It comforts us in our moments of weariness, assuring us that we are not alone in our struggles. At the same time, it calls us to be agents of hope in the world. As bearers of this hope, we’re encouraged to reach out to those who are struggling, to show compassion, and to work towards making the world a more just and loving place.

As we sing “O Holy Night” this Christmas, let’s embrace the thrill of hope it offers. Let’s remember that in the midst of any darkness, the light of hope shines brightest. It’s a hope that doesn’t just belong to the Christmas season but is available every day. It’s eternal, unchanging, and available to all.

In this weary world, let’s hold onto this hope and share it generously. For in doing so, we not only find solace for ourselves but also become a source of joy and hope for others.

“O Holy Night” isn’t just a carol; it’s a reminder of the unshakeable hope we have in God. As we look forward to celebrating Christmas, let’s carry this hope in our hearts, spreading its light wherever we go.

Merry Christmas!

What does it look like to be whole?

I want to be whole. I’ve been on this kick of moving from brokenness to wholeness. You probably have recognized this.

I’ve figured this out – not because I’m all that brilliant, but just because it’s self-evident. The thought is to be complete in Christ. That’s what it means to be whole. Without Him, there are simply missing pieces.

The implications are huge. It means that you thrive spiritually. It means that you live strong. It means that you are whole and complete.

So what does that look like? Let me share some good stuff from scripture. That’s my authority.

7 thoughts.

1 – It means that you aren’t looking for wholeness in places apart from God.

2 Corinthians 12:9 reads, “But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.”

It means that no one but God Himself can return you to wholeness. This is about grace, and the yearning of your heart. There are quick fixes out there, but they don’t last because they’re based in something that has no foundation.

Psalm 73:26 reads, “My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.”

2 – You can’t realistically expect other people to meet the needs only Jesus Christ can.

John 15:11 reads, “I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete.”

Relying on God is the only way you can be healed and fulfilled. This is a companion thought to #1. This one, though, has more to do with what you think people can do to make you whole.

I had a student tell me once, when referring to her boyfriend, “He completes me.” I get that; we need others, and we especially need others in relationships that help us with our shortcomings. Still, we’re still talking about completeness in the flesh here. Aim for eternal completion. Jesus does that.

Psalms 107:20 reads, “He sent forth his word and healed them; he rescued them from the grave.”

3 – You realize your worth is not defined by your appearance, job performance, human relationships, or anything apart from your relationship with God as His child.

2 Corinthians 5:7 reads, “We live by faith, not by sight.”

This is tricky. We don’t think we’re whole because we aren’t measuring up to some standard out there. Truth is, though, that the relationship with God I’ve been speaking of is the only flawless source of your sense of worth. It’s not how you “look,” or how you think you’re perceived. How does God see you? He is what makes you whole, not some self- or society-imposed standard.

4 – Don’t say “It’s impossible.” God gives freedom. You are forgiven and loved no matter what. You show God gratitude by living in His light and making wise choices.

1 Peter 5:7 reads, “Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.”

You aren’t stuck. You are not broken forever. You can be whole. This casting anxiety thing? It’s a promise, because He does indeed care for you.

5 – You don’t live your life to please other people. Instead, you strive to please God by discovering your purpose in Him and living that to the max.

Psalm 94:19 reads, “When anxiety was great within me, your consolation brought joy to my soul.”

Can I just ‘fess up here and tell you that I want people to like me? I mean, the alternative is for people to dislike me, and that’s not especially appealing. You can’t please everyone, right? So, the obvious tactic is to please God. He’s got you here for a reason. He isn’t hiding that from you. Work that reason. Be joyful.

6 – Stop yourself immediately when an unhealthy thought enters your mind, and challenge it with “Does this thought line up with the word of God?”

Psalm 42:5 reads, “Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my savior and my God.”

What takes up headspace in your life? Here’s an absolute, incontrovertible truth: you are what you think about. Man, I could riff on that all day. I don’t need to, because you know exactly what I’m saying. It’s true.

7 – The battlefield is your mind, first and foremost.

2 Corinthians 10:5 reads, “We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ.”

Again, I’m piggybacking on a previous thought. But your mind, y’all! That’s where it goes down.

Here’s the cool thing. You have this superpower that distinguishes you and separates you from all the rest of creation:

You can choose. You can make choices. You can even make good choices.

That’s a big deal. By God’s grace and empowered by the indwelling Holy Spirit, you can choose the quality of your life. You can’t control the outcome of things – God does that – but in aligning yourself with Him and acting in obedience, things work out. Every time. Maybe not in the way you wanted or planned, but in a way that honors God and leads to your ultimate success.

I think that’s amazing. That’s being made whole.

Thoughts that lead to brokenness are the devil’s way of blocking what God wants you to know about who you are in Christ. You have to take those thoughts about yourself and lock them up. Make your mind listen to what God has to say about you. If you do, you will find wholeness.

Comments welcome. Talk soon!

I’ll start with a confessional. Sometimes, Christmas music gets on my nerves. But before you call the grinch squad on me, I’ll explain. And I will use The Little Drummer Boy as a jumping off place.

I love Christmas carols. Love ‘em. I might listen to them year round. But some of the secular stuff can really wear thin. White Christmas? Good with that. I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day? Check – I like it.

But Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree? Santa Baby? Mariah Carey? The whole Bob Dylan Christmas album, which is like some sort of surreal fever dream? No thanks.

Then there’s The Little Drummer Boy. More carol than secular. And for some reason I’ve done a deep dive with this one recently.

Don’t look for him in scripture. You won’t find him. If you look for the little drummer boy in the context of the lyrics (aside from the pa-rum-pa-pum-pums), you can piece together enough clues to tell you that he showed up at the same time as the wise men. (And for a special treat, listen to this song as performed by Pentatonix.)

Check this out.

Our finest gifts we bring … to lay before the king … so to honor Him … when we come.

Here are the wise men. Traditionally, there were three of them, based on the three gifts.

They brought good things. Expensive, even priceless things.

And then there’s the little drummer boy.

Little baby … I am a poor boy too. I have no gift to bring that’s fit to give our King. Shall I play for you on my drum?

The wise men brought their finest gifts. The little drummer boy had nothing of material value. He just played his drum.

I played my best for Him. Then He smiled at me … me and my drum.

I wonder how the little drummer boy felt?

I hope he didn’t feel unworthy. Because what he gave Jesus was sufficient because he gave with a pure heart.

This raises a couple of questions:

• What are you afraid to give God because you don’t think it’s good enough?
• What do you do when you see other do things for Jesus? What’s your response?

File those away. We’ll come back.

Let me take you somewhere else – specifically, Mark 12:41-44.

⁴¹ Jesus sat down opposite the place where the offerings were put and watched the crowd putting their money into the temple treasury. Many rich people threw in large amounts. ⁴² But a poor widow came and put in two very small copper coins, worth only a few cents.

⁴³ Calling his disciples to him, Jesus said, “Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put more into the treasury than all the others. ⁴⁴ They all gave out of their wealth; but she, out of her poverty, put in everything—all she had to live on.” (NIV)

Can you see any parallels to the widow and the little drummer boy?

Maybe the widow thought what she gave wasn’t fit for God, but she gave anyway. It was all she could do.

The rich people threw plenty into the treasury. Jesus and His disciples were watching this, and then the little widow hobbles up to the treasury and drops those two coins in.

If you were there, what would you think? How would you feel?

I’d feel humbled at best, and unworthy at worst.

Giving doesn’t come naturally to me. I can be a stingy, self-centered, worldly old dude. I like stuff, and I don’t part with it easily.

God help me.

Both the widow and the little drummer boy had so little to give, but they both had hearts that longed to worship with all they have.

Let’s break this down, in conclusion. Actually, I’ll just ask that you and I answer these questions:

1. What are you afraid to give because you don’t think it’s good enough? Are you so mired in your sense of unworthiness that you don’t think you have anything to offer?
2. Have you been holding back anything from God? I’m not just talking about the things. I’m talking about your heart, your will, your whole life.
3. What are some ways you can give to God?
4. Have you ever seen God multiply something you thought was very small?
5. What’s something you’ve been thinking specifically about to give Jesus for His use? Want to be encouraged? Want to be a hope-giver? That’s my thoughts.

Where is your heart today?

I play my best for you.

I give you all I have.

God bless the little drummer boy. God bless us.

When I was a little guy, Sundays were as much about wardrobe as they were about God. My mama, bless her heart, would dress me up like a miniature Southern gentleman. I’m talking about shiny shoes so bright they’d make the sun jealous, a starched shirt, and a bow tie so snappy it could’ve done a tap dance all on its own. If she’d been given free reign, she would’ve dressed me like Little Lord Fauntleroy in the pursuit of me looking “adorable.” Thank goodness Daddy put some restraints on her.

Those shoes weren’t just shiny; they were a hazard. Slipping and sliding across the church floor, I was a polished disaster waiting to happen. Mama put masking tape on the soles to give some friction. And that bow tie? It was a clip-on, invariably red plaid. It used the same kind of clips women used to hold their permanent waves in place.

Back in those days, everyone dressed to the nines for church. It was like a fashion show where the runway was the church aisle, and the prize was the approving nods from the elders. Men in suits sharp enough to cut through Sunday morning fog, women in hats grand enough to host their own ecosystem – it was a sight to behold.

As the song says, the times, they are a-changing. These days, you’re as likely to see jeans and a t-shirt in the pews as you are a Sunday dress. Some folks say it’s the decline of respect, but I suppose it’s something else.

You see, over the years, I’ve learned something crucial: God’s not up there with a scorecard tallying up our fashion choices. He’s not looking for the brightest shoes or the snappiest ties. No, sir. He’s looking straight past the cotton and polyester, peering into our hearts.

It dawned on me, somewhere between those Sunday mornings of my shiny-shoed youth and the more casual Sundays of today, that what we wear to church matters far less than what we carry in our hearts. The Bible tells us the Lord looks at the heart – and last time I checked, it doesn’t say anything about requiring a bow tie for entry into the kingdom of Heaven.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I think there’s something special about putting on your Sunday best, showing respect and honor in your own way. But I believe the Lord’s more concerned with what we’re best at: loving our neighbors, offering a helping hand, and carrying kindness in our hearts.

So, whether you’re in wingtips or flip-flops, a hat grand enough to need its own zip code, or just your trusty old baseball cap, remember this: It’s not the outfit that counts in the grand scheme of things. It’s the love, the compassion, and the kindness we wear on the inside that truly matters.

And who knows? Maybe up in Heaven, there’s a place where all those shiny shoes and snappy bow ties get to hang out, free of judgment, just basking in the glow of the good we’ve done down here, dressed in our Sunday best or our Tuesday regular.

Talk soon!

Thanksgiving in Mississippi – it’s like any other Thanksgiving, but with a little more gravy and a lot more football! Now, I don’t mean to ruffle any turkey feathers, but let’s face it, in Mississippi, we’ve turned Thanksgiving into an Olympic sport, where the main events are eating and watching the Southeastern Conference football games.

First up, let’s talk about the feast. Down here, we don’t just eat on Thanksgiving; we embark on a culinary marathon. It’s like our stomachs suddenly believe they’re bottomless pits, and our plates become their training grounds. The turkey? That’s just the warm-up act. We’ve got casseroles, sweet potatoes, greens, and let’s not forget the dressing (not stuffing, mind you, we’re in the South). And for dessert, it’s a showdown between pecan pie and pumpkin pie – though why choose one when you can have both?

But the real magic happens when you’re so full you swear you can’t eat another bite, and then – voila! – you find just a smidgen of space for one more spoonful of grandma’s famous mac and cheese. It’s a Thanksgiving miracle!

Now, let’s pivot to the other Thanksgiving tradition that’s as essential as the turkey itself – SEC football. In Mississippi, football isn’t just a game; it’s a way of life, especially around Thanksgiving. This is when rivalries heat up, and family and friends gather around the TV, yelling advice to players who, let’s be honest, can’t hear us but we believe in our hearts they can.

There’s something special about watching a game, stuffed with turkey, surrounded by family, with the sound of your uncle passionately arguing about a referee’s call in the background. It’s like the stuffing to our Thanksgiving turkey – necessary and oh-so-satisfying. And whether you’re a die-hard fan or just there for the halftime show, there’s a sense of unity that comes from watching the game together.

So, as Thanksgiving rolls around in Mississippi, we embrace our two favorite pastimes: eating like there’s no tomorrow and getting way too emotional about college football. It’s a time of joy, a bit of overindulgence, and lots of cheering. Sure, we might need to loosen our belts a notch or two, but hey, that’s just part of the Thanksgiving charm.

And remember, when it’s fourth and inches on the dinner table, and you’re eyeing that last piece of pie like it’s the endzone, go for it. After all, it’s Thanksgiving – the one day when calories magically don’t count (or so we like to believe).

Happy Thanksgiving, Mississippi style!

Here’s something special from me at Thanksgiving. Honesty, I don’t have anything against turkey, but fried chicken transcends any calendar date.

Ode to Fried Chicken at Church Potlucks

Oh, golden treasure of the church social feast,

Crisped to perfection, a southern culinary beast,

Fried chicken, your sizzle whispers tales of home,

In the fellowship hall, where community roams.

Beneath steeples high, where hymns softly play,

Your aroma, like a gospel choir, steals the day.

Each piece, a sermon in crunchy, savory skin,

Whispers of potlucks past, and kinship within.

Thou art not merely food, but a binding spell,

Uniting souls in prayer, and stories to tell.

In your golden crust, a crunch of history resides,

Of grandmas and aunties, their secret recipes they hide.

Breast, wing, thigh, and drumstick too,

Laid upon checkered cloths, a heavenly view.

With each bite, a chorus of “Amen” rings,

In the sacred halls, where the community sings.

You transcend mere taste, oh bird divine,

In your juicy depths, memories and love entwine.

You’re more than a meal; you’re a shared embrace,

A symbol of grace, in this humble place.

As hands reach forth, in harmony they gather,

Around your platter, differences don’t matter.

In the clasp of prayer and the breaking of bread,

Your presence reminds us of the words Jesus said.

In this potluck, a mosaic of dishes array,

Yet, fried chicken, in you, our hearts sway.

You’re the star, the comfort, the soul’s delight,

In every bite, a testament of communal might.

In Mississippi’s warmth, under God’s own sky,

You bring us together, and lift spirits high.

Oh, fried chicken at potlucks, you’re more than food,

You’re a symbol of fellowship, gratitude, and good mood.

So here’s to you, fried chicken, in your crispy glory,

A simple dish, yet an anchor in every church story.

In each golden piece, a taste of southern love,

A blessing from kitchens below, and heavens above.