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.

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.

The Silent Strength of Friendship

Friendship is an enigma. It’s this beautiful blend of joy and pain, of laughter and tears. In the journey of life, friends become our chosen family, our anchors in the storm, and our cheerleaders in the game of life. But what does it truly mean to be a friend?

The Beauty of Silence

Have you ever sat with a friend in complete silence, where words were unnecessary, and the mere presence of each other was enough? There’s a beauty in that silence. It’s the kind of silence that speaks louder than any words ever could. It says, “I’m here for you, no matter what.” It’s the silence that acknowledges pain, understands grief, and respects the need for solitude.

Being a friend doesn’t always mean filling the void with words. Sometimes, it means understanding the importance of silence, recognizing when it’s time to speak, and when it’s time to simply listen.

Letting Go with Love

It’s a tough pill to swallow, but true friendship sometimes means letting go. It means watching from the sidelines as your friend takes a leap of faith, even if you fear they might fall. It’s about trusting their journey, believing in their strength, and understanding that everyone has their own path to tread.

Letting go doesn’t mean abandonment. It means giving them the space to grow, to learn, and to find themselves. And sometimes, it’s the greatest gift you can give.

Picking Up the Pieces

Life is unpredictable. It throws curveballs when we least expect them. And while we might stand back as our friends take their leaps, we’re always there, ready to pick up the pieces when things don’t go as planned.

Being there during the tough times, offering a shoulder to cry on, or simply being a listening ear, is the hallmark of a true friend. It’s the promise that says, “No matter how broken things may seem, I’ve got your back.”

A Love Beyond Rescue

The instinct to protect and rescue our loved ones from harm is natural. But true love, especially in friendship, goes beyond the urge to save. It’s about acceptance. Accepting that we don’t always have the answers, that we can’t always be the hero, and that sometimes, the best way to love someone is to let them find their own way.

It’s a selfless kind of love, one that puts the needs and growth of the other person before our own desires to “fix” things. It’s the realization that every individual has their own journey, their own battles, and their own lessons to learn. And as friends, our role is not to walk that path for them but to walk alongside them, supporting, loving, and accepting them every step of the way.

In conclusion, friendship is a dance of love and understanding. It’s about knowing when to step in and when to step back. It’s about the silent moments, the leaps of faith, and the times we pick up the pieces. But most importantly, it’s about loving without conditions, without expectations, and without the need for rescue. Because that’s the kind of love that stands the test of time.

There’s an old saying that goes, “To err is human, to forgive, divine.” But we all know the real truth is, “To err is human, to pretend it never happened, even more human.” Unfortunately, Google hasn’t quite figured out how to erase our blunders from the memory of the universe. So, when you’ve really done something monumentally dumb, how do you recover? Don’t worry, even if you’ve successfully recreated the parting of the Red Sea in your kitchen or proven gravity’s existence with your new phone and a concrete floor, there’s hope.

Firstly, let’s address the elephant in the room. You’ve messed up. Congrats! You’ve officially joined the human race. Every Christian worth his or her salt knows that we’re not perfect beings. Remember Adam and Eve? They had one job, one rule. Yet, they still managed to drop the ball… or should I say, eat the forbidden fruit? But remember, it’s not about how we fall, but how we get up that matters.

Next, after messing up, we tend to panic. This typically involves a complex dance routine where we flail around wildly, knocking over anything within a five-foot radius, including dignity. Take a deep breath. Calm down. Remember, Jesus was known to calm storms, and I’m pretty sure he can handle your little weather system of chaos. Pause, pray, and remember to breathe. You’ve survived 100% of your worst days so far. This one won’t be the exception.

Then comes confession time. Don’t worry, this isn’t about baring your soul to everyone on Facebook, but about taking responsibility. Remember when King David took a nose-dive off the moral high dive and tried to hide it? Yeah, that didn’t go so well. So, own up to your mistake, apologize if necessary, and learn from it. After all, God loves a humble heart, and owning your mistake is a step towards humility.

Now that you’ve owned up to your blooper, it’s time to mop up the mess, even if that means literally getting a mop. Taking action not only helps rectify the situation but also demonstrates your commitment to righting the wrong. Remember, faith without works is dead. So, don your superhero cape (or apron) and dive into the action.

Afterwards, remember that everyone has messed up, and most likely in more spectacular ways than you. Peter, the rock upon which Christ built his Church, had quite the impressive goof-up portfolio. He denied knowing Christ not once, not twice, but three times! Yet, he bounced back and became one of the greatest apostles. The point is, we all make mistakes, so cut yourself some slack.

Finally, find the humor in your situation. Laughter is the best medicine, and a bit of self-deprecating humor can defuse even the most disastrous blunders. Proverbs 17:22 says, “A cheerful heart is good medicine.” So, why not apply that medicine to your self-inflicted wounds?

As you navigate through the minefield of your monumental mess-ups, remember that you’re not alone. We serve a God of second chances (and third, and fourth…). He specializes in turning messes into messages and tests into testimonies. He took Peter’s denials and turned them into devotion, Paul’s persecution into proclamation, and He can take your blunders and turn them into blessings.

Messing up might feel like the end of the world, but it’s not. It’s simply an opportunity to learn, grow, and become a better version of ourselves. After all, some of our best stories come from our worst mistakes. Remember, we are all clay in the hands of the Master Potter. Sometimes, He has to remold us a few times before we come out just right. So, the next time you do something dumb, take a deep breath, pray, and prepare for your divine redo. It might just be the start of an amazing transformation.

“I’m sorry.” Do those words ever stick in your craw?

I was chatting with a friend a while back, and he told me that he’d never heard his father say “I’m sorry.” I’ve thought a lot about that since then, because I’ve learned that this isn’t an isolated incident.

In the case of my friend’s father, it looks like a generational thing. Perhaps there was a time in our history when saying “I’m sorry” undermined authority.

Those of you of a certain age might remember the book and movie, Love Story. The catchphrase from that was “love means never having to say you’re sorry.” Well, who the heck came up with that? I know that in our househ0ld I have to continually apologize because, well, on some days I’m an insensitive idiot.

With our grandkids, I see brawls break out randomly. It’s usually toy related. You know, “What’s mine is mine, and what’s yours is mine.”

We are spared from day-to-day discipline with those kiddos. Which is fine. We put in our time with their parents. But one thing I hoped we were able to do was teach them to apologize to each other.

I’m sorry. I’ll put that right up there alongside “please” and “thank you.”

Flash forward. Is saying “I’m sorry” a skill you have? Or is that annoying and useless?

Look. I’m not advocating “peace at any price.” While I tend to go along to get along, that’s not the same thing as humility. It’s saying, “well, dang. I was wrong. I’m sorry.”

That gives you a great deal of power, simply because you’ve taken the higher ground.

Diving deeper, is there anything you absolutely couldn’t apologize for? What is that? And I’m not getting into the issue of unrestricted forgiveness – that’s another blog. Actually, I think I’ve addressed that plenty of times.

It seems there might be a genuine art to apologizing, to saying “I’m sorry” and meaning it.

Here’s three steps to apologizing:

1. Humble yourself and confess up – you’ve hurt another human being. There are times when we unintentionally hurt others, but what I mean here is when you act with the intent to wound. Question – what in the name of perdition would make you want to do that? Who wins in that scenario? There’s an argument that it might make you feel better to be cruel and vindictive, but life experience has also taught us that that to live in that state corrupts your soul. Long term, you feel lousy. As that great theologian Elvis Presley sang, “Don’t be cruel.” Whether you hurt someone physically or with words and actions, recognize you’ve wounded someone.
2. Tell – using words! – the person you’ve hurt that you understand what you did was wrong. You’ve seen this – maybe even experienced it: Something along the lines of “tell your sister you’re sorry.” And the other sibling mumbles “I’m sorry” with absolutely no sincerity or acknowledgement. I’m not so sure that this doesn’t happen with adults. You apologize, you say “I’m sorry,” but there is a total disengagement between lips and heart. The key is to genuinely understand what you’ve done and what motivated it. That calls for some self-awareness and a real gut check. Do it anyway.
3. Lean into the apology. Apologize. Mean it. Say “I’m sorry.” Hug it out, if that’s appropriate. And – a biggie! – move on. It’s rear view mirror stuff from there on. Nursing a grudge, brooding over past slights, and looking for an excuse to be mean again – that’s not gonna move the moral needle in your life.

Want to be eternally angry and bitter? Never say “I’m sorry” and mean it.

There’s a basic principle here that needs to come into play. It’s simply to keep short accounts. That will make you strong.  It’ll help you build strong relationships, in families and other relationships. Once a wrong has been committed, apologize as soon as possible. Don’t let it fester.

If you’re a parent and you’ve hurt your kid in some way – maybe by not listening to them, losing your patience, yelling at them – say “I’m sorry.” You are not an infallible parent. Your kids know that anyway. It’s not going to undermine your authority. If anything, it’ll give real credibility because you’ve demonstrated you really care.

If you’re a kid, it’s the same thing. Going for that “gotcha!” with your mama or daddy isn’t going to make things any better. You blew it. It happens. Acknowledge that, say “I’m sorry,” and move on.

Move on. That causes relational miracles.

These little principles work with other relationships, too. In dealing with your friends, do the same thing. And if you want to go really audacious, apologize to your boss for being mouthy. Or if you’re a boss, tell your employee “I’m sorry” when you’ve mishandled him or her in some way. It’s easy enough to say “it’s not personal, it’s business.” Well, friend, it is personal whether we want it to be or not. Act accordingly.

So keep those short accounts. Even when you don’t want to apologize and say “I’m sorry,” show some backbone. Have the strength and courage to humble yourself and admit you messed up.

It’s Matthew 5:25, right?

Settle matters quickly with your adversaries.

You’ll feel better. Promise.

Talk soon!

I don’t know if you’ve ever given any thought to our hard hearts, but I’m sensing that, as a whole, we’re a lot less compassionate than we used to be.

Mean, even.

God seems to treat people very differently.

That’s problematic, isn’t it? If God is fair and just, shouldn’t we all find favor? Do our hard hearts come from God or from within ourselves?

I’m a novice at theology, and I’m really hesitant about saying things that aren’t sound. But I’ll take a swipe at this anyway, because I think it’ll help you.

First, some background.

This past weekend we kept our grandkids, Katherine and Levi. Katherine’s four. Levi’s two. We love them so so much, but they can make you tired.

Katherine was looking at the account of Moses and the Ten Commandments in a little illustrated Bible. She was intrigued. So, in the interest of broadening her horizons, I decided to show her a movie version of the story. We ended up watching parts of three of them.

We started out with the 1956 Cecil B. DeMille version of The Ten Commandments starring Charlton Heston. Big, loud, splashy, and reverential. And some killer dialogue; at one point, Nefertiti says to Moses, “Oh Moses, Moses, you stubborn, splendid, adorable fool!” You just can’t get any better than that.

Then we watched the appropriate section of The Bible, the miniseries from 2013 produced by Roma Downey and Mark Burnett. It was certainly more gritty, and the parting of the Red Sea looked terrific.

We wrapped up our session with The Prince of Egypt, the animated version from 1998. To me, it’s the best of the bunch. It’s some potent stuff.

Katherine had tons of questions, but she fixated on Pharaoh. (She’s always partial to villains in movies – she has this thing about Darth Vader, for instance.)

So I tried to explain the whole Israelites being slaves, Moses being sent to deliver them, and Pharaoh saying, uh-uh, nope.

This was an interesting conversation with a four-year-old.

I don’t know if she picked up on the nuances of the story, but she did understand who the good guys and bad guys were. And she was all about the parting of the Red Sea.

What we didn’t get into was the whole business of Pharaoh being so bad.

That’s not a bad question – why does God harden some people’s hearts? More specifically, is He responsible for our hard hearts?

Ancient script says this, in Exodus 11:3:

The Lord made the Egyptians favorably disposed toward the people, and Moses himself was highly regarded in Egypt by Pharaoh’s officials and by the people. (Emphasis mine.)

On the other hand, here’s this, found in Exodus 10:27 and 11:10:

²⁷ But the Lord hardened Pharaoh’s heart, and he was not willing to let them go.

¹⁰ Moses and Aaron performed all these wonders before Pharaoh, but the Lord hardened Pharaoh’s heart, and he would not let the Israelites go out of his country.

So. There’s that. But what does that have to do with our hard hearts?

There’s no question that this is a mystery.

Why the difference? I’d say, on one hand, only God knows. I have to be at peace with that. Paul says, in Romans 9:18, God has mercy on whom He wants to have mercy, and he hardens whom He wants to harden. 

Yowza.

But back to Exodus: from our limited human view, there are all sorts of reasons in the differences between the Egyptians and Pharaoh. Pharaoh enslaved the Israelites because they were free labor and he could do with them as he pleased. The Egyptians were likely to be more sympathetic. So there are some human factors at work.

That’s not a totally satisfactory view, though.

Making it personal, and in attempting to understand our hard hearts, check this out.

We really don’t know where our deepest feelings come from, do we? Think about it: we are all full of motivations, desires, prejudices, and preferences. Are those due to genetics? Biochemistry? Environment? There isn’t much we can do about those. Or – big one! – are they consciously chosen? Do we decide to engineer our own hard hearts? Is that out of our hands?

My contention is that sin affects everything about us – who we are as well as what we know and do. It can explain our hard hearts.

That could explain a lot about us – why we get so agitated by some people, why we are unwilling to tolerate differing viewpoints, and how we view our world.

Where it gets even messier is when we realize that God controls the universe. No argument there, right? That’s what the Bible teaches. The Bible also teaches that people can obey or disobey God’s commands.

The question hanging out there is this: How does God’s control relate to how you make choices?

If you are free to choose your own attitude and biases – in other words, to accept or reject your hard heart – then it seems to reduce God’s absolute power to something you can override. But – and it’s a big but – if God causes you to have a hard heart against Him and other things and people, then it makes God come across as unfair.

What I grapple with personally as well as corporately is how it seems sometimes that God brings about events and attitudes that clearly oppose His nature.

Rock and roll.

See the implications? This gets to the core of why there are pandemics, why certain elected officials come to power, and how we respond to others and the world and those around us.

As I write this, I’m trying to land this plane safely.

Wheels down:

The connection between God’s sovereignty and human freedom is a big, big mystery from where I sit. People a lot smarter than me (and probably you) have grappled with this for literally thousands of years. It’s still a mystery, and I’m not gonna solve this here at my MacBook on a Tuesday morning.

What I am certain of, though, is that God, by definition, is completely good in His actions. If we think about our hard hearts, and how they came about, we have to acknowledge that we have a big responsibility.

We are responsible to trust Him in all His work and ways. We are never called to solve or even figure out the difficulties that only God understands.

Be at peace with that. And be well. Comments are, as always, welcome.

10 things you’d want to be said at your funeral! Have you ever thought about that?

I have. (Yeah, unfortunately, that’s how my mind works.)

My grandmother had a term she used about aging. She called it “the approaching Shade.” That’s so poetic and melancholy.

Sometimes I think about the approaching Shade. Not in a morbid way at all. It’s just a sweet way of realizing that I have more behind me than I do ahead of me, and that’s okay.

BUT – I have zero desire to be leaving this physical plane anytime soon. I have a lot to do yet.

So. 10 things you’d want to be said at your funeral. Coming up with that list can be an enlightening exercise.

Here’s my 10.

1. Tony was my go-to person for all things Disney. By his own admission, his passion for the Mouse was inexplicable. He was a fountain of Disney trivia, he considered Walt Disney World his second home, and if you were planning a trip yourself, he’d put together the ultimate experience for you. I’m surprised he’s not being buried in mouse ears.
2. Tony loved performing magic. He never was all that good, but people laughed and enjoyed themselves. That was more than sufficient.
3. Tony was a more-than-decent cook. He was absorbed by the Food Network. Turn him loose in the kitchen and he was a happy guy. And grilling? Give that boy a spatula, a properly heated and prepared grill, and some red meat, and he was good to go. He was an unrepentant carnivore. Well, actually an omnivore. There was only one food in all creation he wouldn’t eat – coconut. He didn’t like the way it looked, the way it smelled, its texture. He didn’t want to see a picture of it on a box. He didn’t even want you to eat it. He wanted to at least be able to tolerate it before he died. That didn’t happen.
4. Tony loved to travel. There was always somewhere else to go and see and do. He was as comfortable in an urban setting as he was in nature. Well rounded, yes? He’d soak up those experiences like a sponge. He always said he preferred mountains to the beach, but in later years decided the beach was okay. He liked the water. If told, “Here’s a towel. I want you to spread it out on that unbearably hot white dirt and lay on it. I want the sun to cook you to a neon pink,” then he would scream and run.
5. Tony was not vain. He would have like to have been “dapper,” but that involved too much work, and he cordially detested having to wear a necktie.
6. Tony was self-depreciating. He was never hesitant to poke fun at himself, and he never, ever wanted to take himself too seriously. “Contempt” might be too strong a word, but he tended to be annoyed by people who did take themselves too seriously. He believed that many of the problems of the world stemmed from humorless people who couldn’t see the absurdity of their own words and deeds. “Lighten up,” he’d say.
7. Tony’s sense of humor was warped. He loved satire. He loved seeing the high and mighty lampooned. His humor wasn’t vulgar, but it could sometimes be construed as inappropriate. For instance, he loved a good meme dealing with COVID-19. Some folks didn’t get that. At all.
8. Tony was an introvert. A textbook introvert. He loved his own company. He could mix and mingle and engage with the best of them, because he genuinely loved people. But after having to people too much, he’d have to go lay down. Sometimes he’d just get tired of folks. He could engage in small talk, but only in limited doses. When he was with you, he’d try to steer the conversation toward the meaning of life, what you’d observed about the unfolding of the world, and your dreams, goals, and aspirations. He wanted to know what you believed was your purpose in being here. He could do that for hours. He was an INFJ, and took some sort of misplaced pride in being part of the rarest of personality types – like anyone else cared!
9. Tony loved his family with a passion that was terrifying. His wife Teresa was his helpmeet and his pillar. He loved his extraordinarily different kids, Jeremy and Amy, who grew up to be honorable, ambitious young adults, and loved his in-laws, Kathleen and Stone. But those grandkids – Katherine and Levi – would absolutely cause him to lose his mind and all semblance of control. In his latter years those two were the best thing that ever happened to him.
10. Tony loved God. He was a disciple of Jesus Christ and served at His pleasure. The most important words he ever wanted to hear were “Well done, good and faithful servant.” Because of that relationship, Tony felt that his calling was simply to be an encourager.

That, folks, is what I would want to be said at my funeral. What are 10 things you’d want to be said at your funeral?

I have a lot to do to live up to my own desires. But I have some time yo work on that still. Don’t I, Lord?

Be blessed.

Tony’s Question: How about you?? What 10 things would you want to be said at your funeral? How about sharing just one of those below.

Oh, yeah … I’m taking a week-long break from the blog while I do a little vacay action. See y’all later!

Let me share 10 traits I value in my friends.

I’d like for this to be interactive. I’d love for you to share yours with the rest of us in the comment section below.

These are in no particular order.

1. Availability. I’m thinking about that 3 a.m. friend, that if I were in a real crisis, I could call them and know they’d come without hesitation.
2. Space. The contrast here would be that I value friends who give me breathing room. I don’t want someone in my face, ever. Don’t hover around me. Knowing you’re there is plenty enough.
3. Humor. Lord deliver me from folks who take themselves so stinkin’ seriously. I’m not talking about a good joke-teller here, although that’s okay. I value that. I mean someone who just simply finds stuff funny, even things other people don’t. My sense of humor leans toward absurdity, and I love satire. My friends need to roll with that.
4. Depth. I can tolerate surface small talk for a while. I can even pull it off in a pinch. But sooner or later, I gotta have those deep, meaningful discussions. Maybe even self-relavatory. If I ask “How are you doing?”, I mean “How are you really doing?” I can go with the theology of creation, or why God made mosquitos, or the most embarrassed you’ve ever been. Wanna talk about the meaning of life? I’m in.
5. Loyalty. All of us have experienced the pain of being “ditched.” I’m too old to let that bother me like it would’ve when I was much younger. Still, it hurts to be betrayed. So loyalty? Yeah.
6. Forgiveness. I simply don’t want to be around folks who hold grudges, much less have them as friends. If you and I are to model Christlikeness, there is absolutely no reason whatsoever to withhold forgiveness. We forgive because we were first forgiven. When you forgive, you’re exercising a superpower. I like that.
7. Integrity. Say what you mean and mean what you say. I value consistency as a friendship trait. A synonym could be “authenticity.” Just be real. I can spot a phony a mile away.
8. Encouragement. Prop me up from time to time, okay? I hope that doesn’t display some sort of neediness on my part. If you can sincerely say “Tony, it’s gonna be okay,” I’ll follow you to the jumping off place. You will have made my day. Maybe even my week.
9. Tolerance. Follow me here. I’m not talking about tolerating wickedness or sin. Now, I can be pretty keen on “live and let live.” But that doesn’t mean that you or I either one should turn a blind eye to evil, even if that evil is sanctioned and culturally incorporated. I guess a better term would be “open-mindedness,”  seeing things from the other person’s point of view. Listening. Seeking first to understand before trying to be understood. I like to be around folks who’ll give others an honest hearing, even if they have no intention of being converted to an opposing viewpoint.
10. Faith. I love to see Jesus in my friends. I have friends who are nonbelievers, and that seems appropriate to me. Look who Christ hung out with. But for my besties, I need folks who are examples of “iron sharpening iron.” I know what kind of spiritual laziness I’m capable of. I’m not afraid of being accountable to Christian friends, even though sometimes in the flesh I want them to mind their own business. Faith in God? Yes, please.

I don’t have that many friends.

Don’t feel bad for me. To some extent, that is by choice. It’s an introvert thing, and if you’re an innie like me, you know what I’m talking about.

There’s only so much of me emotionally to go around. If I let you in, then, by golly, you’re in. All in. I won’t invest in you causally.

That’s what I’m about. What are the traits you value in your friends? I’d love for you to share your thoughts below.

Be well.

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? The whole Bob Dylan Christmas album, which is like some sort of surreal fever dream? No thanks, ma‘am.

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.

Getting personal. Or, perhaps, more accurately – getting interpersonal.

You’ve heard this from me before, but … I’m an introvert (and a Myers-Briggs INFJ, enneagram 4, etc., which is maybe only interesting to me.)

The product of those personality traits is that I can “people,” but only for so long. Then I have to find a way to recharge.

Solitude does that for me.

But this getting personal thing? That means that I have to spend a chunk of time being interpersonal.

That’s an acquired skill. I’m pretty good at it. And listen – I genuinely like people. There’s absolutely no one I hate, and only a scant handful of people that I don’t particularly like to spend time with – I guess that’s a benign form of dislike.

I’m commanded to love everyone, of course. That’s not dependent on feelings. That’s an act of the will. Again, that’s easy, most of the time.

Dealing with life means dealing with people.

That may excite you, or it may make you cringe. It all depends on how you communicate. Ultimately, it’s all about how you communicate.

My understanding is that there are four basic types of communication:

• Aggressive
• Passive
• Passive-aggressive
• Assertive

I won’t unpack these now (mostly because I can’t remember where I read or heard this). What I do recall, though, that being assertive is the way to communicate. And to get personal – or interpersonal – hinges on how well we communicate.

The desire is to be assertive without being obnoxious, or letting assertiveness mutate into aggressiveness.

So, here’s a little exercise. Again, I can’t claim this as original, but even Google isn’t helpful here. I don’t know where I got this. It’s just random journal notes from somewhere. (I don’t want to have some sort of copyright infringement anywhere, so if any of y’all can identify the source, I’ll be happy to give credit.)

Do this.

Think of a social situation you find yourself in that’s kind of rocky. What does that look like? Are you being given unwelcome, unsolicited advice? Are you trying to advise someone  that isn’t interested in what you have to say? Might you have to face confronting someone? Have a come to Jesus talk? Or are you simply socially awkward?

Maybe it’s something else. Come up with your own issue.

Now, what’s the best way you can handle this situation? Remember, this is getting personal.

1. You might try being more objective. This means disengaging from the issue, stepping back, and not letting your emotions rule the day. This means you may need to “practice the pause.” Know what I mean?
2. Think about simply strengthening the relationship. Maybe you need to be more connecting. Perhaps being more transparent. This is risky, for sure, but it might be just what you need to do. It’s making yourself vulnerable, and I can’t offer counsel here. You’ll need to know yourself and the other person if you take this approach.
3. Just follow through. Your gut has guided you, and you need to stick to your guns. Again, this can be perilous. If someone tells you to “follow your heart,” run away. That’s just about the worst advice someone can take.

Armed with this decision, it’s time to polish and invoke your social skills. Remember – the bottom line is to encourage both yourself and the other person. And hope for the best, as always. However, you can take these steps to make sure this isn’t a groundless hope.

Seven steps:

1. Describe the situation. Here’s where you get to practice objectivity. You want to settle facts in your own mind.
2. After you’ve settled on facts, then you can bring your thoughts and emotions into the mix. This is purely subjective.
3. Get to the point with the person you’re communicating with. That’s a courtesy to them and it keeps you from having to tread water. Ask for what you want or need. Be direct!
4. Go back through the first three steps, and reinforce them. If the person you’re communicating with looks like they’re catching on, that’s great. Reinforce it!
5. Keep your head in the exchange. Make sure your goal in communicating is in the forefront of your thinking. It’s all about being mindful. Don’t second guess what you’re saying, and don’t run out ahead of the conversation. Stay in the moment. Just don’t forget your goal.
6. Be confident. This can be tricky, because folks can sense if you’re wavering or uncertain. Practice body language, the tone of your voice, and the cadence of your speech. Look folks in the eye. At the same time, you have to be authentic. If I could figure out how best to do this personally, I’d write a book.
7. Be wiling to negotiate. This works on a personal and a professional level. You can go back and forth a little. It won’t kill you. As they say, “half a loaf is better than no loaf at all.” I’m not talking about compromising your values. It’s simply a matter of being wise and choosing what’s worth doing to get what you want or need in the end.

Think back on the social situation you could use a little help with. Work it through this process.

I can’t promise you a miracle fix, but I do think this will equip you for better results.

I hope this hasn’t been too clinical for you. My goal, as always, is to encourage you and give you hope. I don’t know of any area of life we need to work on than in the realm of relationships, and how to communicate in them.

This is getting personal. That’s the point.

Getting personal means getting interpersonal. Go and be wise.

Unforgiveness is not an option. At least, it shouldn’t be.

Here’s why.

During this past week, the nation and world were witness to an amazing legal trial in Dallas. Here’s what www.Relevantmagazine.com shared (and the photo credit is theirs, too):

This week, former police officer Amber Guyger was sentenced to 10 years in prison for the murder of her neighbor Botham Jean. 

Jean was at home by himself when Guyger entered his apartment by mistake, and shot and killed him. He was just 26 years old. Yesterday, after the sentencing, Botham’s younger brother Brandt addressed the court, and delivered a powerful message to Guyger. 

Brandt then nervously asked the judge if he could give Guyger a hug.

The judge also gave Guyger a Bible – and my understanding is that it was the judge’s personal Bible. The folks from Freedom From Religion have just about gone into anaphylactic shock over that.

For Brandt, unforgiveness was not an option.

How about you?

And, my followup question:

Why wouldn’t you forgive? Unforgiveness is not an option.

I’m sure you have plenty of answers to that. It certainly is easy to harbor unforgiveness, even bitterness. Aren’t grudges fun anyway?

Isn’t it a pleasure to despise someone else?

Of course it is. We all enjoy locking eyes with someone who has wronged us or someone we care about and feel that delicious blossoming of malice. It’s fun to wish ill-will on someone else.

Or not.

C’mon, now. What purpose does unforgiveness serve? Who exactly do we want to hurt?

If someone has wronged you or otherwise hurt you, and you haven’t forgiven them, to what end does your unforgiveness lead you?

It won’t take you to a pleasant place. I guarantee it.

• For one, unforgiveness won’t take you back in time. It won’t undo what has been done. It’s called the “past” for a reason.
• Second, it won’t change the person that you won’t forgive. They are who they are. Besides, you can’t change anyone. That’s out of your hands.
• Third, it will change you. It simply makes you feel bad, at the very least. And if you don’t feel bad by being consumed with ill-will, well, I’m guessing you have other issues, too. Maybe your soul has become bitter and shriveled.

Why wouldn’t you forgive? It may be that you’re in a place of such pain that you can’t be anything but negative.

That’s bogus. Because you can always, always, always choose to forgive. Unforgiveness is not an option because you have a will that makes it possible.

It may be that we don’t forgive because we prefer personal misery instead.

Forgiveness is liberating. It brings life and freedom. It gives us authority over ourselves, and, in a sense, gives us authority over the person we didn’t want to forgive. And it shows that we may be a bigger person than they are. That’s not a license to show some sort of “I’m better than they are” attitude. It simply means that we aren’t going to let someone else’s actions devalue us. Forgiveness gives us value.

Then, for the believer, there’s this: Take a look at the Cross.

Did Jesus deserve that? Did He have any reason to die for us, ungrateful little people that we are? Scripture is clear that it was our sin that put Him up there, writhing in agony. Not only did He forgive those that physically put Him up there in real time, He forgave us. He made provision for anyone, anytime, anywhere to receive this supernatural forgiveness.

You’ve heard this thousands of times, but hear it again: We can forgive because He first forgave us. We are supernaturally empowered to forgive others because of Him. For Christ-followers, unforgiveness is not an option.

Paraphrasing R.C. Sproul:

Unforgiveness is having the desire in our hearts to do the will of the enemy of God.

Let this be fresh to you, because the implications are staggering.

You can face life with your head held high and your spirit soaring. And it’s because you can do what Jesus did.

P.S. I’d be honored if you’d check out the free course offered in the Transformational Encouragement Academy and leave some feedback. I want this to be the best resource ever. Check it out here.

I hope I never get to the place where I take friends for granted. What good are friends, anyway?

I have a gazillion or so acquaintances. There is a significantly smaller percentage of those I call friends. Then there is a scant handful of folks I would consider true friends. What good are they?

Lord knows I can be negligent of them. It’s not because of some sinister design, of wanting to push people away. It comes more from a sense of self-protection. Or I just forget to keep up with them. And, to my everlasting grief, I tend to be all or nothing. Either I benignly neglect you, or I’m obnoxiously all-in.

For instance – if you’re my friend, and I reach out to you, then you can be assured that I’ve let you be a crucial part of a tiny circle. That’s by personal design. (And, candidly, if you’re in that circle and I reach out to you and you blow me off, I won’t love you any less, but I’m done.)

I want friends in my life who will have those rich, convoluted, dense conversations with me. Or not; sometimes it’s nice to share time together in silence. It just depends. I’m just not sure of what it depends on.

I don’t feel that I need a lot of friends. Just a few suit me. I like having plenty of folks around I have an affinity for, but to invest myself in someone who is only interested in shallowness? Uh-uh. I don’t have the energy or capacity for that. I’ll smile politely, and be congenial. That’s as far as it will go.

I’m guessing you have your own criteria that dictates what kind of friends you want or need. I just puked mine all over you. You can come up with your own.

I would say this: We were created social animals. We’re part of a tribe. How that works out in real-life terms for you depends on your makeup. I don’t think you need to apologize for that, or pretend to be something you aren’t. You just be. I don’t know that being a total hermit is ideal, but again, to thine ownself be true.

Just don’t overthink things (which is exactly what I’m doing right now. Ack.)

Rather than letting this be a passive blog that you read and toss aside, would you accept a little assignment from me? You can do this in your head, of course, but it might be informative for you to grab some paper and a pen.

I made myself a list – these are 10 traits I value in my friends. This gets back to my “What good are friends, anyway?”question.

1. Loyalty. I don’t have a lot of use for those who’d ditch me, unless I deserved to be ditched. I want folks who are supportive, encouraging, and at least attempt to be understanding.
2. Sense of humor. You either have this one or you don’t. I want folks who can laugh at themselves and their own absurdities. If you take yourself too seriously, you’re gonna annoy me. And as awful as the world can be these days, you gotta admit that some things that people get all worked up about are actually pretty funny.  Even absurd. (Maybe this is an “eye of the beholder” thing, so keep your hate mail to a minimum.)
3. Compassion. Your default attitude should be “grace and mercy.” Care, and care deeply. Be empathetic. Don’t pretend that you care when you really don’t. Have a cause, and be patient and understanding with those who don’t share the same passions. They have passions of their own. Don’t devalue them – and don’t let them devalue you, either. I think it’s a matter of seeing the world as God sees it.
4. Understanding. That also has a lot to do with tolerance. Be willing to say, “I see.” Going back to our hard-wiring, we all have different world views. Here’s a trait I want in a friend: Be able to try to understand other viewpoints before trying to explain your own. Look: I have some stances that are non-negotiables. If you try to change them, I will give you a polite hearing and not devalue you, even if I think you’re an idiot. (That’s a joke. Sorta.) There is still room in society, to some extent, to have a “live and let live” attitude. At least try to understand where the other person is coming from. That doesn’t mean you have to accept their views. Just listen, even when hollering might be more fun for you. (A caveat: if you are a Christian, and are dealing with a brother or sister in spiritual or scriptural error, don’t forget we’re accountable to each other.)
5. A “ministry of presence.” I don’t know where I first heard that term, but I love it. If you’ve ever been in a situation facing death or a critical illness in someone else, you may have wondered, “What am I supposed to say?” I mean, you don’t want to make things worse. That’s where this “ministry of presence” thing comes in. Just being there, even being silent, is always the right thing. I want that in my friends, even if I’m well. Just be there. You don’t have to keep me engaged in conversation.
6. Honesty without cruelty. Yes, please, be honest with me. But do it in the context of loving me. If I’m wrong, I need to know that. Just don’t be mean. Honesty is always a virtue, but it’s not a club to beat someone up with. Just because you can say something doesn’t mean you have to. And if your exercise in honesty is designed to make some point, and to make you feel superior, your motives are screwed up.
7. Godly. I think this should have the first position in my list (even though they’re not in any particular order.) If you don’t have Jesus, then I can’t share the most important thing in my life with you. That doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. It just means that there is a missing component that will keep our relationship from being as rewarding and complete as it could be.
8. Patient with me. I could camp on this one for days. I have this well-developed ability to be awkward – say things that I regret, or that don’t make sense, or simply look and act uncomfortable. Just ride that out with me, okay? I mean well. My motives are mostly pure. But if I talk like I’m a cross between a babbling two-year-old and a stroke victim, you’re going to have to understand that.
9. Lets me be authentic. I don’t want to have to tiptoe around you. I want to be able to be real. I can sense a phony a mile away. Don’t ever lie to me. I’ll know it, and you’ll know that I know it, even if I don’t call you out. Being real is one of the highest virtues. I want you around me if you’ll give me that freedom.
10. Forgiving. For the life of me, I can’t find a loophole in this forgiveness command from God. You always forgive. Always. It doesn’t mean that you approve, nor does it mean you have to maintain an intimate relationship with someone who has wronged you. Just forgive. And forgive me – I can assure you, if I’m your friend, there will be times when I will disappoint you.

Now. Go make a list of your ten. I think it’ll be an eye-opening exercise.

What good are friends, anyway?

God sends them.

Allow God to give you your friends. The friends He sends your way will be there when you yearn for those long talks – for listening to you when you’re breaking down, during the days that are struggles and the nights are unusually long.

Those friends bring the sun when you’re drowning in the rain.

Your comments, as always, are encouraged and welcomed.