Some years ago I was serving on the staff of a local church. One of my responsibilities was to oversee the budget and give some direction to the finance committee. I should have known better.

I’ll spare you the gory details, but there was one fateful evening when I was meeting with said committee. The group was going over the Visa receipts, and one individual on the committee took issue with an item with my signature on it. Never mind that the item was in the budget and there was plenty in that particular line item … and that I was acting at the direction of the pastor.

I’ll call that individual Joe. He was so upset his hands were literally shaking.

That dude lit into me. His spittle-flecked rant was along the lines of “Who okayed this? Why did you need to spend this money in the first place? Why was it used that way?” And so forth. His tirade lasted a good five minutes. I sat there, gritting my teeth. The other six members of the committee just sat there with their heads down. I thought maybe the chairman would intervene. It didn’t happen that way.

When Joe stopped long enough to get a breath, I dredged up enough gumption to ask, “Joe, do you love me?”

Joe turned purple, spluttered, and replied, “What do you mean, do I love you? What’s that got to do with it?”

I said, “Because … if you loved me, you wouldn’t treat me this way. You’d want to help me.”

I wanted him to cry. Instead, my appeal to reason and compassion fell flat. He just got madder and resumed his attack.

Look. If I’m wrong, I need to know it so I can make corrections. But don’t devalue me in the process. It’s not right, and it hurts.

I guess we resolved it. I have selective amnesia when it comes to things like this. The bottom line is that Joe simply didn’t like me, for whatever reason. Maybe I reminded him of a kid that beat him up in the 5^th grade. Who knows? Mostly, though, he had an obscenely critical spirit, and it showed up in other areas of his church life, too.

It’s easy to find fault in others, isn’t it? Almost a reflex, some might say. We’ve all been on both ends of criticism, and I think it’s safe to say, it doesn’t feel great being on the receiving end. Especially, when the criticism is less about helping us improve and more about knocking us down a peg. This brings us to an essential thought: “Anyone can criticize another, but it takes a special person to build others up.”

Why Do People Criticize?

Criticism is often the easiest route to take when we feel threatened, insecure, or jealous. It can be a defensive mechanism, shielding us from facing our own shortcomings. And sometimes, people criticize because it gives them a sense of superiority. It’s an unfortunate truth that putting others down can sometimes make us feel better about our own situations.

Criticizing Christians

Criticism from the world towards Christians often feels particularly pointed and persistent. Perhaps it’s because of the high standards that Christianity sets. People expect Christians to live up to Christ-like ideals, and when they fall short, it becomes easy fodder for criticism. Additionally, Christianity, by its nature, challenges the moral and ethical norms of society, which can lead to pushback from those who feel indicted or judged by Christian teachings.

Christians Criticizing Each Other

You’d think Christians would be the most supportive of one another, right? Yet, often we are the first to criticize our brothers and sisters in faith. This could stem from differing interpretations of Scripture or varying degrees of adherence to Christian doctrines. More often — especially in the local church — it’s just evidence of pure meanness. It shows up with squabbles about who is elected deacon, or the colors of the new mop handles. Sometimes, it’s easier to spot a splinter in our brother’s eye than a plank in our own. It’s a human flaw, one that we must be vigilant against.

Responding to Criticism

In moments of criticism, it’s crucial to remember the words of Jesus in John 8:7, “Let him who is without sin among you be the first to throw a stone at her.” This reminds us that we all fall short and should approach each other with grace rather than judgment.

Moreover, it’s essential to distinguish between constructive and destructive criticism. Constructive criticism comes from a place of love and aims to help us grow. It’s based on truth and delivered with kindness. Proverbs 12:17 says, “Whoever speaks the truth gives honest evidence, but a false witness utters deceit.” This highlights the importance of truthfulness in our critiques of others.

Destructive criticism, on the other hand, seeks to harm. It’s often rooted in falsehood and serves no purpose other than to discourage.

When You’re the Critic

It’s worth examining our hearts to see if a critical spirit resides there. A few signs could be constant negativity, joy in others’ failures, and a habit of gossip or slander. Recognizing these traits is the first step towards repentance.

To repent from a critical spirit, start with prayer. Ask God to transform your heart and to help you see others as He sees them — with love and mercy. Practice replacing critical thoughts with compassionate ones. And, when you do need to offer correction, ensure it’s constructive, coming from a place of genuine concern and spoken with gentleness.

Building others up doesn’t just change them — it changes us. As we make a conscious effort to encourage rather than criticize, we align closer with the teachings of Christ. We create a more loving, supportive community where everyone can grow. After all, it takes a special person to build others up, and that person, with God’s help, can be each of us.

Let’s be those special people, the builders in a world that’s too often busy tearing down.

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.

Teresa and I took a road trip to Greenville, Texas, this past week. We stayed with some friends whose home was almost dead center in the path of the solar eclipse – over four minutes of totality.

Before you roll your eyes and heap scorn on me (I’m impervious, so save your breath), understand that this was a bucket list event for me. I’ve seen plenty of partial eclipses, and my takeaway was “wow, that’s cool,” and I’d get on with my day. But after hearing my son attempt to explain what a total eclipse was like, I resolved that I simply had to witness this, because, as they say, pictures don’t do it justice. What I realized was that people who viewed the event as “no big deal” had obviously never experienced a total eclipse. There is a world of difference between totality and even 95%. It’s indescribable.

The day started out overcast. I was bummed. I did sort of make peace with the situation – I’d be content with whatever I could experience. I knew it would get dark even if I couldn’t see the sun.

I decided to pray for clear skies. That felt trivial. More on that in a minute.

The skies did clear. There were some clouds scudding over the sun, but it was more than clear enough.

Words can be so feeble and futile. This was one of those times.

The lighting change prior to the eclipse. Everything took on a sepia tone. Shadows cast by leaves on trees looked odd and sort of distorted. I noticed that the temperature was dropping.

When the sun was totally obscured, birds stopped chirping. There was an ethereal quiet, except for the neighbors spontaneously shouting in awe. Teresa said I hollered. I don’t remember doing that. What I do remember was seeing Bailey’s beads, that chain of light along the rim of the sun, but most awe-inspiring was the diamond ring effect. It was like the blaze of a thousand suns right on the edge of darkness. For a moment, the whole world was alight.

This was very emotional and spiritual for me. I was struck with the wonder of primal creation and thought of my God who orders the universe like clockwork and orchestrates a cosmic dance like this.

Afterwards, I got to thinking: “Was my prayer for good weather trivial? After all, we would’ve had clear skies even if I hadn’t prayed, right?”

Photo credit: Storyteller Photography: Images by Rebecca

Let’s dive deep into what might seem like the shallow end of our spiritual pool: “shallow prayers.” The term itself might evoke a bit of self-consciousness or even guilt. After all, is there such a thing as a shallow prayer, or are all our prayers valuable to God?

Let’s unpack this, shall we?

At first glance, shallow prayers might seem like those quick, on-the-go requests we shoot up to God – “Please let there be no traffic,” “I hope it doesn’t rain during my vacation,” or “Let this cup of coffee work its magic today.” They’re the kind of prayers that, in the grand scheme of things, don’t seem to carry the weight or gravity of prayers for health, guidance, or provision.

But here’s a thought – doesn’t the very act of praying, no matter the subject, signify a connection with God? It’s like texting a friend about the little things in your day, not just the life-changing events. It keeps the relationship dynamic and alive. Could it be that there’s no prayer too small, too trivial, or too “shallow” for God?

The biblical perspective is pretty clear that God invites us to cast all our cares on Him because He cares for us (1 Peter 5:7). Notice it doesn’t say to cast only the big, life-altering cares; it says all our cares. That inclusivity is comforting, implying that God is interested in the details of our lives, even those that might seem insignificant.

But here’s where it gets interesting. What about when our prayers, shallow or deep, aren’t answered in the way we expect? Maybe you prayed earnestly for that promotion, and it went to someone else. Or perhaps you prayed against all odds for that rain to hold off during your outdoor event, but it poured anyway. It’s moments like these where we might wonder if our prayers are indeed valuable or if they’re just getting lost in the ether.

It’s crucial to remember that God’s responsiveness to our prayers isn’t always about granting wishes like a celestial genie. Sometimes, it’s about the relationship that’s built and strengthened through our reliance on Him. Our “unanswered” prayers, whether about life’s big battles or the small hiccups, give us a chance to trust in God’s bigger plan, to find peace in uncertainty, and to seek joy in unexpected places. They teach us resilience, patience, and sometimes, even lead us to the answers we didn’t know we were looking for.

So, should we pray about everything, even the minor things? Absolutely. Philippians 4:6 nudges us to not be anxious about anything but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present our requests to God. It’s a gentle reminder that nothing is too small or too large to bring before God. Our seemingly shallow prayers might just be the thing that keeps our line of communication with Him open and our hearts aligned with His.

And here’s a comforting thought: God cares, deeply and profoundly, about you. Whether your prayers are about the mountains or the molehills in your life, each one is precious to Him because you are precious to Him. The depth of your prayers doesn’t define the depth of His love for you. In fact, it’s in those moments when our prayers aren’t answered as we hoped that we might just find the most profound evidence of God’s love, guiding us toward what we need rather than what we want.

There’s no such thing as a shallow prayer. Every whisper, every thought, every sigh lifted to God is valuable. It’s the heart behind the prayer that matters – a heart seeking connection, guidance, and presence. So yes, pray about everything. The big, the small, and everything in between. Because in the tapestry of our lives, every thread counts, and God is in the details, weaving together something more beautiful than we could ever imagine on our own.

Keep the faith, keep praying, and remember – no prayer is too small for a God so great.

Cheers to strengthening our spiritual connection, one “shallow” prayer at a time.

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.

After Daddy died, I had another 12 years with my mamma. Even though I didn’t live close, we kept up with each other, and I’d make it home when I could.

One thing that bugged me, though, is that anytime I was at her house, the television would be tuned to one of the 24-hour news channels. Maybe Fox, maybe CNN, but always something.

Mamma would comment on what she’d seen and heard. Mamma was a rock-solid Christian, a strong woman, but I could tell that a lot of what she was seeing was scaring her. She was genuinely afraid of what was happening in the world.

I said, “Mamma, don’t be watching this stuff all the time. You’re just seeing the same thing over and over. You don’t need to do that to yourself.”

I’d like to tell you that she took her only child’s counsel, but her viewing habits never changed. The world outside her house was dark and threatening.

I’m a journalist. I want to give you some thoughts on how to manage your information intake. Don’t be like Mamma.

Navigating the stormy seas of today’s news cycle without capsizing into the ocean of despair is quite the task. Let me offer some beacons of hope.

1. Most Stories Don’t Matter

In the grand tapestry of life, it’s easy to lose sight of the big picture when we’re fixated on every little thread, especially the frayed ones. The truth is, much of the news is like fast food for our brains: quickly consumed, rarely satisfying, and often leaving us with regret. The trick is to differentiate between the news that truly impacts our lives and the noise that clutters it. Remember, just because it’s loud doesn’t mean it’s important. Prioritize what genuinely affects you and your community, and let the rest fade into the background noise where it belongs.

2. Challenge Yourself to Love Easy-to-Dislike People

This one’s tough, but oh, so rewarding! Loving people we don’t like, especially those who seem to embody everything we stand against, is a radical act of kindness. It’s not about agreeing with them or condoning their actions; it’s about recognizing their humanity beneath the layers of differences. When we see someone vilified in the news, it’s a golden opportunity to practice empathy and remember that everyone has a story, fears, and dreams. Love doesn’t mean approval; it means understanding and compassion.

3. News Shouldn’t Be 24/7

Our minds were not designed to be bombarded with a constant stream of information, much of it distressing. It’s like trying to drink from a firehose; eventually, you’ll drown. Setting boundaries around news consumption can be incredibly freeing. Allocate a specific, limited time each day to catch up on the news, and then move on to activities that replenish your spirit and joy. This minimal intake ensures you’re informed without being overwhelmed. It’s about being a responsible citizen of the world without being a hostage to it.

4. Guard Your Mind. Guard Your Heart

The news can be a battlefield, and your peace of mind is the territory at stake. Be vigilant about protecting it. If you find your spirit getting dragged down, it’s time to step back. This doesn’t mean ignorance; it means wisdom. It’s recognizing when exposure is turning into poison and choosing to detox. Fill your heart and mind with things that uplift and inspire you, and disengage from sources that drain your joy. Your mental and emotional well-being is precious — treat it with the care it deserves.

5. God’s Got This

In the whirlwind of global events, it’s easy to feel like we’re in a boat about to be swallowed by waves. But here’s the thing: God is the master of the sea and the storm. The belief that “God’s got this” doesn’t imply passivity; it’s a call to faith. It means trusting that even in the chaos, there’s a plan, and goodness prevails. It’s about finding peace in the knowledge that we’re not alone, and that every storm runs out of rain. So, take a deep breath, and relax. Focus on what you can control, and leave the rest in His capable hands.

Navigating the news without losing our peace of mind is about selective engagement, empathy, setting boundaries, self-care, and faith. Each of these strategies not only helps us to maintain our sanity but also transforms us into beacons of hope and love in a world that desperately needs it. We’re all in this boat together, steering towards a horizon of hope.

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 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.

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.

“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]