On October 16, 2016, I gave up worrying.

Reason? It didn’t seem to help.

That’s not to say that I don’t have other issues. Depression is my kryptonite. Migraine medicine and my “happy pills,” plus a total dependence on God who raises up medical professionals, keeps me in a good place … most of the time. I believe modern medicine can be a gift from God – it’s just another tool in His box to bring about healing, and that’s what I was looking for.

Regarding the worry thing: In October of 2016 I found myself bent out of shape, and these years later I don’t even remember what the issues were. I just know that they were awful. I needed a breakthrough, and I knew God alone could facilitate that.

So, I got my tent and went out to Timberlake Campground on the Ross Barnett Reservoir, which is about three miles from our house. I packed my clothes, sleeping bag, air mattress, and some basic provisions. My intent was to lay myself before God and say, “Okay, Lord, it’s just you and me. Let’s do this. I’m open and available.”

Because we have a gracious God, He blessed. I won’t go into the details – I know sometimes getting a few words out of me is like getting a drink of water from a fire hydrant – but I can say that over a couple of nights He moved me through a process of discovery and renewal. Healing and deliverance, if you will.

If you’re prone to worry and anxiety, here’s some of what I’ve learned. I journaled through this whole process. I’d be quick to say that if you are in a dark and desperate place, get some professional help. The stigma that used to be so prevalent – even among Christians! – of getting proper counseling and other medical attention is going away.

It’s often said that our life is shaped not just by our actions, but by our thoughts. As believers, we understand this goes deeper than simple psychology; it’s a principle that’s woven into the fabric of spiritual truths. The Bible reflects this in Proverbs 23:7, “As he thinks in his heart, so is he.” This is more than an observation—it’s a call to action for each of us to master our minds.

But in today’s world, it’s easy to find our thoughts drenched in worry. Concerns about health, finances, family, and the future can dominate our mental landscape. However, if “you become what you think about,” then constantly worrying can transform these temporary thoughts into permanent shadows over our lives.

The Trap of Worry
Worry is a tricky beast. It masquerades as “being responsible” or “just being realistic,” but it’s often an unnecessary burden. It saps our energy, reduces our effectiveness, and if left unchecked, can reshape who we are. Jesus Himself addressed this in Matthew 6:27, asking, “And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life?” The rhetorical question highlights a profound truth: worry adds nothing but takes much.

Redirecting Our Thoughts
So, how do we combat this incessant worry? The key lies in redirecting our thoughts from what can go wrong to what can go right, and more importantly, to what is eternal. Note, too, that there is a difference between worry and legitimate concern. If it’s 2 a.m. and you don’t know where your 15-year-old daughter is and you can’t contact her, you’d best be concerned!

Count Your Blessings: Start by acknowledging the good. Make it a daily habit to identify things you’re grateful for. Gratitude is more than just a feel-good exercise; it’s a powerful way to change your thought patterns from pessimism to optimism.

Stay Present: Worry often pulls us into the past or catapults us into the future. Staying present helps us to engage with the here and now. Practicing mindfulness can help maintain a focus on the present moment rather than the uncertainties of tomorrow.

Lean on Scripture: Philippians 4:8 instructs, “Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.” This is not just advice; it’s a prescription for mental health. Filling your mind with God’s truth can transform your perspective.

Building a Fortress of Faith
Building our thought life doesn’t happen overnight. It requires diligence and a proactive approach towards what we allow to dwell in our hearts and minds. Remember, the mind is a battlefield, and as 2 Corinthians 10:5 teaches us, we are to “destroy arguments and every lofty opinion raised against the knowledge of God, and take every thought captive to obey Christ.” This isn’t just defensive strategy; it’s an active, daily realignment of our thoughts with God’s truth.

Living What You Believe
Ultimately, mastering worry means aligning our thoughts with our faith. It’s living out the truth that God is sovereign, and He holds our days in His hands. When we truly believe that, our worries start to lose their grip on us. This doesn’t mean we won’t have concerns or that we ignore the realities of life. Rather, it means we face them with faith, not fear, knowing our thoughts are in line with God’s promises.

As we start to focus more on God’s truth and less on our worries, our lives can’t help but start to reflect the peace and purpose we read about in the Scriptures. Remember, “you become what you think about.” By focusing on God’s promises and truths, we can reshape our minds and, consequently, our lives. Let’s choose to fill our thoughts with what builds us up, not what tears us down.

We were in Laurel last week, visiting with the grandkids, Katherine and Levi, and their expendable parents. (If you’re a grandparent, I don’t need to explain. Katherine and Levi’s parents just tend to get in the way of our fun.)

Katherine and Levi would rather eat at Waffle House than any other restaurant in the Western Hemisphere. I get that. It’s one of our all-time guilty pleasures. Waffle House is one of the great levelers of society — where else will you see neurosurgeons and sod layers eating together and know that everyone will be treated the same? Scattered, smothered, and covered — that’s my hash brown preference, in case you’re taking notes.

When we have the grandkids at our house, we serve them what I call a “syrup-based breakfast.” That means either pancakes or waffles, with about a pound of bacon for each kid. That’s pretty much what they’ll opt for at Waffle House too, anytime of the day, although Levi has branched out into hash browns. I’m trying to teach him to appreciate the finer things in life. “Papa,” he said, “you’re the best cook in the galaxy.” That’s pretty high praise, but I aspire to the “best cook in the universe.” I guess that gives me room to grow.

At the Laurel Waffle House — which was as cold as a morgue — we all opted to sit at the counter (aka the “high bar”), which looks into the kitchen. We all enjoy watching the grill jockeys at work — it’s like redneck hibachi.

Sitting at the counter next to us was an older gentleman (actually, he may have been younger than me, but he sure looked old.) He had on a weathered camo jacket covered with patriotic patches — flags, eagles, all that. He had on a ball cap with a political slogan on it. He was unshaved, clean, but still sort of disheveled. He was wearing Eisenhower-era hearing aids.

Our server was very cheerful, attractive, and had this multi-megawatt smile. She was also chatty, which is probably a prerequisite for working at Waffle House.

I obliquely noticed that the other gentleman was paying her more-than-casual attention. There was some low-level flirting going on as he sipped his coffee, which is all he’d ordered.

I wasn’t eavesdropping, at least not intentionally. At one point, our server asked him, “Do you enjoy watching me work?” He just beamed — I think he enjoyed the attention.

A bit later, he asked, “What time do you get off work?

Our server rolled with it. “At 6, but why do you want to know?” She was cordial, and smiling, but there was no question that he’d trespassed a bit too far.

He seemed to know that he’d crossed a line. “Uh, well, I was just wondering.” He began studying the last of his coffee.

That was pretty much it. He soon paid for his coffee and left. Our server watched him as he walked out the door. He was limping a little.

I couldn’t help myself. “That was a bit uncomfortable, wasn’t it?” I asked my server. Not that I would ever judge, but he sure didn’t seem her type.

She smiled wanly. “Not really,” she said. “He’s in here a lot. He’s just a lonely old man.”

I don’t know why that struck me. Everyone has a story. I didn’t know his. I may have been judgmental. Maybe I assumed he was a creep.

Since then I’ve been thinking about loneliness. Being alone isn’t a bad thing necessarily, but being lonely isn’t necessarily good.

As followers of Christ, we’re called to “bear one another’s burdens” (Galatians 6:2), yet in doing so, it’s vital to understand the nuance between being alone and being lonely, as they’re not always the same thing.

Being Alone vs. Being Lonely

Firstly, being alone is a physical state, where a person may not have others around them. It’s a solitude that can be sought after for peace, prayer, and reflection. Jesus Himself sought solitude to pray (Luke 5:16), showing that being alone can be a positive, rejuvenating experience.

On the flip side, being lonely is an emotional state — a feeling of being disconnected, unseen, or unloved, regardless of how many people are around. Loneliness can be more daunting to navigate because it’s not about the physical absence of people but the perceived absence of meaningful connections. So if we feel led, how do we address this when we see this in other people? And do we sometimes need to mind our own business? It’s complicated.

Reaching Out from a Christian Worldview

Pray First: Before you do anything, pray. Ask God for guidance, sensitivity, and the right words. Your outreach should be a reflection of God’s love, and what better way to ensure this than to start with Him?

Be Present: Sometimes, the best way to reach out is simply to be there. Presence can speak louder than words. Offer your time and attention. Whether it’s sitting quietly with someone, listening to them, or engaging in an activity together, your presence can remind them that they’re valued and loved.

Listen with Love: Often, people who are lonely just need someone to listen — really listen — to them. Listening is a form of love that validates someone’s feelings and experiences. When you listen, do so with the intention of understanding, not fixing. Remember, Job’s friends sat with him in silence for seven days before speaking (Job 2:13), showing the power of presence over words.

Share God’s Word in a Gentle Way: The Bible is full of verses about God’s love, presence, and care for us. Sharing a scripture can be incredibly comforting. However, be sensitive to timing and receptivity. Sometimes, it’s more about living out God’s Word through your actions than quoting it.

Invite, Don’t Impose: Invite them to activities, church events, or even just for coffee. However, respect their decision if they’re not ready to engage. Loneliness can make it hard for some to step out, so be patient and keep extending the invitation without pressure.

Encourage Connections: Sometimes, helping someone out of loneliness means helping them connect with others. Introduce them to groups, clubs, or gatherings where they might find like-minded individuals. Encourage involvement in community or church activities where they can form meaningful relationships.

Follow Up: Reaching out once can make a difference, but ongoing support can change a life. Check in regularly. A simple text, call, or note can remind them that they are not forgotten. Consistency shows genuine care.

Reaching out to someone who’s lonely is a call to embody Christ’s love in the most practical of ways. It’s about being a friend, a listener, and a beacon of God’s love. Remember, loneliness doesn’t resolve overnight. It’s in the persistent, gentle reaching out that hearts are touched and lives are changed.

Through such acts of love and kindness, we not only address the loneliness in others but also reflect the love of Christ, who promised never to leave us nor forsake us. In doing so, we fulfill one of the most beautiful aspects of our faith: sharing God’s unconditional love with those who feel most disconnected from it. Let’s not underestimate the power of reaching out, for in the tapestry of humanity, every thread is essential, and every connection matters.

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.

Some of you folks might remember the Y2K frenzy and all the hysteria that came with it. The world was on the edge of its seat, prepping for a technological apocalypse. Churches held seminars, and many of my friends filled their garages with enough emergency supplies to last a lifetime.

In the midst of that chaos, I found myself trying hard not to be disrespectful to their concerns, yet I couldn’t help but feel skeptical. My skepticism wasn’t born out of a claim to superior knowledge or insight. Rather, the situation simply didn’t make reasonable sense to me. Between the conflicting “expert” opinions (and there were plenty of folks who made beaucoup money peddling books, supplies, etc. – follow the money, right?)  and the smell test it failed, I found myself turning not to the ATM for extra cash, but to scripture for reassurance. Isaiah 41:10 reminds us, “Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”

A friend of mine was particularly invested, planning to stay up all night on December 31, 1999, to track the anticipated chaos via shortwave radio. Yet, as the clock struck midnight, the world remained unchanged. The anticipated global shutdown was nowhere to be seen.

I called later on the morning of January 1, 2000, just to see how he was doing.

“We haven’t heard anything from the Philippines,” he said. “That’s sort of concerning.”

As I recall, the Philippines managed just fine.

This was a stark reminder that amidst the noise and fear, God’s peace transcends all understanding, guarding our hearts and minds in Christ Jesus, as Philippians 4:7 assures us.

This memory resurfaces today as I see ads for survival kits cluttering my Facebook feed, promising safety in the face of unspecified threats. It reminds me of the fallout shelter building boom during the very real tensions of the era – as time goes by, we’re aware of just what a legitimate threat the Cuban Missile Crisis was. Yet, as Christians, we are called to live not in fear but in faith. Proverbs 3:21-23 encourages us to keep sound wisdom and discretion always before us, guiding us to respond to fear not with panic but with prudence and discernment.

So, why share these reflections on a serene morning? It’s a gentle reminder that, as believers, we’re called to a different standard. Our trust in God’s sovereignty means we approach life’s uncertainties not with fear but with faith. We are stewards of God’s creation, called to care for our neighbors and ourselves with wisdom and love, echoing Luke 12:33-34’s call to focus on treasures in heaven, not on earth.

Living in fear is easy in a world that often seems designed to scare us. But as followers of Christ, we are reminded that “Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? And not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father.” (Matthew 10:29). God’s got this. All of it. Our role is to live out our faith boldly, trusting in His plan, and to spread peace rather than panic.

Let’s be lights in the darkness, voices of reason and hope in a world often gripped by fear. Let’s choose to live not in the shadow of what might happen but in the light of what we know to be true: God is in control, and His love and protection encompass us every day.

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

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

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

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

The Lost Art of Feeling Ashamed

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

Shame in the Biblical Context

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

The Role of Shame

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

Moving from Guilt to Grace

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

Practical Steps to Growth

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

Encouragement for the Journey

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

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

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.

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

Ode to Fried Chicken at Church Potlucks

Oh, golden treasure of the church social feast,

Crisped to perfection, a southern culinary beast,

Fried chicken, your sizzle whispers tales of home,

In the fellowship hall, where community roams.

Beneath steeples high, where hymns softly play,

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

Each piece, a sermon in crunchy, savory skin,

Whispers of potlucks past, and kinship within.

Thou art not merely food, but a binding spell,

Uniting souls in prayer, and stories to tell.

In your golden crust, a crunch of history resides,

Of grandmas and aunties, their secret recipes they hide.

Breast, wing, thigh, and drumstick too,

Laid upon checkered cloths, a heavenly view.

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

In the sacred halls, where the community sings.

You transcend mere taste, oh bird divine,

In your juicy depths, memories and love entwine.

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

A symbol of grace, in this humble place.

As hands reach forth, in harmony they gather,

Around your platter, differences don’t matter.

In the clasp of prayer and the breaking of bread,

Your presence reminds us of the words Jesus said.

In this potluck, a mosaic of dishes array,

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

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

In every bite, a testament of communal might.

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

You bring us together, and lift spirits high.

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

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

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

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

In each golden piece, a taste of southern love,

A blessing from kitchens below, and heavens above.