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? The whole Bob Dylan Christmas album, which is like some sort of surreal fever dream? No thanks, ma‘am.

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.

Have you ever been guilty of putting God in a box?

Before you rise up in ire at me, let me explain.

All my life – and I mean all my life – I’ve tended to go to extremes when thinking about God and relating to Him.

For me, He can be a God of extremes. He’s either the God of all comfort, or the God of white-hot rage. Same coin, two sides, I’d reason.

That is putting God in a box. It’s a subtle form of idolatry – it’s like I’m forcing Him (at least in my head) to be something He may or may not be.

In that context, there may have been times when I presumed to tell God how He ought to handle me. If I was experiencing joy and grace, I’d say, “Oh, God, I don’t deserve this. I haven’t earned this. How can you be so gracious to such a worm as I?”

Conversely, I might say in times of heartache and sorrow, “God, you need to lay off me. In football, I’d call this ‘piling on.’ You need to cut me some slack.”

Neither one of these sentiments is exactly wrong. But it does smack of trying to put God in a box. If He’s in a box, then it’s easy enough to examine Him. He’s limited, right?

There is a subtle danger in trying to “figure out” God. Certainly He revealed Himself in Jesus, and that should be sufficient. Still, we sometimes want answers, and we want them on our terms, in a way that suits us.

As always, I’m not discrediting the primal cry prayer of “why?” I’m all about being honest and transparent with the Almighty (as if He didn’t know my heart already.) What I’m getting at is just for us to understand and accept that about the time you think you have it all figured out, and have God in a box, He’s fixin’ to bust the box.

There are some pretty significant implications here for all of us. Those implications should give you lots of hope and encouragement.

We tend to put God in one of two boxes, which I’ve already hinted at. He is either all-loving, approving of whatever we do (mutant grace – more on that in a minute); or He’s all-judging, condemning us for the way we live our lives.

So …

• He is all-loving, and He delights in forgiveness. That’s grace. But mutant grace is when we take His nature for granted. Yes, if you’re a believer, you are forgiven. Forgiven of all your sins – past, present, future. But we are not to exploit that. That particular box will be blown to smithereens, because even though you’re forgiven, He won’t tolerate known, willful sin.
• God has subtle ways to correct us and bring us back into a right relationship with Him. Okay … sometimes He isn’t so subtle. Grace is free, but it’s not cheap. Point is, He’s going to do whatever He needs to in order to conform you to the image of Jesus. Hold on tight.
• Conversely, if you check out the other box, it’s not airtight either. He is a God of rage – He hates sin in all its manifestations. He won’t tolerate it. But – and this is a big but – He is so, so patient. He gives us plenty of plenty of chances to live a life that honors Him. He’s not some cosmic potentate demanding His pound of flesh.

What are the implications of this for you personally? What happens when you insist in trying to put God in a box?

• Think about the times when you expected God to act a certain way and He didn’t. How did that make you feel?
• His ways are not your ways. Neither are His thoughts your thoughts.
• He always, always, always has His best interests in mind, not yours. He doesn’t exist to please you.
• HOWEVER – He loves you unspeakably lots, and all that He does in and through and with you is in the context of that love.
• I promise – God is a God of surprises. He will always act according to His nature, and He will always bring glory to Himself. The surprise comes when we think we have it all figured out, and He shows us a part of His nature we weren’t expecting. That, actually, is pretty cool.

So forget trying to put God in a box. It won’t work.

God does not lower His standards to accommodate us, but instead He extends to us the nail-scarred hand of forgiveness to raise us up to His level of righteousness.

O be joyful.

“Why me?” Have you ever asked that?

I have, and I’ll bet you have too. I don’t think it’s because any of us feel entitled, but it is a natural response when things are piling up on us.

Why me? It’s a hard question. I’ve prayed plenty of prayers that started out with “Why…?”

Several years ago I was serving a church in Florida. In a sister church in town, a young couple were in a car accident. The husband had a significant brain injury and was in a coma. His wife died on the scene. So when this man came out of the coma, he awoke to learn that he was a widower with two preschool children.

That seems horrifically unfair. His statement was simple, according to the youth minister at the church: “Why me?”

That’s a basic, primal question.

You may think about this story and think, “That’s not all that bad compared to what I’ve faced in my life.” Perhaps. It’s hard to be objective when you’re the one that’s hurting. We do tend to judge our troubles on a scale when comparing ourselves to others.

Here’s the fact, though: In this life, you’re going to have challenges and pain. It comes with having a pulse. Your reponse might be to ask, “Why me?”

I’d encourage you not to feel bad about asking that. It doesn’t mean you’re weak or unspiritual. It just means you want answers.

Here’s a scriptural reality check:

• Yet man is born to trouble as surely as sparks fly upward.  – Job 5:7
• Anyone born of woman is short of days and full of trouble. – Job 14:1
• For all his days are filled with grief, and his occupation is sorrowful; even at night, his mind does not rest. This too is futile. – Ecclesiastes 2:23
• Why did I come out of the womb to see only struggle and sorrow, to end my life in shame? – Jeremiah 20:18

I could go on, but I don’t need to. These are honest statements that could easily lead to a “why me?”

There is a companion thought, and this won’t win me any popularity contests, especially here at Thanksgiving: “Why not me?”

If problems and heartbreak are part of the human condition, then “why not me?” is an equally valid question, even if it’s unpleasant to think about.

Whatever grief you’re facing, you aren’t unique. You aren’t singled out.

You may be familiar with my testimony of recent months: floods, surgeries, cancer, brain injury, murder, have all been part of my story. And this isn’t a plea for sympathy, or me using this platform to play on your emotions. My story is your story. We all have troubles. It’s universal, right?

I can  ask “Why not me?” knowing that I’m not special. I am not alone.

There isn’t any inherent comfort there. So I have to dig a little deeper. If I want to be truly thankful, there are a few more layers to peel back.

I’ve come to realize there is a natural progression for me. Maybe all of us, if we’d just take time to evaluate things.

I’m about to go all scriptural on you, because that’s all I have. It’s also all I need.

Check this out:

Rejoice always, pray constantly, give thanks in everything; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.” – 1 Thessalonians 5:16 – 18.

There is an obvious truth in these verses. The command is not to be thankful for everything (how could you be thankful for the death of a child, for instance?), but rather to give thanks in everything. There is quite the difference.

It’s a matter of recognizing that we gratefully acknowledge God’s hand in all circumstances. Circumstances change, but God does not.

The challenge is for us to remain aware of God’s goodness regardless of what things seem to be on the surface.

I don’t have to tell you that’s not easy, especially when our emotions have gripped us and our feelings are all over the map.

Part of it is just realizing there is a lot going on around us that we’ll never be aware of. That’s where the “why me?” comes in. Maybe part of it simply means that we are to be open to God in all situations and recognize that not only is He aware of what we’re facing, but that He already knows the outcome.

We can, then, ask “why me” but we also understand He’s under no obligation to answer. I’m guessing that has something to do with faith and free will.

There’s a third step, then. Here’s the progression:

• Why me?
• Why not me?
• Why me?

That third “why me?” There are some sweet promises in that one.

Here’s a hypothetical:

Say a man loses his beloved wife. He asks, “Why me?”

Then he comes to realize that people lose loved ones. All the time. There is nothing unique in his loss, even as much as it hurts. He comes to be able to sincerely say “Why not me?”

As time goes on, he grows into acceptance that he wasn’t picked out of the crowd by the hand of a capricious God Who delights in inflicting pain. He realizes that death is part of living.

The result is that he is able to identify and empathize with others going through similar challenges. He’s able to touch lives that otherwise he never could have – it’s a matter of “been there, done that.” He realizes that things happen not only for his growth and maturity, but so that he can minister in God’s name to others.

The result? He realizes that he’s supernaturally blessed. Now he can say, “Why me?” He realizes that triumph has grown from tragedy, and he has a cause greater than himself. He can’t believe how fortunate he is to serve.

This is an idealized scenario, perhaps. “I could never be so accepting of my loss,” you say.

I don’t have an answer for you. You know yourself and your heart.

My point is simply we do have so, so much to be grateful for.

Why me, indeed:

• I woke up this morning in a warm bed.
• Breakfast was simple and good.
• My car started.
• Lunch was good, too.
• I have a job.

I could go on, and belabor the obvious, but we can all rightfully say “Why me? Why do I have so much and why am I so blessed? Why is there always hope? Why was I given another day here?”

It’s because you ain’t done here yet.

O be joyful.

Typically I blog on Mondays and Thursdays. This week, however, I’m taking some time off. It’s Thanksgiving, y’all, and we have plans! So I’ll see you again next Monday. Be blessed! ~Tony~

Quit complaining. Have you ever said that – or wanted to say that – to someone?

Or have you ever been told to quit complaining? And you complained because someone said that to you?

I have always felt like I was patient to a fault. But in my old age, and since I’m trying to qualify for my curmudgeon credentials, my tolerance level for complainers of all ages, genders, life conditions, etc., is getting progressively lower.

As I told a close friend, “My grace and mercy reservoir is about drained.” That’s not typical for me, but man. Sometimes you’ve just had enough, right?

Here are some thoughts. I’d like for you to (a) be able to develop some coping skills when dealing with complainers, and (b) how to recognize your own tendencies toward complaining and consequently do something about it.

First, complaining might be good in some ways but it’s an awful long-term condition to be in.

Here’s why:

1. It really doesn’t help much. While there is perhaps some benefit occasionally in “venting,” to remain in that state for too long is going to poison your soul.
2. Folks won’t want to be around you. Granted, some people feed off others’ misery. It’s that old “misery loves company” idea. Most everyone, though, would prefer to be positive and upbeat, and be around folks who are the same.
3. But – being in the presence of chronic complainers is sort of like being exposed to secondhand smoke. You run the risk of developing the disease they have.

Second, who wants to be known as a whiner?

You know that person, right? It’s too hot, or too cold. The government is responsible for all their woes. No one understands them. Money is too hard to come by. We sure do need some rain. The sun hasn’t been out for days. And so forth.

And third, complaining causes you to lose sight of what’s really right and positive.

It’s a gratitude thing. More on that in a bit.

So how do you deal with a complainer? What can you do besides just telling them to “quit complaining?”

1. You have to decide if you need to offer support or run away. They may have a valid complaint worth your attention.
2. Acknowledge that you aren’t going to change them.
3. Understand that people tend to mirror the mood of those around them. Make sure that your own attitude affects them, and guard against them impacting you.
4. If their negativity and complaining starts dragging you down, figure out ways to limit contact. Easier said than done, right?
5. Adopt my mama’s attitude: “It’s just their way.” If complaining is a personality trait they have, and they embrace it, you just have to gut it out – unless there’s a way you can disengage from them with honor and integrity.

So, what can you do if you’re the complainer? What if you know you need to stop complaining?

1. Learn to recognize that trait in yourself. If you can handle the truth, ask someone you trust to shoot straight with you.
2. If people tend to avoid you, see if your negativity and complaining is a factor.
3. Ask yourself: “Am I getting some kind of validation or attention from others when I complain?”
4. Understand that complaining can literally rewire your brain. Seriously. Research has shown that complaining and negativity causes an increase in cortisol, the steroid hormone that is responsible for the “fight or flight” response. That’s not bad if you’re being chased by a rhino, but not so good on a daily basis.
5. Probably the simplest solution is just to keep your mouth shut.

However, the no-fail, works-every-time solution is to practice gratitude.

“But Tony,” you say, “you have no idea how lousy my life is.”

I don’t. I have noticed in myself that the skill of practicing gratitude can easily get atrophied if it isn’t exercised.

Here’s your practical assignment. Don’t argue with me. Don’t make excuses. Just do it. It’ll move you in the right direction to quit complaining.

1. You are going to get yourself a journal. Splurge on a nice one. It’s just more meaningful and valuable if it’s attractive and functional.
2. BUT – if that sounds lame to you, get a spiral notebook. Or a McDonald’s bag. Something is better than nothing.
3. You can use a digital tool, but there’s magic in writing in longhand.
4. In the morning, before you start your day, do this: In your journal, I want you to write down what you’re thankful for – at least three things. And if you can’t come up with three … wait. I’m not buying that. If you have a pulse, have the promise of food, and can find shelter, there’s three right there.
5. At night, right before bedtime, get that journal out again. Here’s what you’re going to write: (1) Your lessons learned. What happened today that taught you something, good or bad? (2) Wins. What did you do that was successful? It doesn’t have to be big or of enduring significance. (3) Gratitude. Write at least three things you’re thankful for. It could be repeats of what you wrote this morning. But shoot for at least three.

Don’t skip a day, unless you have some sort of genuine compelling reason to do so. And write, write, write. A mental list isn’t going to cut it. You have to get it out of your head and in front of you so you can see it.

In the realm of feelings, to NOT complain is simply going to make you feel better. That would be welcome, right? And by not complaining, you join that elite group of people who are known by their positivity, who brighten a room when they enter it, and just display that undefinable “something” others aspire toward.

Quit complaining. It can be done.

This particular blog post may be too abstract. This is basically an existential question: What were you put here to do?

This implies that your life has a purpose.

Are you comfortable with that? The alternative is purposelessness. Can we just take that off the table? That’s not an option.

If you want to start with a basic physiological fact, here ya go: genetically, there is no one like you. We discussed that last week. There’s no one like you.

If you are unique – and you are – then you are filling a life space no one else can. You are fearfully and wonderfully made, remember?

So what were you put here to do? Assuredly, you have a role to fulfill.

It would be a sin to go through life without a reason for living. That’s why I constantly remind you that hopelessness is not an option.

Fact is, you’re here. You are breathing. You are reading my words.

There is a reason you aren’t dead yet. It’s because you haven’t accomplished what you were put here to do.

• It’s okay not to have it all figured out. You may not know exactly where you’re going or where you will end up.
• Just start somewhere. I’m not talking about vocation alone. Just show up, and see where God leads you.
• Keep going, one step at a time.
• When you are unsure of your calling, turn to the one who called you in the first place.

Here’s another way of thinking about all this: You have to be before you can do.

In our world, we put a huge emphasis on activity. We’re supposed to always be doing something. I’m not advocating laziness or inaction. But I would say that in order for us to understand what we were put here to do, we have to sit still.

Choosing to be still requires faith. It requires trust. It requires taking ourselves out of the center of everything and putting God there instead.

Today, try doing the single most counter-cultural thing you could do. Be still. Choose to declare that God is working in your life. He is doing the work. See how that takes the pressure off? Want to know what you were put here to do? It was to do what He wants you to do.

What an adventure. He is molding us and shaping us and using us. The weight is on Him. We merely get to join Him in the work as He sees fit.

I often try to rush God’s timing for me. When I want to know what I was put here to do, I want specifics. I want details.

I get annoyed with Him for “forgetting” about me because He hasn’t opened new doors in my life or answered my prayers in the way I wanted them answered. But if you look at Jesus’ life in the Bible, He never ran. He never rushed.

Maybe if we took the time to not get all freaked out because we don’t have the answers we want, things would become more clear to us. Even though it can feel like you’re “stuck” and even awkward at times because you don’t know what you’re supposed to be doing, take a breath. Slow the heck down. If we don’t worry so much about what we’re supposed to be doing, and wondering what we were put here to do, things will change. We won’t go into things that weren’t planned for us and we’ll end up landing gracefully where God wants us to be.

What were you put here to do? Relax. What God means for you won’t pass you by.

I want to share part of Elizabeth’s story with you.

Elizabeth Fiegle was the minister of children and families at Liberty Baptist Church in Flowood, Mississippi, for a season. A Florida native, she finished up her work in Mississippi and headed south, returning to her Atlantic coast home.

She has  quite the story. Elizabeth’s story has sure encouraged me. I asked her to be my guest blogger today. Read this. Follow her on Instagram. Be blessed.

~ Tony ~

Tony asked me to share my story with you all, and as much as I would love to share my entire story, there simply isn’t space for that right now. I’m instead going to share a small glimpse into a season and a practice God taught me during it. In November 2016, everything seemed to be coming together and I found myself thinking that all the pain I had endured for years was over – that God was finally going to reward my faithful obedience. I’m chuckling as I write those sentences, because what followed the “happiest” season of my life was the worst year of my life which I fondly refer to it as “The Hard Year”.

In May 2017, in the midst of a conversation being had in a parking lot, the Hard Year began and I had no idea the pain I was about to learn to endure. During that year from May 2017 – June 2018, I lost three key relationships – the man I thought I would marry, my grandma who was my friend, and a family member who decided they needed time away from our relationship. While I don’t like to brush over the circumstances, they’re not central to this story, because the focus isn’t about what happened, the focus is God and what He taught me through that year.

He taught me to take a deep breathe and exhale it out.

Breathing in is as natural as anything we do, we don’t put thought into breathing until we find we’re having trouble with it. To breathe, to take a breath, sounds really simple and is easy to read in a sentence, but when you’re laying wide awake at 3:21am every night and your mind is spinning with the feelings that God is cruel and led you into the worst pain of your life – breathing is hard. Really, really hard.

Do I really mean breathing, like inhale – exhale breathing?

Yes, and no, but yes.

Psalm 23:1 “The Lord is my shepherd; I lack nothing.”

I don’t remember when this verse took on new meaning for me, but I know it was during one of my 3am mind-spirals. Once I noticed these spirals were happening frequently, I tried to discipline myself to picking up my Bible and reading it as I lay awake. And so, like many other nights, I picked up my Bible to read Scripture and I looked up Psalm 23. I read it, but then looked it up in the NIV version and found myself stuck on 3 words: I lack nothing. I thought to myself, “If God’s word is true (and I believe it is), then this tells me that God is my shepherd that I am following and when I am following Him, I lack nothing.

So even though I feel like I am lacking everything right now, perhaps in this season, I have all that I need from God and nothing more or less. It may look like lack to me, but God knows it is all I need.”

And just like that I found myself repeating over and over again until I fell back asleep “God you are leading me and I lack nothing. You are providing what I need right now and I trust you.” And then I physically took a deep breath and exhaled it out.

This practice didn’t fix everything in that moment, but what I found is that every time the devil started to try to convince me I was lacking a relationship, a job I loved, or anything else, I would pause as soon as the thoughts started to swirl and I would repeat to myself Psalm 23: 1 “The Lord is my Shepherd, I lack nothing. God help me see you.” *inhale, exhale*

The practice of pausing, repeating Psalm 23:1, inhaling and exhaling is still something I do today when I start to let my mind wander into the “lacks”.

This verse that I have read and heard a million times walked with me through the Hard Year. I also would like to note I went to counseling for a year straight, and if my doctor and I thought necessary – I would have taken medicine. I kept my Bible and a notebook with me to write down my feelings and attach scripture to them to align myself into what God’s word says. I felt all of my feelings – which was excruciating but necessary (you can’t heal from something you don’t acknowledge is there).

And I breathed, learned to exhale, eventually started laughing again, and now – I sit here with a smile on my face writing about a time I wasn’t sure I would ever laugh again.

I don’t know why I felt led to share this small part of my story with y’all, but I think we all could benefit from pausing and breathing probably every hour, if not at least once a day.

Whatever you’re walking through right now, I hope that you are allowing God to lead you – and because you are allowing God to lead you – you lack nothing right now, today, in this moment you’re reading this post.

You have everything you need from God, which means you have everything you need.

I hope you are encouraged friends, thanks for reading.

If you want to keep up with me and probably the biggest gift from God I’ve been given – you can find me on instagram at @ebfiegle and follow my coffee and popsicle shop – @riverroadcp. It’s a literal dream come true, maybe one day I’ll share that story too.

Memory loss. Being a man of little memory. That’s no fun.

It’s not a bad thing, really. There are plenty of things I’d just as soon forget. Shoot, I can remember stupid things I said or did when I was in the 8th grade. Sometimes I wish for selective amnesia. Some things I’d like to forget that I can’t; other things I need to remember disappear into a blank headspace, never to be retrieved.

These are actually overstatements. Most days I’m fine (“for my age,” as the doctor points out. How very helpful.)

Still, there is something to be said about being a man of little memory (or woman.) That state can make for some dark days if you aren’t careful.

There are some things we don’t need to forget:

• We don’t need to forget where we came from. We are all products of our upbringing, for better or worse. If our upbringing was positive and peaceful, then we can use that memory to remind us that we can always return to that place. And if our upbringing was challenging (okay, it was awful), then we can use those experiences as a way to resolve that we won’t repeat the same actions or thoughts.
• We don’t need to forget where we’re going. I’m talking about goals. Most everyone has vague desires, but only a tiny percentage of people actually have measurable goals they’re striving for. People, unfortunately, can get really content with just getting by, rather than focusing on some ideal and going after it. I could testify to the joys of knowing where you need to go and how to plan to get there. Paradoxically, it’s floating around aimlessly, supposedly carefree, that causes more long-term stress than staking a claim for your future and striving for the best.
• We don’t need to forget who we are. This can fall under that “man’s search for meaning” category – it comes down to knowing that we are all “fearfully and wonderfully made.” Listen – you are unique. You are special. You are specialized. Nobody else can make the same contribution that you can. You are indispensable. This is not some kind of pop-psych mumbo-jumbo, or feel-good platitudes. Relish your individuality, but remember you are still here to make a difference.
• We don’t need to forget Who’s we are. Part of being a Westerner in general, but an American specifically, means that we are taught to be self-sufficient, to be self-made, to stand up on our own, all that. This is all virtuous, at least to a point. But for believers, we have relinquished the right to call all our own shots. That doesn’t mean that we are puppets – there’s some free will floating around there somewhere – but it does mean that we’ve been bought at a price. We’ve handed the reins of our lives over to Someone Else.

Forgetting can mean a certain loss of thankfulness.

Here’s a fun little exercise I highly recommend. Every day do this little regimine. It involves you getting a journal, composition book, or something else. If you’re a total techie, you can do this in Evernote or some other online app. As I’ve mentioned before, I’m persuaded that old school pen-t0-paper makes you more reflective, slows you down, and causes you to put a little thought into what you’re doing. Studies back this up, but just use something to make you interact with what I’m asking rather than just thinking about it.

Here’s what I need you to do. Humor me.

Every morning, before you start the day, do this (and don’t give me any hooey about not being a morning person, not having time, etc. I know better, and you do too. If I can’t get you to cooperate any other way, then I’m not adverse to using guilt as a short-term motivator!)

• Write down this question: “What three things am I grateful for this morning?“
• Answer it. If you can’t get started, at least think about the fact that you are awake, that you most likely slept indoors (unless you’re camping), that you have prospects for food today. There are people in the world that can’t even get that far.

Gratitude. Be grateful. It’ll program your mind and outlook for the day. I promise. It’ll keep you from being a man of little memory.

• Now it’s nighttime and you’re getting ready to go to bed. Pause just a minute, get out that journal, and do this:
• Answer this question: “What lessons did I learn today?” Go ahead. Write down the question. Make a little list. By “lessons” I mean what are the takeaways for the day? What did you learn about yourself? About your relationships? About your habits? These can be good or bad. (Disclaimer: There are no bad lessons. They are all teachable moments. It’s what you do [or don’t do] with them that make them bad.)
• Second question: “What were my wins?” This should be self-explanatory, but these are those daily victories, large and small. I guarantee that for at least a moment, at some point today, you did something you were proud of, something that made a difference in your life or outlook. Maybe you held the door open for someone. That counts.
• Third question: “What three things am I grateful for tonight?” Sounds familiar, but what we’re after is you bookending your day with gratitude.

Do these. Write them down. Don’t just lay in the bed and think about them. We want these engraved in your gray matter.

My challenge is do this for a week. That’s seven consecutive days. If you miss a day, reboot and start again. Seven days. At the end of those days, you are going to find yourself changed, just a little.

Think you’re a man of little memory? Or a woman of little memory? If you’ll do this, that little memory you have will grow into a bigger memory, and it’ll be memories of the good stuff.

Try it. Let me know how it goes

Be encouraged. Hopelessness is not an option!

These are challenging days.

I love, love, love hearing people’s stories, seeing their photos, and sharing in their triumphs and their heartaches.

That’s just me, that’s how I’m hardwired, and I have learned not to apologize for who I am. If you want to talk to me about the weather, I’ll engage you and mostly enjoy that conversation … for a little while. It won’t be long before I’m ready to move on to more substantive things.

Now, if you want to talk about the origin of the universe, or the worst argument you ever had with your dad, or how you got that diamond-shaped scar on your forearm, or how your ancestors got to America, or what keeps you awake at night … if you want to talk to me about your hopes, dreams, and aspirations … I am right there with you.

The students I’ve worked with over the years have joked about “Tony and his deep, meaningful conversations.”

(Don’t infer from all this that I won’t engage you in any topic you’d like to discuss. I’ll be polite and you’ll never know the difference. But I can only pretend I’m fascinated for so long.)

It’s all about being real.

Don’t try to hide from who you really are. You can fool others sometimes (but you aren’t as good as that as you think. People see right through you … they just don’t bother making a big deal out of it.) You can fool yourself even more frequently (and in its fully-developed state, it’s called delusion). You never fool God, of course.

Point is, don’t try to hide yourself from you or anyone else. Be authentic.

Authenticity means that you embrace the you nobody knows.

Which means that that hidden you needs to admit some things to the conscious you.

Social media allows you to present whatever heavily-edited version of yourself to the world you want, and the world may be none the wiser. That guy you met on Instagram who is an investment banker? He might very well be a Sherpa in Tibet. You might never know the difference.

With all that said, let me give you four paradoxical thoughts. These might bring about a check in your spirit. These are about knowing who you are and what you should do to  nurture your lean soul.

1. Be confused. It’s how God teaches you new things. Ask the hard questions, even those you know can’t be answered. Bewilderment, by its nature, seeks its own clarity. And God can use those hard, unanswerable questions to teach you truths you can’t learn any other way. It’s those “why?” questions shouted to the heavens that give God free reign to work.
2. Be broken. It’s where God begins to heal. I’ve heard people actually pray, “God, break me!” That’s a gutsy prayer, and ill-advised if you don’t mean business. Brokenness gives God a chance to put together something better than the original. Unfortunately, when folks pray “God, break me,” they’d really prefer that God break them in some glorious, ennobling way. Martyrdom, right? Sometimes God doesn’t go with noble brokenness. He can break us in shattering, messy, horrific ways if it serves His purpose. That’s uncomfortable theology, but it’s true. Bet you don’t hear that much from your local pulpit!
3. Be frustrated. It’s here God leads you to make more authentic decisions. Hey, I’ve prayed these exact words: “God. You gotta be kidding me!” That’s usually in response to something, some occurrence, that makes me want to go out in the street and pound my head on asphalt. It’s being faced with a challenging (or even awful) situation and being blocked in every direction when trying to fix it. It’s praying in earnest and having the sense that God is looking down from His throne and saying, “How’s that praying stuff working out for ya?” And then – glory be! – your frustration leads you to another level of dependence and you make the wise decision. You realize that, even in the midst of God’s silence, He never left you. That only happens when you turn your back on your own resources and admit you are helpless.
4. Be sad, because if we’re brave enough, we can hear God’s wisdom through it. I’d prefer to be happy and not sad. Duh. It feels better. At the same time, I know that in order to be complete as a human and as a believer, I have to embrace the whole gamut of emotions. We were made to be “feeling” creatures. Sadness is part of the whole human experience. Your sadness should not be wasted. God may just teach more profound truths when we’re broken-hearted than when we’re happy. We tend to turn to Him more when we’re hurting than when things are going our way. It takes some real courage to accept the fact that, when we’re sad, God has much fuller access to our hearts.

So, whatever you are right now, no more hiding. God says you’re worthy. Always.

The things the Enemy would use to disrupt, derail, and destroy your life are the very things God will use to draw you closer to Himself and use to equip you to help others.

Your trials and tests will become a testimony to God’s faithfulness, healing, and overcoming power. Your life will be a testimony that will bring hope and encouragement to others.

Just be real.

Self-awareness is a scary thing.

For one, confronting and evaluating yourself can be thoroughly unpleasant. It’s like looking under a rock and finding the nastiest, slimiest slug imaginable, trailing its thread of goo.

It’s possible, though, that self-awareness can be pleasant. You look at where you once were and where you are now, and think, wow, I’ve come a long way. I’m not the person I used to be. That’s a good thing.

In any case, a periodic time to examine yourself is a positive way to be something better than you are. You can see your shortcomings and go to work on them. Or, you can see where you’re thriving and build on that.

Let’s go a step further.

Self-awareness can be a companion to others-awareness. The idea is that you are who you are in large part because of those who have entered (and perhaps exited) your life.

Think about this. Think about those whose lives have intersected yours. I’d suggest those intersections aren’t random.

This was very much on my mind when I got up this morning. I’m old enough to have known hundreds, if not thousands of people. Some I knew and know intimately. Others are the barest of acquaintances. I know many of them because of personal contact. And, interestingly enough, I truly believe I’ve come to know and love some people because of contact through social media. (And before the chorus of haters break into song, I totally understand that cybercontact is a pale imitation of personal “same space” contact. But it does have it’s place. And there are people I’ve never met physically that sure mean a lot to me. I also know that I only know of people online what they choose to reveal, but that’s another discussion.)

Think about this. There are people who are important to you. People who are unimportant to you. They cross your life, love appropriately, or interact carelessly. You have your ordained time with them. And they move on, and you are fine with that.

There are others who enter your life and you think, “Why in the world did I ever have to encounter them?” They devalue your spirit and suck dry your soul. One day they’re gone. You take a deep breath, mutter “thank God,” and move on. You are fine with that, too.

Then there are the unique others. I can think of a half-dozen of them in my own life. These are the folks that leave and you experience a quiet, piercing, agony and wonder why they had to go and leave such a gaping hole. That’s happened to you, right? They are gone. And you look at those currently present in your life and wonder, “O my goodness. What if they were to go, too?”

This is the way of life.

• Children leave parents.
• Friends leave friends.
• Romantic couples part company.
• People move away to a new home.
• People simply grow apart.
• Enemies hate and move on.
• Friends love and move on.

There are those who I was especially fond of that have now drifted into the hazy recesses of my memory. I still think about them.

There are those who are close to me now. I look at them and wonder.

What do you do when you are afraid of having to move on from someone? Or, even more significantly, what if you are the one that has to do the moving?

Ancient script says this, through the words of the Apostle Paul to his young student, mentoree, and friend Timothy. (In addition to all his other gifts and responsibilities, Paul may have been the first youth minister.)

”For I am already being poured out as a drink offering,† and the time for my departure is close. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. There is reserved for me the crown† of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge,† will give me on that day, and not only to me, but to all those who have loved his appearing.” *

Paul knew he was soon to leave this world. He knew that he wanted to leave Timothy with words to comfort him, but at the same time he wanted to be realistic in saying, “Timothy, my dear friend, I am finished. And it is all good.”

But I am enraptured with this imagery, the word pictures Paul paints! “I have fought the good fight.” “I have finished the race.” “I have kept the faith.” Old Paul. He realized he’d completed what he was put here to do. He was at total peace.

So, we have Paul and Timothy, who are, in effect, saying their goodbyes.

There are times when we have to do the same thing. As I’ve already mentioned, I believe that how we say and experience our goodbyes has to do with the context of what is happening.

I’m so stinking socially awkward and so all up in my head it’s a miracle I can even function outside the house. (That’s a joke. Mostly.) I’ll have a conversation with someone and walk away thinking, “What did I just say? Did it make sense? Did I make it too hard for them to understand where I was coming from? Did I say too much? Did I babble? Did I say something inappropriate? Did I say something to make them dread having any more contact with me? Did I say the right thing for them to know my heart and not be uncomfortable or freak out? Did I simply try too hard?”

I strive mightily to not care about those things. So far, I’m an utter failure.

In spite of that, people, I believe in God’s master plan for our lives. It doesn’t really matter all that much how good I was at communicating or relating.

Back to the goodbyes thing: I believe that God moves people in and out of each others’ lives. I think we each leave our mark on others. I believe we are all made up of little moments, little points of contact, little poignant memories of everyone who has ever touched our lives, whether we’re aware of it or not.

I believe you are more because of it. And I think you would be less if those precious lives had not intersected.

I pray God that we accept everyone who comes into our lives with humility and wonder.

I pray we never question. And I pray we never regret.

* 2 Timothy 4:6-8

Get over yourself.

I sure don’t want to hear that said to me. The implication is that I’m selfish, self-centered, and think the world owes me something.

Well, it does, right? I mean, all of you readers are supporting actors in my autobiography. I’m the star. The sun rises and sets on me. I think about me all the time. I know what I want and need. I have to look after Number One, because no one else will.

Wrong, on just about every level. You know that.

Here’s the reality check.

There are miracles and exceptions, but on a bad day, I’m not one of those miracles and exceptions. I wake up thinking about what I’ve got to do today. There are obligations I have for work and family. I try to meet those obligations. But at the core of things, I’m always thinking about how I feel, what I want, and how to keep myself happy and content with no rough spots in my life. Those rough spots are totally unwelcome.

Maybe that has something to do with a mutant form of self-preservation. After all, if I don’t take care of myself, I can’t meet the needs of others, right?

That’s partially true. You can’t water others from an empty well. 

That’s not the real issue. Under a thin veneer of doing the right thing, there is a selfish being dwelling inside each one of us. We let self-care get the best of us. We serve because it makes us feel good. It’s a great byproduct to know that we’ve helped someone else, but the bottom line is that our needs, at least in the flesh, come first.

Still with me?

This may get worse before it gets better, but hang with me.

We are all hot messes. It’s just a matter of degree. We can be awful. At the same time, we have the capacity for amazing goodness. It can only happen when we take our eyes off ourselves and quit being so preoccupied with what makes us feel good.

Hence, “get over yourself.” Let’s unpack that.

• You are not the center of the universe. I know that’s hard to believe, because we tend to think about ourselves all the time. That’s not necessarily a bad thing – self-awareness can keep us from being stupid. The problem is when we convince ourselves that we exist to be served.
• We are all needy. If you were to graph yourself at some point along a continuum (or get someone objective to do it for you), you’d see we are all pretty much in the same state. We all have needs, hurts, wants, desires. Yours may be different from mine. Fact is that we are not all that unique. Others may have things “better” than you do. Others are in far worse shape. Just be careful in adopting the philosophy that you are the Great I Am. You are one of a zillion or so people who want to be successful in that pursuit of happiness.
• I trust there are people who care deeply about you. Some days you may feel totally misunderstood (true of me MOST days), but while my emotions are jerking me around, I do know intellectually that I have loved ones aplenty. Relish that. And if you for real don’t have anyone who cares for you, (1) get a dog, and (2) invest yourself in a benevolent activity – volunteer at a homeless shelter, take cookies to the fire station, get immersed in the life of a church. I’m a total introvert, but I still need people. Truly. (OK, maybe I need them on my own terms. Another blog topic, perhaps.)
• As a companion thought to that last point – serve, serve, serve. This may sound simplistic, but you can sure broaden your worldview by giving yourself away to a cause bigger than you are. Your intent shouldn’t be to serve yourself by serving others – you serve others with no strings attached, feelings notwithstanding. (Although, I think it’s impossible to not achieve some degree of satisfaction when you help someone else. It’s a side benefit, and shouldn’t be your main motivation.)

Here’s what we collectively need to understand: Every one of us have reasons to be grateful. Whatever your state, no matter what life is piling on you, gratitude can still be the condition of your heart. 

We who live in the West have it all, if you want to think in material terms. You have stuff to eat. You have some clothes. You didn’t sleep outside involuntarily. With those three things, you’ve already positioned yourself ahead a sizable chunk of the world’s population.

But you knew that. You’ve heard variations on those simple facts all your life.

Don’t let me or anyone else “guilt” you into feeling bad because you aren’t as grateful as you think you should be.

Gratitude is a learned state.

We are born selfish. (I’m thinking about grandbabies right now – granddaughter Katherine learned to say “Mine!! … soon after birth.)

So don’t beat yourself up. Admit you’re selfish, and it’s hard to be grateful when you think you always need more than you have, whatever that may be.

Move on. Realize that in the grand cosmic scheme of things you are doing pretty doggone good. Take some time to simply be thankful. I’m not sure how I got started doing this, but every morning I journal what I’m grateful for. I do the same thing before bedtime. I don’t want to present myself as some sort of virtuous superhero, but I’ll tell you straight up being grateful changes me daily, and that’s a good thing. I’d wager it will fix you right up, too.

Finally, a word about supernatural blessings.

God blesses us all.

When we have a “me focus” instead of a “Him focus,” we find ourselves in that same awful place of discontentment. Realize that He blesses in ways you may never be aware of, and He does that constantly. He’s always at work. He never slumbers nor sleeps. You may not “feel” anything – but feelings, of course, can be great betrayers. Don’t depend on how you feel at any given point in time to determine the state of your heart.

So celebrate that heartbeat.

You have the capacity to move out of your own head and heart, and be just what someone else needs, even today. Watch for it. Opportunities abound. Just get over yourself.