Scoot your chairs in close, kids. I have a story for you. This will help someone.

Several years ago I was working for a ministry that trained and equipped student ministers. It was a dream job in so many ways.

I’ll spare you the details, but I went through an awful season while serving in that role. Compounding it was a knowledge that I needed some answers from God Himself — it was one of those “crisis of belief” times that Henry Blackaby so eloquently talked about in “Experiencing God.”

So I prayed, and sought, and waited. Nothing, Nada.

Ultimately, I did hear from God in what was a solid, sweet fashion. God spoke in the most amazing fashion during a personal retreat at the Monastery of the Holy Spirit near Conyers, Georgia. One unique feature of this place is that you were expected to follow a discipline of silence — you didn’t speak to anyone, and no one was to speak to you. And no, I’m not Roman Catholic, nor am I any sort of a mystic. Don’t worry. I’m resolutely Southern Baptist! It wasn’t about the monks and me, but about God and me, one on one. I’ll save that story for another time (or you can contact me personally — it’s a story I love to tell.)

Years later, I’m still unpacking what God taught me during that season. Let me share with you seven takeaways. I hope these resonate with you because, if you haven’t already, you can anticipate a time in your life when the heavens are silent and hearing from God just isn’t happening,

I’d add, too, that there are plenty of stories in scripture when God didn’t speak. For years. You’re in good company.

Here are my seven:

1. Don’t Ignore the Silence

Silence can be unnerving, especially when we’re used to constant communication. But when God seems silent, it’s not an invitation to panic; it’s a call to pause. Silence can be a sacred space for reflection and growth. Think of it as God’s way of saying, “Let’s sit with this for a moment.” It’s in these quiet times we often find the deepest insights and grow in patience and perseverance.

2. Confront Sin in Your Life

Silence from God can sometimes act as a gentle nudge to examine our hearts and lives. It’s a call to introspection, asking us to confront any sin or barriers that may be disrupting our relationship with Him. This isn’t about wallowing in guilt but about clearing the air. Just as a bit of dust can cloud a lens, even small sins can cloud our spiritual vision.

3. Go Back to What You Know for Sure

In times of silence, anchor yourself in the truths you know about God and His character. Remember His promises and the ways He has been faithful in the past. This is not about ignoring your doubts or fears but about remembering that, even when the path ahead seems unclear, the foundation of your faith is solid.

4. Make a Decision and Choose Sides

When God seems silent, it’s a pivotal moment to decide where your loyalty lies. Will you follow God, trusting in His unseen guidance, or lean on your own understanding? This decision is about commitment, a declaration that, regardless of how you feel, your trust in God’s character and promises is unwavering.

5. Trust God More, Not Less

It might seem counterintuitive, but God’s silence is often the best time to deepen your trust in Him. Trusting more, not less, means leaning into faith, even when you don’t have all the answers. It’s about believing that God is at work in your life, even in the silence, shaping you for purposes beyond your current understanding.

6. Listen and Watch Closely

God’s silence doesn’t mean His absence. Sometimes, God speaks in whispers or through the actions and words of others. Pay attention to the world around you, the “coincidences,” the advice of friends, the serenity of nature. God is often at work in the subtle, teaching us to tune our senses to His gentle guidance.

7. Get Ready to Receive from Him

Finally, prepare your heart to receive from God. This isn’t about passively waiting but actively preparing—like tilling the soil for the seeds yet to be sown. It’s about making space in your life for what God is about to do, trusting that His silence is often the precursor to growth, blessing, and deeper understanding.

I hope this encourages you. Talk later!

I should know better when on social media. I’ll read a post from someone I know and care for, and think, “Are you even listening to yourself? You’re a believer. And if I were to take what you’re sharing at face value, I’d say you’re moving close to despair. How cynical can you get?”  

It’s like a drowning man who not only won’t reach for a lifesaver but isn’t content until they drown someone else along with them.

In a world that often seems overwhelmed by negativity and cynicism, it’s easy to wonder where we, as Christians, fit into the grand scheme of things. We’re bombarded with news that paints a less-than-hopeful picture of humanity and the future. It’s in these moments, however, that our faith is not just a belief but a beacon—a source of perpetual hope and unwavering trust in God’s sovereignty.

The idea that “you can’t be cynical and a Christian” might seem bold at first glance. After all, isn’t it human to feel disheartened by the seemingly endless cycle of bad news? Yet, this statement isn’t about denying our emotions or ignoring reality. It’s about recognizing that, as Christians, we are called to view the world differently. We are called to hope.

Hope, in the Christian sense, is not blind optimism. It’s a confident expectation based on the character and promises of God. Despite the chaos, despite the brokenness, we stand firm in the belief that God is always glorified in all things. This isn’t a passive hope; it’s active and alive, compelling us to engage with the world in a way that reflects God’s love and redemption.

Don’t let your familiarity with Romans 8:28 dilute its truthfulness. Paul reminds us, “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” This verse isn’t a platitude; it’s a cornerstone of our faith. It assures us that, no matter the circumstances, God is at work. He’s weaving every thread, even those tarnished by sin and sorrow, into a tapestry that glorifies Him and fulfills His divine plan.

When we look at others or the world around us, it’s crucial to remember that there’s no person or situation beyond God’s redemption. To think otherwise is to limit the infinite power of our Creator, the one who spoke the universe into existence. How, then, can we doubt His ability to transform lives and circumstances?

Embracing this perspective shifts our focus from despair to action. It challenges us to be agents of hope and vessels of God’s love. Instead of being overwhelmed by the darkness, we’re inspired to shine our light brighter, to reach out with compassion, and to partake in God’s redemptive work in the world.

“God’s got this” might sound like a casual affirmation, but it’s a profound declaration of faith. It’s an acknowledgment of God’s omnipotence and a commitment to trust Him, even when the path ahead seems uncertain. This trust isn’t naive; it’s rooted in a deep understanding of who God is and His promises to us.

So, as we navigate through life, let’s challenge ourselves to shed any cynicism that dims our light. Let’s replace it with a hope that is as unshakeable as it is contagious. Let’s be so filled with God’s love and trust in His plan that others can’t help but be drawn to the hope that lives within us.

As you reflect on these words, I encourage you to evaluate your own heart. Are there areas of your life where cynicism has taken root? How can you actively replace that cynicism with hope? Remember, it’s a journey we’re all on together, supporting one another, as we strive to live out our faith in a world that desperately needs the hope only God can give.

Let’s not just be hearers of this message but doers. Let’s live out our hope in such a way that it provokes others to seek the source of our hope, the very heart of God. Because, in the end, hope is not just what we have; it’s what we are called to share.

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.

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

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

No. It doesn’t work that way. Right?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not.

I wonder how Paul’s prayer sounded:

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

God responds: “Sorry, pal.”

Paul gives it another shot:

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

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

Paul, round three:

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

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

Paul says, “Roger that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Doesn’t he look sweet,” Mama said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How do you move on?

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

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

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

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

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

A quick history lesson.

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

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

These are some powerful words:

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

I wish I’d written this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes yes yes.

You’ve probably said things like:

I thought God wanted me to marry him.

I thought I was supposed to take that job.

Moving to a new house felt right, somehow.

Here’s the lesson here:

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

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

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

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

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

Sweet.

Get this picture.

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

The Gate of the Year

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

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

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

What does it look like to be whole?

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

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

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

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

7 thoughts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Comments welcome. Talk soon!

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

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

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

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

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

Check this out.

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

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

They brought good things. Expensive, even priceless things.

And then there’s the little drummer boy.

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

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

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

I wonder how the little drummer boy felt?

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

This raises a couple of questions:

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

File those away. We’ll come back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God help me.

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

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

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

Where is your heart today?

I play my best for you.

I give you all I have.

God bless the little drummer boy. God bless us.

Imagine you’re on a journey, a long winding path with tall trees on both sides, obscuring your view of what lies ahead. Every turn, every rise, and dip of the ground brings a tinge of uncertainty. If you had a guide leading the way, someone who knows every twist and turn of that path, wouldn’t you feel more assured?

Our journey through life is much like this winding path, filled with uncertainties at every corner. But as believers, we are blessed to have Jesus as our guide. The question then isn’t whether we have a guide, but rather how we position Him in our journey. Is He leading us, or have we relegated Him to a mere porter carrying our burdens?

Jesus Leading the Way

When Jesus leads the way, we walk with a certain assurance, even amidst the chaos and unpredictability of life. It doesn’t mean there won’t be moments of fear or doubt, but it does mean that our immediate response to uncertainty is to look ahead, to Him.

Having Jesus lead means that our vision shifts from the immediate problem to the eternal promise. Instead of asking, “Why is this happening to me?” we start asking, “What are you teaching me through this, Lord?” It’s a position of trust and proactive faith, where we allow Jesus to chart our course, trusting that He has our best interests at heart.

Jesus as Our Porter

On the other hand, when Jesus is behind us, bearing our burdens, it might seem like a noble gesture. We acknowledge Him, we recognize that He’s there, and we rely on Him to carry our troubles. But, there’s a subtle difference – we’re not letting Him lead. Instead of looking to Him for direction, we’re navigating life based on our understanding, our plans. We’re making Him reactive to our decisions rather than the other way around.

There’s an inherent danger in this. It means that when faced with uncertainty, our first response might be panic, stress, or even despair. We scramble to find solutions, often forgetting to consult with the very one carrying our burdens.

Repositioning Jesus in Our Lives

So how do we ensure Jesus is leading us rather than merely following? It starts with surrender. It’s acknowledging that while we have our plans, God’s plans for us are always better. It’s daily picking up our cross and saying, “Not my will, but Yours be done.”

Surrender doesn’t mean inaction. It means actively seeking His will in every decision, every uncertainty. It’s a proactive stance of prayer, seeking wisdom, and being attuned to the gentle nudges of the Holy Spirit.

Next, it involves reading and meditating on the Word. The Bible isn’t just a historical document; it’s a living testament, a guide for our journey. By immersing ourselves in it, we get to understand God’s character, His promises, and His directives for us.

Lastly, it involves community. Surrounding ourselves with fellow believers who can offer godly counsel, pray with and for us, and hold us accountable in our walk with Christ.

Wrapping Up

Uncertainty is a given in our human experience, but our reaction to it speaks volumes about our relationship with Jesus. Letting Him lead doesn’t guarantee a life free from troubles, but it promises a life where every challenge is faced with divine assurance and hope.

So, as we journey through life, let’s evaluate where Jesus is positioned. Is He leading, or is He merely following? And if we find that He’s been behind us for a while, let’s reposition Him where He rightfully belongs – right ahead, leading the way.

Talk later!

I know we often talk about the uplifting stuff here, but sometimes we need to lean into the difficult parts of life too. After all, it’s the trying times that really test and shape us, right?

Let’s start by acknowledging something none of us can escape: suffering. Yup, you read that right. I’m talking about those not-so-welcome surprises that crash into our lives like uninvited guests at a party. One moment you’re coasting along, and the next, you’re floored by some piece of news or a life-changing event. You didn’t choose this; you didn’t see it coming. So what now?

Well, the truth is, we all suffer. It’s an unfortunate but undeniable part of the human experience. But how we respond to suffering—that’s what sets us apart. It’s easy to lose composure, to question your faith, and, let’s be real, sometimes even to lose that uplifting smile. But to go through the valleys and still keep your eyes on God? That’s something to write home about. It’s like taking life’s lemons and not just making lemonade, but throwing in a sprig of mint and a dash of honey too! It’s your choice to make the bitter experience a little sweeter.

We often view success and good fortune as milestones, markers that indicate we’re moving in the right direction. But let’s flip the script for a second. Pain and suffering can be just as transformative, if not more so. Ever noticed how suffering re-calibrates your internal compass? Your values get a shakeup; priorities shift like tectonic plates; even your dreams and goals can morph into something entirely different, and that’s okay! You’re not going off course; you’re just taking a scenic route you didn’t plan for.

I’m reminded of the story of Joseph in the Bible. Talk about having a hard time, huh? Betrayed by his brothers, sold into slavery, falsely accused, and imprisoned. Man, he had every reason to give up and let suffering define him. But he didn’t. He kept his faith in God, stayed composed, and even managed to interpret dreams in prison. His suffering wasn’t a pitfall; it was a stepping stone to becoming the second most powerful man in Egypt. His pain wasn’t an accident; it was a part of his purpose.

Now, I’m not saying suffering is easy or enjoyable. It’s not. And it’s perfectly normal to ask, “Why me?” or “Why now?” But let’s also ask, “What can I learn from this?” Because if you’re going through hell, why stop there? Keep going until you get to the other side, where the lessons and growth are. Don’t waste your pain; use it to propel you to new heights.

Your pain is your story, and stories are meant to be told. You might not see it now, but your experience can be the beacon that guides someone else through their storm. You’ll be the proof that one can suffer and still keep their faith, their composure, and yes, even their smile. Your pain is changing you, but that doesn’t mean it’s diminishing you. It’s chiseling away at the rough edges, sculpting you into a masterpiece in progress. And trust me, God doesn’t make mistakes; He makes masterpieces.

So let’s own our sufferings, not as roadblocks but as part of our journey. They’re the chapters that make our life stories rich, relatable, and remarkably human. And always remember: it’s the trials and tests that make the testimony. Stay strong, keep the faith, and don’t forget to smile. Life might be tough, but so are you.

Until next time, keep smiling!

One in four adults and one in five youth in the United States have a diagnosable mental illness. At Family Matters, we know this means nearly every family we come in contact with is impacted by mental illness. As Christians, we know we can turn to our Heavenly Father and seek His guidance and wisdom in all areas of our life. The Bible tells us in 1 Peter 5:7, “Cast all your anxiety on Him because He cares for you.”

Belief in an omnipotent God means we believe He can heal us of our brokenness spiritually, mentally and physically. Out of that belief, we turn to our God with prayer and faith that He can heal. We believe this for ourselves, and we encourage others to believe the same.

God can, and sometimes does, heal us when we cry out to Him, but often He doesn’t.

Often, God says to us when we continually ask him to take away our sadness, anxiety, scattered thoughts, anger and pain, “My grace is sufficient for you. My power is made perfect in your weakness” —2 Corinthians 12:9.

The only brokenness God promises to heal is our spiritual brokenness.

Mentally and physically, we are “jars of clay” that contain our spiritual treasure (2 Corinthians 4:7-18) and we often won’t be free from our afflictions until we are glorified with Christ someday in Heaven.

I see a trend in the Church that troubles me. The response of much of the Church to mental illness is to over-spiritualize both the problems and the solutions.

I have experienced it personally, and a recent study by LifeWay research has found nearly half of evangelical, fundamentalist, or born-again Christians (48 percent) believe prayer and Bible study alone can overcome serious mental illness like schizophrenia, bipolar disorder and depression.

We would never begrudge someone with cancer from seeking the best, most innovative treatment available to them. We would never simply tell them to just pray and study their Bible more! We would pray fervently for God’s healing, comfort and wisdom, but we’d also fully expect that they will see a doctor, seek treatment and take medication if it’s warranted.

We don’t do the same with mental health.

Often, when I’ve heard someone share that they are grappling with mental illness, their concern is met with answers like, “you should cast all your cares on the Lord (1 Pet. 5:7); rejoice in the Lord always (Phil 4:4); pray without ceasing (1 Thess 5:17) and you are fearfully and wonderfully made (Psalm 139:14).”

All of these are biblical truths—but they should not be hurled as platitudes; platitudes to dismiss their pain, call their faith into question and shut down further discussion of a topic we may find challenging and hard to comprehend.

The mentally ill continue to receive dismissive, judgmental and marginalizing responses from much of the Church because mental health is still stigmatized. Yes, there is a spiritual component to mental illness (and physical illness), but mostly because we are spirit. To immediately draw the conclusion that someone struggling with clinical depression, anxiety disorder, mania or PTSD is under spiritual attack only makes sense if we also immediately draw the same conclusion of our friend who has been diagnosed with breast cancer, hypothyroidism or kidney stones. Yes, demon possession and spiritual oppression happens, but they are not the main cause of true, persistent mental illness. Mental illness happens at the intersection of our mind, spirit, personality, character, faith, decisions and electrical command center (our brain) but it is illness just the same.

It is vital we don’t do anything which could be construed as discouraging treatment for mental illness, because without treatment (and sometimes with it) mental illness can be terminal. Our Great Physician often uses the miracle of medicine in His healing.  Sure, medications come with potential risks and side effects. Like any other health decision we weigh the risk of treating against the risk of not treating. And I can tell you this: the risk of untreated, or undertreated mental illness is staggeringly high. The point is, it’s not our place to critique how a fellow believer chooses to treat their illness either physical or mental. We can leave those decisions between them, their families, their doctors and our Wounded Healer.

What’s the danger in over-spiritualizing mental health?

The danger is we continue to stigmatize those who are equally loved by our Great God. The danger is rather than being life-giving in our love, compassion and understanding, we who are redeemed are a stumbling block to those precious souls who cry out to the Great Physician. The danger is we miss our calling to love and edify each other, and cause a bitter root to grow between us and the world.

“See to it that no one misses the grace of God and that no bitter root grows up to cause trouble and defile many”—Hebrews 12:15.

So love, listen, pray, encourage, support, bake casseroles, drive to appointments and pick-up prescriptions. Advocate for those whose illness leaves them voiceless. Let our witness to the world be how broken people love each other.

NOTE: This article from Family Matters was written by Karis Murray, who writes candidly about mental illness and urges readers not to miss their callings to love and advocate for those whose illnesses leave them voiceless. I want to give all credit to Karis and Family Matters.