“Return to Wholeness” implies that something was broken and needed restoration.

I get that. That’s why I’ve developed an online course with that name.

Return to Wholeness is an online course to help broken Christians feel better, become whole, experience supernatural peace – and have fun in the process.

Sounds counterintuitive, right? 

Through my service in Christian ministry for 40+ years, I’ve seen so many believers stall out in their faith – they spend their days frustrated, defeated, and even desperate. Broken, in other words.  The fulfilling Christian life that others seem to experience eludes them.I know what I’m talking about – you could count me among that number.

I know how you feel. I’ve felt the same way. What I have found is that there is a path to feeling better (actually, BEING better) and it’s a spiritually and scripturally based journey.

This concept has been gradually built in local churches I’ve served over the years, coming alongside literally hundreds of fellow pilgrims in group settings and one-on-one, and I’m happy to say that it has officially launched.  

What totally caught me off guard is that a national publication picked up on the story. Believe me, Return to Wholeness wasn’t promoted to them.

Here’s the link to the article. It’s a quick read. I think this is pretty cool.

The story in The Baptist Paper does a jam-up job of explaining where I’m coming from. Return to Wholeness is a passion project for me. “Driven” is a strong word, but that’s where I find myself.

Return to Wholeness is an online course, so you can enjoy it (and implement it) right from where you are!

Here’s the thing, though. Take heed. I’m not playing.

I’m enrolling students right now through September 20 (or until we sell out)!

There is limited availability. After September 20, the price will go up.

You’ll receive access to the first unit on September 26, and each subsequent lesson will be delivered each week after that. This way, you can consume the content in your own time.

Here is a document explaining much of what you’ve already heard, but it also contains all you need to get started.

But – one huge component to Return to Wholeness will be access to a very exclusive membership-only Facebook group. You’ll be able to interact with your fellow pilgrims. You can ask questions, share progress, get encouragement when you’re “stuck,” and have access to me personally. You can engage at whatever level you’re comfortable with. You’ll never walk alone. This is fire. 🔥

What distinguishes Return to Wholeness from any other course I’m aware of is that I am persuaded that becoming whole again doesn’t have to be a slog. It doesn’t have to be heavy, oppressive, grueling, or dark. Dark valleys give way to green pastures, and there is a joy in that. What I’ll share will give you joy, and I will make sure you have fun along the way. 

And if you have this God-driven sense that you won’t benefit from this course, would you happen to know of a friend or family member who would? I’d just about assure you that’s the case.

I created Return to Wholeness because I am heartbroken at how many Christians I meet who are living defeated lives of quiet desperation. That scripturally-promised abundant life simply isn’t a reality for them. And, in this fallen and toxic world, so many seem to be abandoning hope.

It doesn’t have to be that way.

It doesn’t matter who you are, what has happened in your past, or the degree of anxiety you have about the future. You can return to the wholeness you once experienced and felt as a new believer. 

If you want to feel better and be better, if you want to be restored after brokenness, and you want to experience supernatural peace without having to deal with past hurt and tragedy, be sure to join us in Return to Wholeness.

I had a friend ask me, “Tony, are you trying to sell something?”

I sure am. Here’s what I’ve realized. Selling is service. I’m providing a tool that can potentially be life-changing, and I say that because it’s God who brings about change. We just have to position ourselves in a place where He’s working, give some hope and encouragement and tools, and let Him do what only He can do.

When you join Return to Wholeness, you get:

• 7 Steps to Wholeness. This is the heart and soul of the course, presented in an easily accessible, upbeat, and encouraging video format.
• 7 Steps to Wholeness Workbook. This is the written companion piece to the video study, including a listening guide, interactive questions, and other goodies – not “schoolish” at all.
• 31 Days to Restoration. This hands-on devotional guide will complement and interface with what you’re learning in the course by helping you develop intimacy with Jesus Christ.
• Personal Journal. If you aren’t journaling (or maybe if you already are), here’s where you start … this downloadable PDF will help you unpack your head and get some mental and emotional breathing room.
• The Me Nobody Knows. This assessment instrument will help you identify the pain points in your life and prepare you for your study ahead – and will also show you the progress you’ve made when all is said and done.
• Direction Finder. Here’s my bulletproof method of how to make wise decisions, presented in a sequential, step-by-step format. You’ll love this.
• The Restoration Group. This might be the most important component of this course – a private, curated Facebook group strictly for students of Return to Wholeness. We’re here for each other – for mutual encouragement, celebration, grief, and plenty of opportunities to interact with me personally. 

Again, the price will most assuredly go up September 20. While enrollment will stay open indefinitely, I have to rein things in somehow.

If you’ve made it this far, here is a document explaining much of what you’ve already heard, but it also contains all you need to get started.

That’s it. Be blessed. Comment below.

God knows.

Actually, God knows everything about you. He knows your thoughts before you think them. He knows what will be going on in your life on November 5, 2022, 7:13  p.m.

That’s called omnipotence. God knows all.

I don’t even begin to comprehend that.

My understanding of that truth, though, is actually pretty comforting. Maybe you knowing God knows will comfort you, too.

Hence, my very simple blog today.

There are plenty of things God wants you to know. I’ll confine my musings to just seven that are on my mind and heart today.

1.  We have to place our trust in Him. That means we have to be dependent on Him and desperate for Him.

I don’t know what your idea of “trust” involves. For me, I get this mental image of jumping off the roof of a building with nothing but asphalt below me. And I jump knowing a net will appear before I splatter.

Nuts, right? And yet, that’s not too far removed from what God offers us. It’s a matter of depending on Him to be God, first. Furthermore, it happens because we’re desperate.

God knows that we will often find ourselves in places where we’re absolutely at the end of our proverbial ropes. We are desperate for direction and relief. He moves us to a place of dependency on Him that grows out of desperation.

2.  God sees what we don’t see and God knows what we don’t know.

God’s plans for us are perfect. Not everyone seems to know that.

Aren’t we prone to second-guess or even avoid what we know to be right? The idea is that no matter where we go, God has already been there and is still waiting there. It’s that omnipotence thing, right?

The implications of this are simple and staggering. Stated in a way even I understand, it’s an acknowledgement that I am to daily put my life into His hands. No holding back. No wavering. Head down, full steam ahead. And if you want to classify that as blind obedience, good. That’s what He wants.

3.  Life is so stinking hard, but it’s even harder if we don’t have God’s perspective.

There have been times when I’ve wanted to holler, “God, if this is supposed to be a learning experience, then help me get it the first time around, because this is a class that I don’t want to have to repeat.” God knows that we are often in places in which we are clueless.

The trick, though, is to see things in our lives the way He sees them. He knows the outcome, sure, but He also knows what we’re dealing with in real-time.

We’re typically only aware of what’s happening right before our faces. God’s perspective is from a lofty place – He totally gets what we don’t get. We don’t have that vantage point, but we can sure trust the One who does. Here’s the truth: God is good, and what He does is always right.

4.  We must be willing to forgive and keep forgiving.

If you’ve hung around me, online or in person, for any length of time, you know this is a pony I ride a lot.

God knows how hard it is to forgive someone who has done you wrong. That wrong could be so monumental that you’d think there is no way in perdition you could forgive and move on.

Guess what. That forgiveness thing? I can’t find a loophole. We forgive others, period. Case closed.

The response that immediately surfaces is something like, “But Tony. You don’t know what they did to me! (Or one of my friends or family.)”

I still can’t find a scriptural out. It basically boils down to acknowledging that you’ll never go through experiences as brutal as what Jesus went through for us. Think about what they did to Him. And His forgiveness was shown by Him literally dying for those who’d abused Him.

There’s your model. God knows how hard that is for us; it’s actually impossible to have that kind of  forgiveness in our own flesh. That’s where His Spirit intervenes and intercedes. His Spirit forgives, even when our nature is rebelling. It’s all about releasing, yielding, our will to His.

5.  We’re broken people. We have to come to Him for reassembly.

Reassembly = healing.

I guarantee that the one universal with you and me is that we are dealing with, y’know, stuff. Issues, if you please.

I could offer a list of common issues, but mine aren’t yours, and vice-versa. What might be a big deal for me would be easy enough for you to blow off. God knows we’re different.

And – because we were probably raised to be self-sufficient and strong – it kills us to have to admit that we need fixing.

I’m not dismissing self-help. There are some solid ways we can improve.

I’d contend, though, that the Great Physician is also the Master Mechanic. If we’re broken, He can fix us, and His work is guaranteed.

It’s a matter of simply going to Him and admitting, “I got nuthin’.” He offers an extended warranty that never expires. Repairing broken people is a speciality of His.

6.  We have to be willing to share our stories and leave a legacy.

I’m not always encouraged by people who have it all worked out, or at least appear to or say they do. I am more ministered to by those fellow strugglers, who may not have it all together, but are on a journey of rightness with God.

This is potentially a high-risk activity, and you’ll have to determine your own tolerance for laying it all out there. But telling your story might be totally liberating for someone struggling in the same fashion you do. God knows that we need each other, and as risky as it might be for you to be appropriately transparent, you might just be the answer someone has been praying for. Cool.

That legacy thing? Yeah, you can make a lasting difference. You might accomplish that without even knowing it.

7.  Your story isn’t over yet. There’s more to come. God knows what He has you here for.

Know what? The reason you aren’t dead, the reason you’re breathing and reading this, is a clear indicator that you haven’t yet accomplished what God put you here to do.

Once I got my head wrapped around this, I felt like I was set free. I lost a lot of baggage. At the risk of sounding trite or shallow, you have a divine purpose. You have a role to fulfill in Kingdom work that is uniquely yours. No one has the same mix of gifts, talents, knacks, skills, and passions as you do.

So, yeah. God has plans for you, plans He put together before the foundations of the world were laid. God knows what He wants from you, and He will, by golly, move heaven and earth to assure you fulfill those plans. And it’s on Him to grant success.

He has more for you on earth to do, but, more significantly, He has more for you in eternity to come.

Talk later.

And I’d be remiss if I didn’t give a hat tip to my buddy Brad Eubanks, who really got me thinking about these seven truths.

I screwed up. You did too.

Think about it. If you backtrack through your life, you can come up with a painfully long list of times you screwed up.

Some of those incidents were no big deal, like not picking up something at Walmart that was on your shopping list.

Other times you’ve screwed up might be more devastating. A failed relationship. Messing up financially. Making a really bad school or career choice. Not taking care of your health. 

Yep. We’ve all screwed up. That begs the question: is there ever a time you screwed up that wasn’t redeemable?

I’m gonna help you – us – today. In order to do that, we’re going to need to hang out for a while with a famous Old Testament character. Good ol’ Moses.

Talk about a journey. He started out poor, ended up rich, went back to poverty, had an opportunity to lead others in an epic journey (which was a bone-crushing burden). This led to a missed national opportunity, which was followed 40 years later by another chance at closure … that he wasn’t allowed to participate in.

That’s quite the story. Moses screwed up, so we’re in good company.

Check this out:

• He was born a slave.
• He grew up in a palace.
• He lived in a desert.
• He died in the mountains and was buried in an unmarked grave.
• He was never elected to any leadership role.
• He wasn’t a king, but he led a nation.
• He wasn’t a soldier, but he defeated whole armies. 

We need to think about these things. While none of us might not have a life of such sweeping events, there’s a lot we can learn – and be encouraged by. Screwing up doesn’t have to be an ultimate wipe-out.

Moses’ story isn’t one of those rags-to-riches tales. There’s more happening than that. Talk about a career change! It wasn’t like he went from being a doctor to selling cemetery plots. He went from being a slave, to a prince, to a fugitive, to a shepherd for 40 years, and finally another 40 years as a law-giver. I mean, dadgum. How would that look on a resume?

On its face, we have a guy who screwed up in spectacular form all throughout his life. He had several events in his life – bad choices aplenty – that would seem to be total disqualifiers. And yet he was called by God, and called to greatness. 

You may not feel like you’re called to greatness. Well, pilgrim, maybe you need to realign your thinking to determine just exactly what “greatness” is.

Greatness  doesn’t mean that you need to be some sort of powerful leader. It could. It doesn’t mean you need to be someone outstanding in their career. Possibly.

Greatness, to me, is discovering the niche God has placed you in and serving Him in it. 

That’s wide open, now isn’t it? If you’ll agree to my definition, you can find greatness as a friend, spouse, parent, volunteer, most anything. 

Back to Moses, though. Remember we determined that he screwed up?

For instance:

• He started out with something so awful that it should have derailed his life – he killed a guy and buried him in the sand.
• He went into hiding. 
• He tended sheep – not very prestigious for a prince of Egypt.

Hey. Have you ever tried to do something and it blew up in your face? You screwed up. It might just be, however, that it might’ve been the most important experience of your life. There’s a catch, though. When reflecting on that experience, you have to:

• Learn from it.
• Find the strength to try again.
• Let God’s presence and grace keep you from doing it again.

You aren’t the first person to mess up a potentially good relationship. You aren’t the first to watch money slip through your fingers because you couldn’t control your financial appetites. You’re not the first to watch your intimacy with God crumble. 

In short, you aren’t the first person to fail.

It’s typical to play the what-if game.

• Maybe it was your fault. Honestly assess that first.
• Maybe the situation wasn’t right to begin with.
• Maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe all sorts of things.

Take some time to suss it all out, but don’t camp out in your head. Moses wandered around for 40 years, and in your context, 40 years might be a little long. It’s appropriate to ask:

• What exactly went wrong?
• What bad choices did I make?
• What’s the one takeaway lesson for me?
• Am I still called to do this?

It’s that old idea of falling off a horse. You don’t lay on the ground, or be paralyzed with fear when considering riding a horse. You saddle up and go again. And again and again.

The one thing after you’ve screwed up that makes that failure permanent is if you quit. Guess what? No one but God has the right to permanently sideline you. 

Here’s what I do all too often when I’ve screwed up. Maybe you can relate.

I focus on my disabilities, weaknesses, circumstances, and past failures rather than on God’s power and presence.

Have mercy. Moses would identify with me! He constantly threw excuses at God.

• The Egyptians won’t listen.
• My people will blow me off.
• I’m ancient. I’m, like, a very senior adult.
• I stutter. No way can I speak before a group.

Moses complained, but it didn’t help. God straightened him out in spite of the fact that he believed he’d screwed up one time too many.

Here’s God’s response. Brace for impact:

I will be with you.

I read that, and everything just leaps into focus. Because once I absorb that, I realize that nothing else matters.

It’s possible that you cringe and hide when you think about the times you’ve screwed up. You are paralyzed when you think about moving forward, because you’re afraid you’ll screw up again. You’re flat-out scared – you don’t want to hurt like that again. You don’t want to hurt anyone else. You don’t want to let anyone down. 

It might just be that God is calling you back to that place you screwed up. 

He may be taking you to the place where you got hurt. To the place you failed, the place you crashed and burned.

We can go the Moses route. We can offer God our list of disqualifiers. God will listen patiently. He’s like that.

But, at the end of all your eloquent excuse-making; at the end of all your doubts and fears; at the end of you asking Him for an easy out, here’s what He’ll say:

I will be with you.

Talk later. 

Love all, serve all, be mistreated. My goodness. There’s all sorts of irony in the title of this blog.

When I cobble these posts together, I purposefully try to be as broad as I can for people all along the faith spectrum. Most of the time, I’m writing what I want to hear for myself. I just kind of let you sit in.

Today, though, I am more in the camp of believers, Christians.

If you are a Christian, how well do you love? Do you love all? And what if you’re mistreated?

You know I’m not talking about love in the sense of romantic love, or even love among friends and family. I’m not even talking about self-love, which is a big deal.

Nope – I’m talking about supernatural, God-ordained love.

That kind of love operates separate from feelings. It’s a love that is actually an act of the will. It’s a love that can’t be self-generated. It has to come from another source outside ourselves.

Because, y’know, in and of ourselves I simply don’t think we have the capacity for that kind of love, even though we’re to love all. 

Here’s my autobiographical note: This actually comes easy for me. It’s a capacity for love that God just has seen fit to give me, and I’m grateful for that. I can say without hesitation that, to the best of my knowledge and heart, I love everyone.

Which is NOT to say that I care to keep company with everyone. There are some people I’d just as soon see going as coming.

And, of course, there have been people who’ve hurt me. Maybe I’ve been mistreated.

What’s your response to that? Unless you’re a hermit (and some days that seems appealing – like my friend Becky Brown noted, “I could easily be a hermit, but God won’t let me”), you have had someone – or maybe multiple someone’s – wound your soul.

You’re gonna have to look hard to find benefit in that, right?

The benefit comes in how you respond to being mistreated.

Talk about self-revelatory! Hurt can teach you an awful lot about yourself.

So. Are you a grudge holder? Do you erupt in Jovian anger? Do you retreat just to sulk and brood? How about plotting revenge? Is that you?

Well, how about this in response to hurt: be kind. Love all.

Stay with me here, because I’m not being patronizing.

I will tell you that the world may not look favorably on you if your response to being mistreated is to be kind. That’s not the way things work, right?

Some of the kindest Christians I know have lived in a world that wasn’t so kind to them.

That is so intriguing. Not only does it fly in the face of conventional wisdom, it doesn’t even really make sense. That is not a typical response.

Yet there are those who have been through so much at the hands of others, and they love deeply. They still care.

Are there steps one can take to reach that state? Can you really love all? Even if others mistreated you?

I’m not sure. You don’t find it in our sinful, carnal nature. It has to come from a different place. I dunno. Some people relish unforgiveness. I’ve never known of a time when forgiveness was anything other than a virtue.

In giving this a lot of thought over the years – the reason why people choose not to forgive – I have come up with a handful of “why’s,” possible reasons why people cling to this unique misery of unforgiveness.

• They don’t understand mercy. Mercy is one of the most divine of all traits. We are simply thunderstruck by Jesus’ words from the Cross – “Father, forgive them, because they don’t know what they’re doing.” That’s mercy, right there, all encapsulated in a magnificent example of forgiveness.
• They prefer a hard heart to a tender one. Perhaps being tender hearted is viewed as weakness. I’d suggest that it’s a whole lot more courageous to be tenderhearted than it is to take a hard line.
• We are fallen people who live in a fallen world. It’s hard to to be kind when the whole of civilization seems to want us to be harsh and inappropriately aggressive. I see so much hatefulness everywhere I turn. This is not, nor will ever be, a “political” blog, but given the current state of things … I mean. Mama said “if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.” Looking back, that might be a lot more wise (or certainly more kind) than I used to believe. What a toxic world! And don’t come at me with a statement like, “Jesus was controversial. Jesus was harsh. Jesus turned over tables and ran people out of the table.” C’mon, now. Really? Of course He did. But when your (or my) motivations are the same as Jesus’, we can use His tactics. Otherwise, it’s best that we stand down. This culture of outrage we have embraced doesn’t seem to help – all it does is make folks on the same side of an issue feel good (or empowered) about themselves. I don’t see many converts coming from rage.
• It’s simply easier to hold a grudge. It takes no effort. It feels good for a season. It makes you feel mighty and self-righteous. It feeds into that nature that says, “I’ll show you. I’m gonna hurt you back. And when I hurt you back, that’s gonna make me feel really, really good.”

“I can’t forgive,” you say. “I can’t be kind to him/her/them. They mistreated me.”

Here’s my bottom line for the day:

Sometimes, it’s the Christians who have been mistreated the most who refuse to be hardened in this world, because they would never want to make another person feel the same way they themselves have felt.

If that’s not something to be in awe of, I don’t know what it is. Love all.

Talk later.

So here is a lament for Uvalde. It’s godly sorrow. Heartbreaking. Emotionally crushing. And so applicable to the tragedy.

At this writing, the funerals have begun. We are all impacted, and while we don’t grieve in the same way as those who lost loved ones, we still grieve.

I don’t know how I should respond, but I will offer some thoughts. We certainly can all use some comfort right now.

Disclaimer: If you’re looking for some sort of political or policy statement from me, you obviously don’t know me. I ain’t going there. I do have some strong, even passionate opinions, but this isn’t the place. This is a time for lament for Uvalde.

Maybe we can help each other cry.

1. We can show empathy with our laments. When we get horrific news, we can easily be overwhelmed. This is normal – shock, disbelief, even physical sickness can be present. We say things like “I can’t imagine what those mamas, daddies, family members, friends are going through.” That statement, of course, is true. Even if you’ve faced unimaginable tragedy, you aren’t in the same place as those others are. You might rightfully wonder how you’d react if you were there, but you can’t know unless you experience it first hand. Still – empathy does put us in a place of caring and, in some fashion, helps us imagine. I’m a parent and a grandparent, and that’s my point of empathy.
2. We can respond with “thoughts and prayers.” This action is part of lamenting, but in our culture the idea of “thoughts and prayers” seems pretty lame in the eyes of many. “We need to do something!” folks cry. Agreed. I’ll touch on that in a minute. But immediately after a tragedy, what else do you have? What else can you offer? Thoughts and prayers are totally appropriate. When evil intrudes, it’s entirely possible to push back through prayer. As believers, prayers offer courage and fortitude. Prayer is instinctual. And it’s okay to pray for yourself. That’s not being selfish. That’s just acknowledging you need Jesus. And I’d encourage you to ask others to join you in prayer. We can corporately offer a lament for Uvalde.
3. Lament doesn’t mean that you are asking God to instantaneously set all things right. He could do that, I suppose, but rather than asking Him to fix things, how about just focusing on His mercy for those hurt in the tragedy first?
4. Some questions that would bring about lament would include “Why do wicked people so often have their way, and good and godly people suffer?” In the most agonizing way, it’s accusing God of not acting or intervening. But – this is not necessarily being blasphemous. It’s really a part of faith. Jesus expressed this lament from the cross: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” It is simply being honest and allowing your soul to cry out.
5. God is patient with evil. Sometimes it seems as if evil flourishes unchecked. This is a hard one. It’s a primary reason that many never pursue Christ.  All about us, we see evil personified. This is one forevermore fallen world, and we are here in this place for a season. Here’s a paradox, though: In the midst of suffering, heartache, violence, and pure wickedness, the grace of God flourishes. When we experience the worst, we still see evidences of goodness, holiness, compassion, and healing. Jesus’ cry from the cross I mentioned above? At the crucifixion and those days in the grave, we see man’s worst and God’s best. God offered salvation, and He did it by showing His power to bring life from death. It’s never too late to pray for healing and redemption.
6. Deeds, not words? How about both? You might not be able to be physically present, and therefore can’t do anything “hands on,” but that’s where prayer comes in. We don’t need to think about acting in any fashion without praying first. If we act without prayer, we can’t empathize. That’s part of our lament for Uvalde.
7. Lament means that there is no collision of ideals between praying and acting. Is it possible to pray without acting or act without praying? Sure it is, but they don’t cancel each other out. Because …
8. It is wrong for us, as believers, to act instead of praying. That implies that true goodness can grow from somewhere else besides God, Who is the only One Who is truly good. Sure, it’s possible to do good deeds, and act with integrity. I’d contend that, for those of us who are believers, that not praying before acting is putting the spiritual cart before the horse. Now, people who don’t share our faith won’t agree. For us, we defer to the wisdom of God first. Then we act. Please don’t misunderstand – there are times when you do act before praying – if your child has wandered out in the street in front of an oncoming car, you don’t need to pray about rescuing him. You know what I mean.

How much more grief can this old world stand? How long shall we lament for Uvalde?

As a believer, remember we follow the Suffering Servant. He is also the Wounded Healer. There is so much we don’t understand, and this side of eternity, will not understand. Still, God’s goodness isn’t up for debate. Against the backdrop of the Cross, I accept – even when I can’t understand – that He loves this world more than I ever could.

I wish I had some way of putting a nice bow on today’s blog, to offer some sort of closure. I just don’t have anything to offer right now.

Come Lord Jesus.

Talk later.

I went to bed last night brokenhearted.

For a whole host of reasons, I can’t give details as to why I’m brokenhearted. It’s a combination of factors, which are primarily out of my hands. It’s grief compounded upon grief, and it’s not because of something I’ve done personally. Rather, it’s an awareness of what sin does.

This morning I awoke just as brokenhearted as I was at bedtime. I turned to God for comfort, direction, and wisdom. And as He’s prone to do – boom! He served up just exactly what I needed. That’s the way He rolls.

It all sprang from a verse in Isaiah – Isaiah 57:15, to be exact. This verse just cried out to be unpacked, and here’s my takeaways.

The question for us today is simple: Is your heart hurting today?

Check this out, from the New Living Translation:

The high and lofty one who lives in eternity, the Holy One, says this: “I live in the high and holy place with those whose spirits are contrite and humble. I restore the crushed spirit of the humble and revive the courage of those with repentant hearts.”

It’s acceptable and encouraged to do the whole “breathe in, breathe out” routine while reading this and evaluating the state of your heart right now. As you wade into this, understand that feeling the presence of God in this very moment is what is called for.

Look. I don’t know of anyone who would willingly choose to experience a broken heart. The jaw-dropping reality, and what all my ponderings today hinge on, is that Jesus willingly suffered and died in our place so that He could reign as high priest in heaven.

He knows just exactly what it’s like to be brokenhearted. He’s been there. Isn’t that something?

The implications are huge.

What this means is that you can cry in His embrace, as a hurtin’ puppy, and know that if you’re brokenhearted He catches every tear.

One handicap we have, though, is that it’s easy and tempting to ignore the pain of a broken heart. You know, just soldier on, eyes fixed ahead, unbowed and determined. That sounds noble, but it’s not really a good idea, especially if you want to be authentic.

See, there’s a healing process when you bring your brokenheartedness to Jesus, and it’s a necessity for spiritual health, growth, and comfort.

Jesus is ready to comfort you, and it’s personally bewildering as to why I don’t lean into Him when I’m hurting.

There is a blessing that comes from pain. I know, right? That’s counterintuitive. Still, it’s that crystalline hurt that pushes us toward God and we experience His love in a way we simply can’t otherwise. It’s a blessing for those of us who are brokenhearted. 

It’s actually kind of crazy, in a good way. If we let ourselves hold back and try to nurse our own wounds, we stifle that supernatural healing and restoration He wants us to experience. We just can’t  let that hurt keep us from drawing close to Him.

He wants us to pour out our pain to Him so that His words can be balm to our souls.

I’m amazed, even after all these years of walking with God, that He sent Jesus to die for me. This is so fundamental, so basic, and yet we in our familiarity skate right past the most profound truth imaginable. 

Our requests to God might include:

• Give me courage to walk through this painful valley. There is a purpose to me being here.
• I want to hear Your voice – a whisper is fine, but if You need to holler to get my attention, that’s fine too.
• Reveal Your heart to me. I thought I could discern it when things were going well, but apparently You’ve had to get out the big guns.
• I believe You’re preparing a good and right path for me, but that doesn’t mean it’s all flat ground and no rocks.
• Don’t let me pull away from You in my grief and suffering. My mouth wants to say “whatever it takes,” but I tend to choke on those words. I’ll need some help with this one.
• Remind me of Your love and compassion. It’s so easy for me to forget those basics.

I don’t know how you visualize God – what your mental image of Him is. It’s different for everyone. It’ll be helpful if you could do that, even right now. Just soak in that sweet space.

Remind yourself that God loves you unconditionally. He’s totally faithful. 

There may be some things in your heart that need to be cleaned out – things that are hampering that blessing that will ease your brokenhearted spirit. Even in times of pain and brokenness you’re still blessed.

God doesn’t want you to deny your pain. If you’re brokenhearted, He wants you to draw near to Him with no holds barred.

Check out Isaiah 57:15 in the English Standard Version:

For thus says the One who is high and lifted up, who inhabits eternity, whose name is Holy: “I dwell in the high and holy place, and also with him who is of a contrite and lowly spirit, to revive the spirit of the lowly, and to revive the heart of the contrite.”

More good stuff: Because God knows all the details of your broken heart, and when you cry He’s right there saving your tears, you are not alone in your brokenness. What a gift that is! He understands your situation completely and is standing by your side through it all.

And here’s a monster truth, to make things even sweeter: There is a gift of hope from Jesus that He can lift your spirit again, just as He rose again after and during the heartbreak of the Cross. Brokenhearted? Claim this.

Let’s do Isaiah 57:15 one more time, this time from the Amplified Bible:

For the high and exalted One, He who inhabits eternity, Whose name is Holy says this, “I dwell on the high and holy place, but also with the contrite and humble in spirit In order to revive the spirit of the humble and to revive the heart of the contrite [overcome with sorrow for sin].”

That last phrase really captures what it means to be contrite – overcome with sorrow for sin.

This version talks about sorrow over sin. Is that not often the cause of us being brokenhearted? This can be a scary thought.

It may be that the last time you were brokenhearted was simply because of your own personal sin. Through that, God showed you more about Himself through your brokenness. He doesn’t want you to just know facts about Him. He wants to draw you really close, and conviction of sin can absolutely take you to that place of intimacy. 

He doesn’t fail you. He doesn’t leave you or forsake you. But He will absolutely use brokenheartedness to make us right. 

If there’s something about pain you need to know, it’s this: God will take you into a deeper relationship with Him than you can imagine, but it’ll hurt in the process. You’ll be brokenhearted. So instead of running from the pain, you lean into it, take it to God (and don’t try to excuse or sugarcoat it), and every single time He’ll bring depths of beauty out of it.

Jesus endured pain so that we could have a relationship with Him. Do this:

• Ask Him to comfort and heal your heart. Now.
• Ask Him to remove anything you’ve done wrong.
• Ask Him to let you experience His nearness in a fresh way. 
• Ask Him to restore your peace, joy, and hope.

If the pain in your heart throbs again and you find yourself brokenhearted, remind yourself of this simple truth: God is near.

Talk later.

“Friends are friends forever.” Did you just sing that?

Back in my earliest days of youth ministry, which would’ve been the early 80’s, Michael W. Smith’s song was almost like an anthem. You couldn’t avoid it. If there was ever a better song for the last day of camp, I don’t know what it is.

At any rate, I’ve been thinking about this for a week or so. Are friends friends forever? Do they even need to be? I mean, Facebook has had an “unfriend” feature for some time. I’ve used it a couple of times, and I have reason to believe it’s been used on me some lately, too, which I’m fine with. Lord. I hope I never get my sense of worth from social media.

Here’s the thing. The pandemic has thrown our relationships all out of whack. I’m over it; I’m not afraid to go anywhere maskless, but that’s just me. You do what your doctor says, and in the meantime – exercise some critical thinking skills.

Recently I got to spend some time with a friend I hadn’t seen in person for a long time. Since I can be horrifically socially inept, I was a wee bit apprehensive. I didn’t want it to be awkward or weird. We’d been keeping up with each other on social media, so it wasn’t as if we’d been totally disconnected. Still, when you’re online and typing, you do have some control (for better or worse) over how the exchange goes.

Fortunately, everything went fine. We’re still friends forever. I don’t see any reason for that to change.

Here’s my “but” statement. When it comes to friends, even forever friends, my stomach for uncomfortable social situations is a lot worse than it used to be.

Yeah, I’m an introvert. And I’m getting older and much more crotechty. As a Christian, I know I’m supposed to engage the world. (Funny how, under certain circumstances, that can be easier for me with people I don’t know.)

With the aforementioned friend, after we’d visited, I felt a gazillion times better than I did going into the conversation. Said friend made my day.

I’ve had the opposite happen, though. I’ve visited with a friend or acquaintance before and left our time together just exhausted. Spent. As in “show me the door.”

I’m a little vague as to how that works. I know some clinical explanations, but when it comes to friends, sometimes being clinical doesn’t help much.

Then there is loneliness.

Gonna tell ya – I seldom ever, ever feel lonely. There is a stark difference in being lonely and being alone. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been able to engage with others in a way that satisfies me.

I’d add that, while not the same thing as being lonely, I will cop to being frustrated when people don’t understand me. I don’t like to think I’m all that complex. Whatever. Generally, I can handle that.

So how many friends does someone need to not be lonely? That is unsettled science. The general consensus, though, is that there is no “one size fits all” number.

This: a 2010 Meta-Analysis found that loneliness is “as harmful to physical health as smoking 15 cigarettes a day.” That’s not great news.

It seems that when it comes to friends more isn’t necessarily better.

My personal sense informs me that spending time with people – even friends – that are critical, negative, unfaithful, and unreliable isn’t a healthy thing.

We all have a finite amount of time. Because of that, how we use it to invest in others is really important. Remember, though, you are responsible for the quality of your relationships.

Am I advocating just ditching those people who sap your energy, and their very presence devalues your soul?

Not really, simply because it isn’t always practical. There are some people that, because of work, family ties, or just proximity you can’t escape. Some of them might be friends.

I wanted to come up with a nice bulleted list of how-to’s. When it came to friends, everything I tried sounded pat and contrived.

I’ll just go with this:

Guard your heart.

I don’t know what that looks like in your life, but I’ll bet you can apply it to where you are relationally right now. It may be that, if possible, you need to jettison some people and restrict contact from them. It doesn’t mean you love them any less. It just means you have to protect yourself from having a depleted soul. This may not be easy to do.

Figure it out.

In The Writing Life, Annie Dillard writes: “How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. What we do with this hour, and that one, is what we are doing.”

Live intentionally. It’ll help you discern who you need to spend your time with.

Friends are friends forever. Until they aren’t, and that may not be a bad thing.

And remember: What a friend we have in Jesus.

Talk later.

It’s okay to not be okay. There’s more to us being here than just existing.

Look what Oregon did:

The state of Oregon will now allow students to take an excused day off of school for mental health reasons.

The new law, signed last month by Gov. Kate Brown and expected to go into effect this fall, lets students take up to five mental health days every three months, although school districts are free to create their own schedules. Students will also be granted permission to make up any tests they may have missed.

“I took on this cause for a personal reason first off because so many of my close friends in high school struggled with depression, and there were times when I saw them at school when they really shouldn’t have been there, would have been much better for them to take a day off,” Hailey Hardcastle, a recent high school graduate who was among those lobbying for the new law, told TODAY.

In Oregon, suicide is the second leading cause of death among 10- to 34-year-olds. Nationally, suicide is at a 50-year high.

I’m working on unpacking this. My sense is that it’s okay to struggle, but not okay to pretend.

With all that as a backdrop, here’s three thoughts for when you’re not okay.

1. Our feelings are facts. The sun is shining right now. It’s a fact. No matter how upset I get, it won’t change the reality of the sunshine. If I were to step outside and stay out for a while, I’d get sunburned.

Our mental and emotional states are a lot like that. It’s pointless to deny our feelings. They need to be acknowledged. It’s not a matter of strength or weakness. It just is.

I love C.H. Spurgeon. I’ve found a lot of helpful encouragement in a little book by Zack Eswine, Spurgeon’s Sorrows. I’ve referenced it before. Spurgeon knew that mental illness could be as devastating as physical illness:

“The mind can descend far lower than the  body. For [the mind] there are bottomless pits. The flesh can bear only a certain number of wounds and no more, but the soul can bleed in ten thousand ways, and die over and over again each hour.”

Yikes.

This is nothing new, of course. Check out the Psalms. A goodly chunk of them are what are identified as psalms of lament. They are written testimonies of men in dark, dark places. For instance, here’s a sample from Psalm 88:

2. You need a friend. Even if you classify yourself as a loner, and could teach introversion on the graduate level, having a safe person to turn to is a virtual necessity. Of course, you could hire someone – there are counselors, therapists, and professional people galore – but talking about things with a friend is downright special.

Just make sure it’s someone who can do more good than harm. You don’t need someone telling you “It could be worse,” or “At least you know what you need to do.” Job had his “miserable comforters.” Maybe they meant well, but they wanted to blame Job for all he was facing. That’s not helpful.

I’m reminded of an old hymn, O Worship the King. One lyric line refers to God as “maker, defender, redeemer, friend.” I mean. That’s all I need from God as  comforter and counselor:

• • Maker. He put us together. We’re part of His creation. He knows intimately what makes you you, and because of that, He knows exactly where our heads and hearts  are at in any point in time, and He engineers circumstances around us accordingly.
  • Defender. He protects us. He guards us. He is an advocate for us. When you’re being attacked – and note that attacks can come from our own minds – He is a shield from the bad stuff. He’ll only let you experience what you absolutely need to experience.
  • Redeemer. He offered salvation, of course, and I received it. In addition, though, He saves me from myself. He knows when we’re stricken and offers deliverance from whatever is haunting us.
  • Friend. I can’t get my head wrapped around knowing the creator of the universe is my friend. He hopes for us when we don’t have hope for ourselves.

3. There is hope for the future. That may sound pat, but that doesn’t make it any less true. Yes, it’s sunshiny, but I just looked at the radar. There is no rain in the forecast. And guess what – the sun would continue to shine whether I looked at the radar or not. It isn’t a matter of me knowing what the future forecast is – it’s grounded in the nature of reality. The sun will shine the rest of the day.

We desperately need hope. Fortunately, it’s readily available. There are those with a certain worldview who’d state that they are a haphazard bundle of biological stuff, perched on an insignificant piece of cosmic real estate, simply biding their time in an indifferent universe. Their hope is that they can perhaps make a small difference in the temporal world they live in, but beyond that – nothing. The void. “You might as well live,” Dorothy Parker wrote. I’m convinced there’s more to us being here than just existing.

To the kids in Oregon (and perhaps to all of us), I’d say that there is real comfort and hope available. There are many, many resources available to those dealing with mental/emotional issues. There is absolutely no shame in seeking out the help one needs, and that could involve counseling, therapy, medication, or any number of other tools.

There is finally this: Christ has risen. That’s the blessed hope right there. Jesus has loved us to hell and back. We hope, not in denial of the state of ourselves, but rather in the certain glory promised us. There is a mountaintop joy awaiting. It all comes back to Him, you know? In Him, we have a legitimate reason to hope. I’m all for using whatever resources are available to us. But He is the Great Physician, and all healing – mental, emotional, physical – ultimately comes from Him.

Jehovah-Jireh: A study on hope, revisited.

“I don’t care.”

I actually said that yesterday. That is an alien phrase for me. Lord knows that I tend to care too much, if that’s possible. Or, maybe, I don’t care in the way I should.

I’ve mentioned in these pages many times that my tendency is to be a “fixer”- of people and things. What that reveals to me about myself is that I’m actually pretty self-serving. If I can fix someone, or at least show that I care, then I can feel better about myself. Maybe that’s some weird form of co-dependency – I’m validated when I reach out to someone I think is dealing with junk, and they respond in gratitude.

That’s kinda sick, y’know?

Let me hasten to say that I do care, deeply, for many people. I’m just continually learning how to express that care without trying to set things right. It’s better for me to simply be around, supportive, than trying to correct things.

So if I’ve ever had personal dealings with you, and I’ve overstepped, forgive me. I’m learning how to best minister.

With that as background, let me revisit yesterday.

I had an occasion to take stock in myself based on some actions I’d taken. I’ll spare you the details. (Actually, it’s none of your business. So there.) It wasn’t that I’d done anything illegal or immoral – far from it – but it was a matter of me recognizing my boundaries. Knowing when to speak, knowing when to be quiet, knowing when to listen. Mostly, though,  it was knowing when someone had to face a trial, just them and God, and without me playing assistant to the Holy Spirit.

Then it occurred to me – “I don’t care.”

This is a paradox, because I do care. The epitaph on my tombstone will probably read “All In.”

Where the “don’t care” thought comes in is because of an awareness that in order for me to be a genuine family member, friend, or even acquaintance, I gotta protect myself. I gotta protect my heart. If I end up heartless, for whatever reason (and most likely, it’ll be because I laid it out there one time too many, or for the wrong reasons, or before the wrong person) – I’m sunk. I’m sidelined. I’m a wounded soldier in God’s army.

I’m happy to say that the horrific, dark, unscalable pit I found myself in is much less threatening. Thank you Jesus.

What it’s led me to do, though, is help me determine what my healthy heart should look like. I’m identifying seven personal signs. Maybe these might help you evaluate the state of your own heart. A healthy heart:

1. Can feel emotion. It fully engages in the spectrum of feelings. It isn’t flat-lined.

2. Is mindful and able to engage in the moment. It isn’t distant and aloof. It is present and feeling.

3. Has room for spontaneity, fun, and laughter. It isn’t bitter and shriveled. It enjoys good times.

4. Has compassion for lost and hurting people. It’s willing to appropriately risk itself for others. It’s caring, not callous.

5. Is hopeful and optimistic. It looks forward to the future because it believes that things can and will be better – if not on this side of eternity, at least in the hereafter. It isn’t pessimistic. At worst, it’s painfully realistic.

6. Has energy for people. It enjoys being with others. Note: Remember I’m a full-on introvert. But I do appreciate, enjoy, even need that interaction with others. It sort of has to be on my own terms, or else I have to fake it. Still. Tell me about your life, and give me the unabridged version, and I’m all yours.

7. Has the capacity to hear God’s prompting. It listens for Him. It is not inattentive and closed off. And it responds in obedience.

How about it, pilgrim? How is your heart?

It’s occurred to me that if I don’t care, that can conceivably be a positive thing for my own well-being.

However … I have to surrender to God. It’s a matter of abandoning my own independence, and not put any limits on how He leads me to. care. He’ll show me how. I don’t think I’m off the hook on that one.

Until I learn how to care appropriately, I can’t be who He put me here to be.

Be well.

Here’s an organization you don’t want to be a part of – the Dead Parents Society.

The name tells it all. It’s reserved for those who’ve lost one or both of their parents.

I suppose when you’ve lost both your parents, then you are technically an orphan. If that’s a proper definition, then I’ve been orphaned since 2002, when Mama died. Daddy died some years earlier. I was 46, but for some reason we think orphans are children. Maybe you can’t be an orphan past the age of 18, or 21. That seems arbitrary, but I didn’t make those rules.

When Mama was in the final stages of cancer, and we’d enlisted the services of hospice (which was a true holy godsend), I started the grieving process. When Mama actually died, I’d done most of my grieving in advance, so her actual passing was peaceful.

Like a combat veteran, I realized quickly that only those who’d been through the same experience could truly empathize. That’s not to say others weren’t appreciated – I heard plenty of sincere expressions of sympathy, and the condolences, cards, and the food (of course!) were more than welcome.

What was odd is that I found leaning into the grief was more helpful than ignoring it or tucking it away. It sounds morbid to talk about embracing pain, but that may be part of the healing process (more on that in a bit.)

There is that component, too, of people not knowing what to say to you as a newly-minted member of the Dead Parents Society. It’s like they mean well, because they do, but they’re afraid of making you hurt more than you already do. “I’m sorry about your loss,” people say, and they genuinely are. That’s a pretty safe statement. The companion question – “How are you?” – is much tougher to wrestle.

The impulse may be to simply say, “I’m fine,” which is totally bogus, because you aren’t fine. You say it anyway, because it lets the questioner off the hook. If, however, you shared how you really feel, you’d come across as being dark and unhealthy. The compromise statement might be, “I reckon I’m doing as well as could be expected,” which just reinforces the idea of loss and pain, even with other people who care.

Grieving is a solo activity. What you come to understand is that you can grieve appropriately and after a period get on with living. People lose loved ones all the time. Most make peace with their hearts; others don’t. What has happened is a rip in the fabric of life. Even as a believer, there is a horrific separation. We as humans want resolution, but there are some wounds that time does not heal.

So why all this talk about the Dead Parents Society?

I can broaden this conversation to apply to the loss of other loved ones – a spouse, a sibling, or most grievous, a child. Heck, I’ll extend this to the loss of a beloved pet.

Going for broke – how about the loss of a job, a friend, a dream? They are all painfully similar. Others may see your loss as a matter of degree. They may say “I’m sorry,” but in their minds they’re saying, “No big deal. Get over it.”

Loss is loss, and grief is grief, and don’t let anyone script that for you. It’s yours to carry.

I wish there was some way I could fix this for you and me and the rest of us. Fact is, when you’re orphaned because of a loss of something, anything meaningful to you, there is a loneliness that only you can experience.

As a believer, I’m tempted to talk about God, who has promised to never leave or forsake you. This is, of course, true. He is ever-present. He does heal. But for some reason, He didn’t design us to be carefree and just ignore the loss we experience. His presence is tangible. That is comfort, indeed, and it causes us to turn to Him.

And yet – dang, it hurts.

We are fearfully and wonderfully made, this is true. Part of our makeup is the capacity to mourn. What are we to learn in that valley of death?

Again, I’m going broad here. You don’t have to be part of the Dead Parents Society to find reason to mourn, even if you haven’t been touched by physical death.

Point is – there is nothing wrong with grief. It is a part of our human experience. Unless you’re a psychopath, at times you will grieve.

So. Lament. Lament loudly and cry out. I give you permission. The hurt we experience now will prepare us for joy in the future. Your wounds are a foundation to your calling.

I know that sounds pat. When some friends of ours lost their son in a horrific accident, I asked – rightly or wrongly – how I could pray for them. The dad’s answer? “Pray that I don’t waste this.”

Read what you will into this statement. I’ve thought about it often. My conclusion is that every life event, even those that involve unspeakable loss, are moments to grapple with what I believe about God, what I am to learn, and how I can, in turn, be an encouragement to others. My lessons aren’t your lessons, nor my experiences your experience. God has custom designed you, and handcrafted the events that you experience.

Yes, you will mourn. You will lament. But your loss doesn’t have to define your life. Those wounds prepare you to experience more joy.

Talk later.

There is a recently published book, Redeeming Heartache, by Dan Allender and Cathy Loerzel, that provided the seed for some of my thoughts. I highly recommend it.

NOTE: Thanks for indulging me in a day off last week. Here’s why.

No condemnation. That’s sounds pretty wonderful, right? It’s the birthright of the Christian, and sometimes that’s easily forgotten. 

I want to unpack that thought some (that’s from Romans 8:1), but in order to do that, I need to unpack some other things. Stick with me – what might come across as pointless rambling should make sense in the end. (Or not – maybe this will be rambling. So sue me.)

About three weeks ago I had one of my best Walt Disney World experiences ever. The crowds, the weather, my traveling companions – just sublime. Disney is my happy place, and I don’t apologize for that sentiment, nor do I want to try to explain it. I can’t. It’s just a thing.

So I come back to Mississippi, all content and feeling warm and satisfied, and I’m ready to ease back into reality and return to my day job. 

I guess it was Friday, September 17, that I started noticing a headache. Without picking over old wounds, you may or may not be aware that in June of 2018 I got a nasty concussion, developed post-concussion syndrome, and to some extent still deal with the aftermath.

Funny how your whole life can be defined by one incident! It’s turned me into something of an evangelist about brain trauma, but more specifically the mental and emotional fallout that comes with it. It’s made me much more in tune with people dealing with mental illness, whatever the cause.

The drum I continually beat is all about there being no shame with mental illness – because it’s an illness just like any other. And that it’s appropriate, and maybe even necessary, to get the proper care, be that through counseling, medication, or other means.

And prayer? Heck yeah. But God has all sorts of healing tools at His disposal, and it’d be foolish not to ask for them and use them. Gradually, the stigma about mental illness is fading away. Shamefully,  it still exists among some Christians, who look on it as a lack of faith or weakness or unconfessed sin. Well, y’all, sometimes you can’t just pray yourself out of it.

I talk about this too much, possibly. Whatever. You have your “things,” I have mine. Start your own blog if you want and I’ll indulge you, too.

So, this headache crept up on me and escalated during the weekend. Migraines are a byproduct of my injury, it seems. I even get pain-free migraines, which is odd, but they come with that “aura,” which is beyond bizarre – sensitivity to light and noise, a scary inability to think clearly, and sometimes even visual artifacts. 

By Sunday night I was facing the apocalypse, and come Monday I’m ready to head to the ER. I give myself a shot every month which does a decent job of staving these beasts off, and I have other meds to take when I do get one that are generally effective. Not this time, friend.

I got a call into the neurologist – I have the best one in existence, I believe. They were going to work me in Tuesday, but it’s Monday, and I’m screaming. Silently, anyway. She said for me to go ahead and see my regular doc. I went to one of our clinics, and the doc said, well, dang. You aren’t having a stroke or aneurism. She gave me a med that was supposed to help. It didn’t move the needle at all.

So after thrashing around for another day, moving to that realm of “kill me or cure me,” I got in to see the good Dr. Jones. Calmly and compassionately she told me,”We can take care of this,” and after some encouragement got me a couple of shots of good medicine and sent home a sample of this stuff called Rayvow. 

(I know this is coming across as senior adult talk – ailments, meds, all that. I am a senior adult. Deal with it.)

When given the Rayvow, I had strict instructions to not drive, to not make any important decisions, all that. She told me, “Not only will this keep you from thinking clearly, you won’t be aware you aren’t thinking clearly.” When I read the literature about this stuff, one of the side effects was “euphoria,” which is medspeech for “you are gonna get really high.” This stuff isn’t a narcotic. I don’t know what class it’s in. But ho-lee cow.

I took it about 7 a.m. Wednesday. I made sure Teresa stuck around long enough to make sure I didn’t get in the car and drive to New Hampshire or something. Within a half hour, I was sailing. I was very content … all was right in the universe. I was very chatty, even when I was alone. So I had some lovely conversations with myself. It was well into the afternoon before I felt like I could get my landing gear down and function. Most importantly, that stinkin’ headache was gone. Poof.

Part of recovery from this nastiness was to stay off anything with a screen. I did, mostly. No TV, no phone. I didn’t try to read. I just listened to music (ambient spa goofiness) and looked out the window. The goal was to avoid as much mental input as possible. Which meant that, with no input, I would instead default to my usual state of overthinking, which, when I was able to think, is just exactly what I did.

Which brings me back, finally, to Romans 8, and Romans 7, too, that no condemnation thing. Here are my takeaways, which grew out of my week from hell:

1. I am a slave to sin, and you are too. Just as I was a slave to a headache that wouldn’t go away, we’re all slaves to sin that contaminates us. And like my migraine, self-help is no help. I had to turn to a professional. I also need to turn to God, because to try to stop sinning on my own? Give me a break.
2. That migraine pain was such that I couldn’t think clearly – it overrode everything else. Sin can do that – Paul talks about not understanding what he was doing, that he wasn’t practicing what he wanted to do. 
3. Paul calls himself a “wretched man,” based on the conflict he’s feeling. He talks about taking delight in God’s law internally, but everything else is “waging war against the law of my mind and taking me prisoner to the law of sin in the parts of your body.” In fleshly terms, it’s really tough when your mind and heart want to do one thing but in body you have rebellion. The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak, right? My head sure impacted everything else my body might’ve wanted to do. 
4. Check out this line: “For the desire to do what is good is with me, but there is no ability to do it.” My obvious parallel is that I want to do the right thing, I want to be rid of what’s crippling me, but I simply can’t do it on my own. 

But then comes the “no condemnation” part. Glory be to Jesus.

I have no reason to beat myself up for something that happened years ago and that I have no inherent fleshly control over. This may be stretching the analogy, but I’m not responsible for being born a sinner. I’m a sinner by nature and by choice. So I should choose, then, to do the right thing. I can’t be in bondage to something that happened that was and is out of my hands.

It’s human to try to better ourselves or want to clean ourselves up or to “do more.” We want to hit a “reset” button every day. 

It’s pretty hard to relax with God if we think we’re just a tiny bit detestable to Him as we currently are.

Well, pilgrim, we’re neglecting a basic message of Christianity – that we already died with Christ. So we try to die again or die more. 

But our old self already died with Him on a cross. We didn’t just die – we were resurrected and made new at the core.

So why are we trying to kill what has already been made new?

Lay aside any toxic thoughts of “not good enough.”

It is finished. 

Maybe you aren’t suffering. Perhaps you have in the past. If not, you will in the future.

Suffering is part of the human condition. There’s no escaping it. It won’t go away.

And, believer, you aren’t exempt from it. If anything, suffering is more common to Christians than not. That is typically not a part of a Christian evangelistic plea: “Acknowledge that you’re a sinner. Pray to receive Christ, believing He is Savior and Lord. Confess those sins and inherit eternal life. And suffer for the rest of your earthly days.”

Maybe you like to keep it real, just not that real.

These are tough days. I’m not going to rehash the challenges of the moment, other than acknowledging that things are in a mess. What intrigues me so is that it’s not just Tony challenges, or family challenges, or even national challenges. We are talking universal global challenges. My stars.

In spite of universal suffering, it’s still personal. Pain has come home to your private roost.

So here are the questions, and if you say you’ve never asked any of these, I’ll bet you’d lie about other things too. (That’s a joke. Sort of.)

• Why does God allow me to suffer?
• Why is this happening to me?
• Is God testing me?

These may be personal questions, or questions on behalf of your family, or even on a broader scale.

Suffering isn’t easy. It’s unwelcome and disruptive and unwelcome. It can be crushing.

Folks don’t ask those questions when things are going their way. Why should they? When life is good, when you’re being blessed, when every day is full of sunshine and smiles (and maybe even rainbows and unicorns), there’s no need to even consider suffering, now is there?”

And then – boom! Ka-POW! You find yourself to be a hurtin’ puppy. Then we ask those questions.

Listen – I was raised in a Christian home and in a wonderful, nurturing church. I don’t know if this was communicated to me overtly (I’m pretty sure it wasn’t) or if it was just part of the Christian journey that wasn’t explained to me. But, subconsciously, I just felt that if I was one of God’s children, if I was doing my best to live for Him, and if I was obedient to Him and His teachings, then things would be fine. No worries, mate.

That sounds wonderful. I mean, who wouldn’t want to get in on a deal like that? Freedom from pain and suffering? Cool. Break me off a piece of that.

Only thing is, it’s not biblical. I guess we’re afraid we’ll scare people away from the faith if we spoke this particular truth.

It’s not like Jesus didn’t give us a head’s up. He told the disciples over and over what they could expect, and they stood there with their fingers shoved up their noses to the second joint, saying, “Huh?”

Us too. We say we get it, but I’m not sure we do. Because suffering is, well, bad. And then we have a come-apart when it enters our lives because it’s not supposed to be that way. So we think.

So, in response to that “why?” thing, here are three reason why we suffer. This isn’t an exhaustive list, but it does give us some pegs to hang some truths on.

1. We live in a fallen, broken world. With that comes struggles on every front – mentally, emotionally, physically, and spiritually. No arena of our lives is exempt. We get anxious and depressed – mental. We feel like crying or are at the very least numb – emotions. We get sick with cancer or Covid or a cold – physically. And God seems like He’s light years away, because we can’t hear Him, or He’s not telling us what we want to hear – spiritual. Take it back to Eden – we live in a world where things are seriously screwed up. I know it, and you know it. Things are just wrong, and we’ll call it what it is – sin.
2. There is evil in the world – personal, invasive, and personal. It’s called sin, see, and it affects us and those around us acutely. Sin brings suffering. I tell folks (and myself!!) that there is enough grief in the world without voluntarily bringing it on ourselves. My counsel, then, is “don’t sin.” Duh.
3. God allows suffering, but one day all suffering will end. I’ll file this one under “blessed hope.” Your suffering will end when you are freed from this physical existence and then spend eternity with Christ. No more suffering, pain, tears, heartache … that’s quite the deal. Or, suffering will end when Jesus returns. Not a day goes by that I don’t murmur, “Come, Lord Jesus.” I don’t think that’s cowardly in the sense I’m trying to escape my own personal challenges. I’m just tired, y’know? – and ever mindful this world is not my home. It feels more alien and uncomfortable day by day.

So what can you do about suffering?

1. You rejoice. Talk about counterintuitive! How can you rejoice when you want to assume a fetal position in the corner and stuff yourself with Ding-Dongs? Short answer is that there is no short answer. What satisfies me is that when I share in Jesus’ sufferings then I also share in His glory. There’s no comparison between the two – ancient script in Romans 8:17-18 teaches this. Part of this, too, is knowing that suffering helps you persevere through the worst of times, and equips you for potentially worse times ahead. And it may just be that how you manage personal sufferings will help others with their own suffering.
2. When you suffer, it provides a platform for the message of God’s love and grace to be shared. So share it. I have sat through plenty of Bible studies that talked about God’s love, and I get that, because it is so sweet to be loved by Him. But that teaching about God’s love might take on a different meaning if I was a person laid up in an ICU on a ventilator gasping and gurgling for every breath. I want to experience God’s love always, because, selfishly, it makes me feel good. But if my life is escaping breath by agonizing breath, I don’t want to just experience it. I want it to be tangible enough that I can take hold of it.

C.S. Lewis, as always, is helpful here, and this is one of my favorite quotes:

We can ignore even pleasure. But pain insists upon being attended to. God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: It is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world.”

Hey, world, God is shouting at us. Do we have ears to hear and the courage to act?

Accept the truth. Speak the truth. And embrace and walk through your suffering.

Talk later.