I thought of a name for my autobiography, if I ever decide to write it: Well, That Didn’t Work.

My life is full of things that didn’t go the way I’d wanted or planned. Some incidents I’d drop in that file marked “It’s Just a Thing.” Another file would be marked, “What Were You Thinking?” And, unfortunately, one file would be marked “You Blew It.”

That third file would be full of unpleasant accounts.

I’m prone to be unduly hard on myself. Can I get an “amen?”

I’m learning, though, that all my past mistakes, those moments of weakness, are redeemable. Check this out.

The scene is the Garden of Gethsemane—a pivotal moment not just in biblical history, but as a metaphor for our own spiritual journeys. Picture it: the disciples, those closest to Jesus, succumbed to human weakness, dozing off when they were needed most. When they woke, imagine the weight of their regret, the sinking feeling of having missed a crucial moment to support their friend and teacher. It’s a scenario many of us can relate to on a personal level.

This story isn’t just about physical sleep; it’s about moments of spiritual slumber, times when we’ve been absent when it mattered most—missed opportunities to stand by someone, to make a difference, or to take a step of faith. And like the disciples, we often wake up to a harsh self-judgment: “How could I have let that happen?” We beat ourselves up, thinking it’s all over, that we’ve blown it for good.

But here’s the twist: despair isn’t an anomaly; it’s part of the human experience. It’s as common as the cold, and just as unwelcome. Yet, it’s in these moments of despair that Jesus steps in with a message that’s both startling and soothing. He essentially tells us, “Okay, you missed that one. But let’s not dwell on it. There’s more ahead.”

I like the concept of leaving our past failures in the “sweet embrace of Christ.” It’s about allowing ourselves to move on, not ignoring our mistakes, but not letting them anchor us in place either. Jesus’s approach is not one of dismissal but of gentle redirection: “Get up, and do the next thing.”

And what is this “next thing”? It’s moving forward with trust and faith in Him, praying and acting from a place of redemption, not regret. The best thing we could do is shift our focus from what we’ve done wrong to what we can do right, starting now.

This message is incredibly relevant for all of us. How often do we find ourselves paralyzed by past missteps? How frequently do we let the fear of failure stop us from stepping out again? Yet, here we’re reminded that our past doesn’t have to dictate our future. Our spiritual journey is not defined by how many times we’ve fallen, but by how many times we get up—and who we’re walking with.

Want some encouragement? The message is clear: there’s always a next step, a new chapter waiting to be written with God by our side.

So, let’s take this advice to heart. Let’s not let the sense of past failure defeat our next step. Instead, let’s lean into the “invincible future” with Jesus, trusting in His redemption, and always ready to do the next thing.

Until next time, keep walking in faith and light, embracing each new day and opportunity with the joy and assurance that comes from knowing He’s got us, every step of the way.

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.

“No one listens, and no one understands.” Have you ever said or thought that? You are not alone.

“We have learned that the places to which He (God) leads usually have nothing to do with what we think we will make us happy.” – Erin Napier, Make Something Good Today.

If you ever say, “No one listens, and no one understands,” then you might not be talking about others. You may be talking about yourself.

In all my years of working with teenagers, this was a common refrain. I’d talk to kids, and I’d hear these woeful tales of being ignored, or that no one cared about what they were going through. Or, worse, if their parents didn’t understand, then they’d use what they knew against them.

I live in Mississippi. We are prone to storms. Those on the Mississippi Gulf Coast can tell you about dealing with hurricanes – Katrina was perfectly catastrophic. Other hurricanes have hit there over the years. And tornadoes? Have mercy. Our house has sustained tornado damage three times since we bought it in 2005. Minor stuff – a tree, some privacy fencing, some roof damage – but others haven’t been as fortunate.

Right around the corner from us, during one of these storms, a big oak fell on a house and effectively bisected it. No one was hurt, but the house was split right down the middle.

Here’s where it gets complicated, and causes many to wonder about God. They might say “no one listens, and no one understands, not even God.”

While I was grateful our damage was minimal, and thanked God, I know the owners of the other house were believers, too. It’s great that God prevented damage to our house, but the assumption – and it’s a scary one – is that a positive answer to prayer is evidence that God listens and answers our prayers in a way that pleases us. A negative outcome might lead one to believe that God isn’t paying attention and therefore doesn’t answer us.

That’s Satanic. Mark Twain said that the primary reason he couldn’t swallow Christianity was because of unanswered prayers.

If your issue, then, is that “no one listens, and no one understands,” the reality is that unfavorable answers to prayer doesn’t mean that God isn’t listening.

Read Erin’s quote again. She what she said? God takes you places – and by inference deals in other ways with you – that aren’t what you wanted for yourself.

This makes for some big implications. It may be that your “no one listens, and no one understands” mindset is because you hear things from others, or even God, that you didn’t want to hear.

I won’t presume to interpret what others who don’t listen or understand are all about. It may be that they do listen and understand more than you think.

The absolutely glorious news, though, is that God both listens and understands. Think about it:

• God hears all your prayers.
• He knows exactly what you’re going through and what you need.
• God is compassionate.
• He wants to carry the load for you, because His yoke is easy and His burden is light.
• God doesn’t slumber, nor does He sleep.
• He will never leave you or forsake you.
• God’s love never fails.
• He knows your future, every detail of it.

Here is truth, for you who believe no one listens, and no one understands: Just because you didn’t get what you prayed for doesn’t mean that He didn’t listen.

The mental picture I get, and what sustains me, is that when I pray I imagine coming into the presence of God. When I speak, He drops everything, turns to me, and says, “Hey, Tony. You have my undivided attention.”

Cool.

It may be that you’ve asked for things – maybe even prayed for them – and nothing worked out afterwards. I wonder sometimes if God answering our prayers the way we wanted them answered is one of the hardest things we can experience.

We don’t always ask for the things that will help us grow. At the same time, we don’t need to self-edit our prayers. What can we pray about that He doesn’t already know? We have the freedom to talk to Him about our feelings, our fears, and our legitimate needs.

The more time you spend with God, the more you will be comforted. It’s because He listens and He understands. He’s your hiding place, your fortress, the one who gives you strength when you’re tapped out, and He cares for you.

He is never too busy with other people. He doesn’t put you to the side because He’s dealing with world issues.

It all comes down to two choices:

1. Lean on God during those hard times when no one listens and understands, and accept His protection, or –
2. Anything but #1.

It’s your choice. Choose wisely.

Comments welcome. Talk later!

Love all, serve all, get punished. 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?

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.

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 hurt.

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 hurt 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?

I’m not sure. I do know that it isn’t something to be found 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 living 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.”

Here’s my bottom line for the day:

Sometimes, it’s the Christians who have been hurt 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.

“I am a hot mess.” You ever feel that way?

The ever helpful Merriam -Webster Dictionary defines hot mess as

1 informal : something or someone that is emphatically a mess: such as

a: something in a state of extreme disorder or disarray, and b: a disorganized, disheveled, or self-destructive person

You are not alone, even if you are a hot mess.

So there’s that.

Mental health used to be a nonissue for me. I’ve always been an introvert, but introversion isn’t a mental illness any more than having blue eyes is a birth defect. It’s just a thing.

I can’t remember when depression started becoming an issue. I used to be a worrier, but on Oct. 12, 2016, I gave worrying up. It didn’t seem to help to worry. But that depression thing? Hoo-boy. That’s my hot mess place.

After I had my head injury about three years ago, that depression tended to cover me like a shroud. I struggled to explain it with metaphors; I likened it to being at the bottom of a well, looking up at that small circle of daylight, and feeling as though I’d never emerge into the light.

Cheerful, I know.

This blog is You Can Have Hope. It’s a very self-descriptive title.

I’d also point out that, given the state of our world, it’s hard not to be troubled. The world can make hot messes of us all.

Obviously, that’s Jesus. So how does that even work?

One of my first course offerings is this:

I’d be honored if you’d take a look. You’ll find it HERE.

I am offering this workshop for $37.

I don’t want to make this about me, because it’s NOT. It’s for you, or someone you love.

That link above will give you a lot more information. Again, I think part of God’s call on my life in these days is to simply be an encourager, and this feels like the best way I can do that.

I am a hot mess. I know of so many others that are dealing with their own hot messiness.

You are the one I’d like to reach, encourage, equip, and see set free. This will help.

Y’all know I purely love having guest bloggers. So I’m so so pleased to welcome Adam Trest to our special place!

Here’s his official bio:

Adam Trest is a full time studio artist working and living in Laurel, MS with his wife Lily, and his daughters Fincher and Poppy. He is represented by The Caron Gallery in Tupelo, MS and T. Clifton Art in Memphis, TN.  His work is often seen on episodes of HGTV’s HomeTown and prints of his work can be purchased online at the Laurel Mercantile.

I’ll put some links at the end of his blog. But Adam’s a great guy. Our daughter Amy worked for him and Lily for a time and she just loved them. And that HGTV HomeTown connection is way cool, too … Ben and Erin Napier, good friends, worked their magic on a farmhouse they purchased, and you can find out about that whole experience right here. It’s a fun story.

I’ll step out of the way and let Adam tell his story. You’ll be encouraged.

Holding Out for Hope

I started drawing when I was 3, or at least that’s what my mom always told me. She was an english teacher, but she could never find it in her heart to get on to me when I would color over the illustrations in my story books. She always said that I was just trying to make them better. Having that type of support system is dangerous for an artist, because I grew up with the spiderman way of thinking. With great power comes great responsibility, right? Only in my family, we replaced “power” with “talent”. 

The T word was thrown at me my whole life, and to some extent I really do believe some people have greater talents than others, but I really prefer the term gift. What I have is so much more than an ability that I was born with. I believe that the Lord gifted me with a desire to create. Between that desire, and the encouragement of my family, I was given the perfect equation for becoming an artist. 

When I look back at my life thus far, the hardest times were when I’ve not trusted that the Lord gave me adequate gifts to carry out his plan for my life. It was the years I spent in architecture school dealing with anxiety and depression because I thought I knew that being an architect was going to make me happy. I was given amazing opportunities to intern in West Palm Beach, and design actual buildings… all things that are dreams for architecture students. But I found myself lost and struggling. 

Returning to school that fall after my internship, I was drowning with my decision about what to do with my life. I truly believe that the Lord put a professor named Brent in my life to help put me back on my path. Sitting in his office, broken, he mentored me through the toughest decision of my life, and for the first time in my college career I saw a glimmer of hope. I changed my major, and poured myself into studio work. I honed the gifts the Lord blessed me with, and used my remaining time in college as a springboard into my professional life. 

The roller coaster of life has been full of highs and lows. Seasons of hopefulness and hopelessness. Hindsight has always proven those peaks were when I was trusting in my gifts, knowing that the Lord would provide because I was honoring him through those talents…. until December 4, 2011. 

I talked to her an hour before we got the call. There had been an accident, and just like that, my mom was gone. My number one cheerleader, my encourager, my toughest critic. Hopeless doesn’t begin to describe the feeling. When you’ve had that kind of support taken away, it feels like the floor has been pulled out from under you. I moved home. I stopped painting. I was hopeless. 

I remember sitting in the front pew of the funeral home and seeing the chapel bursting at the seams, because that is something that you should know about my mom: She used her gifts as a teacher to touch so many lives. Seeing the physical accumulation of her gift fill that room, generations of students, parents, and coworkers that she touched. It was a glimmer of hope. 

That day was long, and so was that following week. As a family we celebrated family birthdays and anniversaries, followed by our first Christmas without her. As hard as those days were, there was also a celebration of a life well lived. In that celebration of stories and memories, the glimmer of hope grew into a challenge. A challenge to live my life using my gifts to honor the One who gave them to me. My mom lived that every day, and for the last nine years I have tried to do the same. The artwork I create doesn’t have anything to do with my talents or abilities. My work is a gift that I get to share, because I find my hope in Christ. 

Links:

Adam Trest : https://www.adamtrest.com

The Caron Gallery : https://thecarongallery.com/product-category/artists/adam-trest/

Clifton Art : https://www.tcliftonart.com

Laurel Mercantile : https://www.laurelmercantile.com/collections/adam-trest-home

I used to wonder how I’d feel when I’m 64. That always raised questions in my mind.

When I get older losing my hair
Many years from now
Will you still be sending me a Valentine
Birthday greetings bottle of wine

If I’d been out till quarter to three
Would you lock the door
Will you still need me, will you still feed me
When I’m 64*

It’s because they were thinking about me. Not.

1. I refuse to take myself too seriously. As I’m fond of saying, this adult thing hasn’t worked out well for me.
2. The world is a mess. It’s the messiest it’s been in my lifetime. I heard it thunder, but the way 2020 is going I thought it might be Godzilla.
3. If the world is a mess, God reigns over the mess, and He’ll be doing a massive cleanup one day. Soon.
4. I have two great grown children, two great kids-in-law, and two great grandchildren (not great in the ancestry sense. They’re just pretty wonderful.) I’m always thankful that none of them are ugly.
5. I have the best wife ever. She’s a candidate for sainthood.
6. An incident that takes place in less than 10 seconds can change your life. Ask me about that.
7. I literally don’t have anything to complain about. That doesn’t mean that I don’t complain from time to time, but it’s a useless activity. No one cares about my complaints. No one cares about yours, either.
8. Why worry about the things you don’t have any influence over?
9. Regrets? None, not really. There are a handful of things I’d like to have a do-over on, in retrospect. But I figure my life has coursed the way it has because God has always directed things. And He’s been known to direct things in unexpected directions.
10. I’m wondering about what I’ll do when I’m 65. That’s an age of some distinction.

Now I’m 64.

It doesn’t feel all that different from being 63.

I’ve tried to draw some parallels to what 2020 has been and what turning 64 means in this particular year.

I’m not going to overthink that, because it’s irrelevant.

Here’s what is relevant:

1. I intend to have many more years ahead of me.
2. I’m not dead because I haven’t completed what I was put here to do.
3. I have plenty of dreams, goals, and plans. Maybe I’m just a late bloomer.
4. If I do have a consistent calling, it’s simply to be an encourager. I’ve never been defined by a “career,” whatever that is.
5. God’s got this is a fresh reality every morning. It sure took me long enough to embrace that.

When I’m 64, I used to think, I’d be pushing around a walker, eating all my meals through a straw, and not sleeping well. I was wrong on all counts.

I’m not sure what comes next, but I am content to go along for the ride. My life is like an ocean cruise – I’m on a ship, and I have plenty of choices as to how I might use my time – eat, or hang out at the pool, see a show, or eat some more. But the course of the ship is already charted – I left a port, headed for another destination, and that route is up to the captain, not me.

God is the captain, I am a passenger, and in that I am content.

Be blessed, y’all.

I’m honored today to introduce you to Carol Ghattas. Carol was a student in my first full-time youth ministry a lot more years ago than I care to think about. From Day 1, Carol was a special young lady. God’s hand has been on her all these years. Her story is worth sharing. Read, enjoy, and follow her blog. The link is at the bottom.

I’m what you might think of as a typical Southern, white Christian woman who’s lived anything but a typical Southern white life. I blame it on The Call.

I got mine at the age of ten, and it changed the course of my life.

I’d been a believer for two whole years, nurtured in a wonderful Christian family and strong church home, but it was after hearing a missionary speak that I heard God telling me: “Carol, you are not going to live the rest of your life in Murfreesboro, you’re going to serve me overseas.”

And I did – though not right away of course, but that didn’t mean I was isolated from the nations. Not only did my parents sponsor international college students, but when a group of refugees from Laos came to my town, I got involved in our church’s outreach to them.

After graduating college, I left home to spend two years in Ivory Coast, West Africa. I wanted to taste the life to which I knew God was calling me. My “tasting” became more of a baptism by fire, as I was faced with realities of mission life:

Even with the harshness of the lessons God was teaching me, I could not push aside his call on my life. I was compelled to seek his forgiveness for my pride and sin, while submitting my clay jar for further use. During a prayer retreat in Ivory Coast, his voice was clear that he wanted me to serve among Muslims. I began seminary in the States with the goal of pursuing full-time mission service in the Middle East.

That’s when God joined my call with the call of an Egyptian-American pastor, Raouf Ghattas.

God knew my weaknesses and allowed me the honor of being joined in service with one of the few men who were actually called to work among Muslims. Raouf was the perfect one for me, and for the next twenty years we served in the Middle East and North Africa. This was the fulfillment of that childhood call in ways I could never have imagined, as I witnessed God at work among the nations.

Closed doors don’t mean a closed call.

We had moved many times during those twenty years, but it was ultimately security issues related to a recently published book we’d written that forced our return to the United States. God brought us back to my, now not-so-small hometown to find that Muslims had moved into the area and were building a mosque. The early years of our “retirement” from full-time mission work, became another full-time local ministry to the Arabs in our county. We started a new church for Arabic speakers and began training Americans in outreach to Muslims.

When my husband died suddenly in 2015, I wasn’t sure what to do. I was working full-time as a librarian and serving as administrator and translator at the church. For the next three years, I pressed on, despite the fog of grief, because I knew God was not finished with the church, though he was moving it into a new era, with new leadership. When we hired a full-time pastor in 2019, I knew God was leading me in a new direction.

Let others speak into your call.

It took time to be at peace with what he was saying to me, mainly out of a sense of responsibility and guilt over leaving the Arabic church. Yet, God knows how to help us through the transitions. He kept sending people my way, former colleagues, friends from the Middle East and even family members who listened and served as sounding boards and counselors to help me navigate this new way.

Some of these helped me see that I needed to take time to grieve. I’d lost, not only my husband, but my father as well. Keeping busy kept me from losing control, but I had to admit that I’d lost the joy of service. I dreaded going to church, translating, and keeping up with people. The love that had compelled me was waning. I knew I had to step back and start saying “no” until I could be refilled myself.

Call doesn’t change – though expression may.

No longer at my husband’s side in service, I began to see how God was moving me back to a “first love” in writing. First in journals, then on Facebook, a blog and in books, God began to show me that though my life had changed, my call hasn’t. He’sjust using a different way for me to serve him and share with others. I come home from work at night and cannot rest until I’ve worked on something related to a writing project or blog post. I’m compelled in a new way now, still by his love, still by that love pouring out for others – all, I pray, to the growth of the Kingdom and his glory.

For Christ’s love compels us, because we are convinced that one died for all, and therefore all died. And he died for all, that those who live should no longer live for themselves but for him who died for them and was raised again. (2 Corinthians 5:14-15 NIV)

May you be compelled today to live solely for Christ.

Grace and Peace.

Carol B. Ghattas is an author, speaker, and librarian. Visit her blog at lifeinexile.net.

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.

(Note: As I write this, I’m in Orlando/Kissimmee, Florida, at the certification conference for the John Maxwell Team. I’m gonna receive my full credentials to be a coach and teacher, which is sort of a big deal for me. I’m a day late on my blog because of that … yes, I could’ve done this earlier. Oh, well.)

Maxwell says, “Leadership is influence,” and that’s what spurred me on to today’s blog. Because you make a difference whether you mean to or not.

My blog is all about encouragement, being hopeful, and keeping your head high in chaos. Maybe your primary concern is just getting through the day. That’s a big deal, you know? Many people barely squeak by in the course of 24 hours. Their daily lives are a slog.

Perhaps, then, being an influencer is way down on your list of priorities. Finding your keys may be your biggest accomplishment for the day.

However. You make a difference whether you mean to or not. It all depends on how you want to make a difference.

Do you want to be purposeful, or do you want to be random?

Because the choices you make, small or large, can and do make a mark in your corner of the world.

I want to illustrate this with a little history lesson.

I am a product of the South. I am not ashamed of that. My “southernness” is a huge component of who I am. But I am not an apologist for the Confederate States of America. Both of my great-grandfathers fought for the Confederacy. While that may seem reprehensible to many today, please understand – we cannot discern the mindset or prevailing culture of our ancestors, nor should we interpret what happened in 1861 through the sensibilities and hindsight of 2019. We don’t know what we would have done back then if that was all we knew.

That, by the way, is why I am secretly amused when people talk about being “on the right side of history.” How can you know that? The Third Reich thought it was on the right side of history, too. I’m wondering if our descendents will look back on these days and ask, “What the heck were they thinking?” But I digress.

I’ve been a War Between the States buff for decades. I’m pretty well-versed in that part of our history, and I can carry on a decent conversation about battles and politics and leaders of that era.

There is a Union officer I want to make you familiar with. He is Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain of the 20th Maine.

Ever heard of the Battle of Gettysburg? It was a pretty big deal. Chamberlain was responsible for repulsing the Confederate advance on Little Round Top, a key geographical position on the high ground of the battlefield.

By all accounts, this event turned the tide of the battle. Short on ammunition, Chamberlain employed a bayonet charge against a much superior force. (I have a link for you to check out. Humor me – it’s a compelling story, even if you aren’t a history buff.)

Chamberlain said, “I had, deep within me, the inability to do nothing.”

Read that again.

I had, deep within me, the inability do do nothing.

Still here? Consider this.

Andy Andrews says, “Historians have discovered that, had Chamberlain not charged that day, the South would have won at Gettysburg. If the South had won at Gettysburg, historians say, the South would have won the war. Now, I had always thought that if the South had won, we would be the North and South, but historians say that had the South won, we would now have a continent that looks more like Europe, fragmented into nine to thirteen countries. Which means that, had Chamberlain not charged, when Hitler swept across Europe in the 1940’s, the United States of America wouldn’t have existed to stand in the breach. When Hirohito  systematically invaded the islands of the South Pacific, there would not have existed a country big enough, powerful enough, strong, populous, and wealthy enough to fight and win two wars on two fronts at the same time. The United States of America exists today because of one man who made a decision to charge. One man decided he was a person of action.”

This haunts me.

Part of it has to do with something of a certain self-centeredness I deal with. It’s that “looking out for number 1” philosophy. Self-care is important, but not to the extent that you forget about others.

There are needs all around you. You ever, providentially, wonder if you are the one to meet those needs?

I wonder if Chamberlain ever looked back at the battle for Little Round Top and fully understood what a difference his choice of a bayonet charge made, not only at Gettysburg, but on the outcome of the war itself.

You may not ever lead others in battle, at least in the military sense. There is a battle raging all around you all the time, even if you aren’t aware of it.

It may be that one of the best way you can be encouraged and embrace hope is to act directly on the things you can do something about. It’s getting out of yourself and looking at the higher cause.

At best, you may be able to encourage someone else, help them have hope in what seems to be a hopeless situation.

I can imagine the Union troops looked at the advancing Confederates and wondered, “What are we to do?” And their commanding officer gives some very unconventional orders. It paid off.

I guess what I want you to understand is this:

Act.

Don’t allow yourself to be paralyzed. Take action. The longer you brood and worry, the harder it will be to do something.

Don’t be Tony on a bad day. Tony’s bad days dictate that I spend all my time trying to figure things out. Be faithful to what you know you need to do. It will make a difference in the lives of others … and you.

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I am intrigued by lighthouses (and if you look at the icon at the bottom of this blog,  you might’ve suspected as much. A lighthouse lends itself to all sorts of symbolism.) There is the practicality of the light as a warning of dangerous shoals and reefs, but also as a beacon to come home to safe harbor. Cool. I wanna be a lighthouse keeper. Some years back, male child Jeremy married the love of his life, Kathleen Fleet. Kathleen’s home is Traverse City, Michigan, and that’s where the wedding took place. Teresa and I found Traverse City to be absolutely delightful, a quaint storybook town. Actually, we came away feeling that Michigan was a state we could easily vacation in … the Pure Michigan commercials on TV are a great representation of the beauties of our neighbors to the north (and for this Southern boy, I’m glad to be open-minded enough to consider life above the Mason-Dixon Line as actually liveable!) We visited the Mission Point Lighthouse during the wedding. This lighthouse was built in 1870, and warned seamen of the dangerous shoals extended out into Grand Traverse Bay. Michigan has more lighthouses than any other state, but what sets this one apart, at least among the lighthouses around Traverse City, is that it has a keeper program, during which you sign up for a time slot and actually serve as a keeper. The light has long since been decommissioned, but you live in the tender’s house, manage the gift shop, answer questions, do maintenance, all that. Lovely. Just lovely. That’s as close as I’d ever come to being an actual lighthouse keeper. One day, perhaps. My understanding is that the life of a lighthouse keeper and his family is a solitary one. He must, however, look to the needs of those he may never meet. Think about it. He is steward over a light that lives literally depend upon. And should his light go out … I don’t want to torture this metaphor, but you see where I’m going. I know of people who were once lights who, for whatever reason, no longer shed the light they once did. What does this imply about faith? It’s possible that those (us?) who were once lightbringers are now shadows of what we once were. We got tired. We gave up. Those who once looked to us turned away. Pity. I wonder if part of the problem might be that we never realized that our light was fading. We became so routine and used to our role in life that we left the light untended, without sufficient fuel, until it was too dim to make a difference. Perhaps we only wanted light for ourselves. It might be that our light was never build on the Light that never fails. God is light, ancient script says, and in Him is no darkness at all. When you are in the dark, you feel isolated and alone. Light gives us the ability to not only see what is around us, but to give others comfort in knowing that they are not alone. We aren’t called to draw people to our own light. Rather, our call is to be a tender of God’s light. We don’t have to be something we aren’t. We don’t have to depend on our own luminescence. His light never fades. It never gives false guidance. We depend on it for ourselves. We depend on God alone. And, as He sees fit, He allows us to not be the light but to reflect the light. His light can cut through the fog, give guidance in the storm, and ultimately lead those seeking harbor a place to lay anchor in safety. “Whenever, though, they turn to face God as Moses did, God removes the veil and there they are—face-to-face! They suddenly recognize that God is a living, personal presence, not a piece of chiseled stone. And when God is personally present, a living Spirit, that old, constricting legislation is recognized as obsolete. We’re free of it! All of us! Nothing between us and God, our faces shining with the brightness of his face. And so we are transfigured much like the Messiah, our lives gradually becoming brighter and more beautiful as God enters our lives and we become like him.”(italics mine.) 2 Corinthians 3:16-18, The Message [/av_textblock]