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.

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.

This week, I want to dive into a memory lane moment that’s been tugging at my heartstrings, all centered around a term we’re all too familiar with — bullying. But, I’m not just talking about the kind we remember from the playground; I’m eyeing its more grown-up, yet equally damaging counterpart in our adult lives.

This grows from an incident I saw in the news that can only be classified as bullying, and it involves public figures, grown men. Frankly, it’s troubled me perhaps more than it should have. Let me tell you a story. There are some real parallels here.

My thoughts drift back to a childhood memory from Camp Ridgecrest for Boys — a memory that, oddly enough, has rippled through the years, influencing my understanding of kindness, courage, and the subtle forms of bullying that don’t always leave visible scars.

I was in the 6th grade, sharing a cabin with five other boys, one of whom, Ernie, had a stutter. His vulnerability became the target of another cabin mate, Herbie, who found a perverse delight in mocking him. Despite Ernie’s attempts to laugh it off, the bullying escalated until it reduced him to tears. Herbie accomplished what he set out to do. As a witness, my silence has since felt like complicity, a haunting reminder of the power of our actions — and inactions. I should have said or done something. As a 6^th grader, though, I guess I didn’t want to run the risk of being treated like Ernie had been.

The memory serves as a stark reflection on bullying, not just as a relic of our school days but as a shadow that can follow us into adulthood, morphing into forms that are harder to recognize but equally harmful. Adult bullying may not involve stolen lunch money or physical altercations, but it can manifest in workplace politics, social exclusion, or cutting remarks dressed as jokes, even to the extent of making fun of someone’s physical appearance or handicaps. These actions, though less overt, stem from the same desire to exert power over another.

As Christians, or simply as humans striving to be better, we’re compelled to ask ourselves, “What would Jesus do?” This question isn’t meant to invoke guilt but to encourage a profound introspection about our conduct and its impact on those around us. Jesus’ life was a testament to love, inclusivity, and standing up for the marginalized — a guidepost for our interactions.

Acknowledging feelings of complicity in the face of bullying is not an admission of defeat but a step toward growth. It’s a call to action, urging us to be vigilant and brave, to stand up against injustices, and to support those who are being diminished. Our silence can be as impactful as our words, and choosing to speak out can be a beacon of hope for someone in the throes of bullying.

As adults, we wield considerable influence — through our actions, our words, and our decisions about when to speak and when to listen. This influence gives us a unique responsibility to create environments (churches?) where respect and kindness overshadow the impulse to belittle or dominate. It’s about building communities where the Ernies of the world feel supported and valued, not for their ability to endure mockery but for their inherent worth as individuals.

This is an invitation — a call to reflect on our behaviors and the subtle ways we might contribute to or combat bullying in our everyday lives. It’s an encouragement to foster empathy, to be the ally that our younger selves needed, and to cultivate spaces where compassion drowns out cruelty.

In closing, let’s remember that the lessons learned on the playground have far-reaching implications. The way we navigate adult bullying, standing up for fairness and kindness, can transform our workplaces, homes, and social circles into havens of respect and understanding. By doing so, we honor the spirit of what Jesus taught, living out our faith through actions that speak louder than words.

Together, let’s pledge to be the change, to be adults who embody the virtues we wish to see in the world. Because in the end, it’s not just about preventing bullying; it’s about nurturing a society where every person is seen, heard, and valued — where the playground, the workplace, and the church are places of growth, not battlegrounds for dominance.

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

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

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

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

The Lost Art of Feeling Ashamed

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

Shame in the Biblical Context

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

The Role of Shame

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

Moving from Guilt to Grace

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

Practical Steps to Growth

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

Encouragement for the Journey

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Doesn’t he look sweet,” Mama said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How do you move on?

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

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

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

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

The 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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Until next time, keep smiling!

Hey there. This particular blog is pretty subtle. Lean in.

Have you ever had one of those moments where you find yourself caught up in the grandiosity of the world? Where you might feel, just for a second, a tad bit tiny in the grand scheme of things? We all have, and it’s utterly human to feel dwarfed by the sprawling cosmos and the enigmatic expanse that surrounds us.

But here’s a gentle reminder, right from the heart of Christianity, echoing through the ages and reverberating in the soul of every believer. Picture this: amidst this quiet contemplation, you hear a whisper, clear and comforting, God’s voice reaching out to you, “Stand up, I chose you.” It’s not a shout, but a whisper – a personal, intimate call that reaches deep into your heart, acknowledging your worth and potential in the grand narrative penned by the Creator Himself.

You see, when God places His hands upon us, something extraordinary happens. The earth beneath us seems to recognize this divine touch, resonating with a gentle tremor of joy, echoing the heartbeat of a Father who lovingly crafted it.

So, what’s in this divine nudge, this celestial encouragement that makes everything different? It’s a call to step into the role crafted just for you, to embrace the journey set before you with courage, grace, and a heart brimming with God’s love. It’s an invitation to step beyond the ordinary and into the remarkable adventure that God has in store for us.

Being chosen by God doesn’t mean a pathway strewn with roses, free from trials. Rather, it’s a rallying cry to rise above, to bear witness to His love in action, to be His hands and feet in a world craving kindness and compassion. In Christian belief, it’s being filled with the Spirit, a role filled with purpose, joy, and boundless opportunities to reflect Christ’s love to others.

But remember, you’re not alone on this journey. Just as Jesus walked with His disciples, teaching and nurturing them, God walks alongside you. Guiding, supporting, and encouraging you, infusing your journey with a sense of purpose and joy that transcends earthly understanding.

As you rise, as you stand up under God’s gentle command, let’s do so with hearts wide open, ready to embrace the beauty and complexity of this divinely orchestrated life. Let’s move forward with a spirit that’s upbeat, positive, and ready to dive into the wonders that God unfolds before us each day.

Imagine the tremendous impact we can make in this world, showcasing Jesus’ love, mercy, and grace in actions big and small. For when we stand tall, embraced and empowered by His love, we become living testaments to His goodness, radiant beacons of hope in a world longing for light.

So, here’s to stepping up, to answering that divine call with a smile that’s genuine and a heart that’s eager to love, serve, and embrace the journey ahead. In God’s grand design, you are not insignificant; you are treasured, vital, and uniquely equipped to make a mark that lasts for eternity.

As you navigate this remarkable journey, remember, with God by your side, you’re prepared to make waves of positivity, joy, and God’s love reverberate across the earth, showcasing the radiant light of Christ that dwells within you, ready to illuminate the world.

Stay blessed, and keep shining your divine light. Jesus saves.

The Secret Places of Our Will: A Dance with God’s Purpose

“Our battles are first won or lost in the secret places of our will, never in full view of the world.”

Think about it; the personal battles we face are not fought in arenas filled with cheering crowds. They’re fought in the quiet corners of our minds and hearts, where we wrestle with our desires, decisions, and God’s will for our lives. The world may never see these battles, but they are as real and significant as any physical war.

Take a moment to consider those things you wrestle with in your private thoughts. Maybe it’s a decision about your career, family, or a personal habit you want to change. Whatever it is, know that you’re not alone in these struggles.

“You’ll never have any idea what other people are really going through. Just know that other believers wrestle with God’s will, just like you.”

Isn’t that a comforting thought? We all face challenges, and we all wrestle with God’s will in our lives. Sometimes we wonder why things aren’t going our way or why we feel a nagging sensation that something is amiss. The beautiful part of this struggle is that it leads us closer to understanding God’s purpose for our lives.

The wrestling is not a sign of weakness or failure; it’s a dance, a continuous process of aligning our will with God’s. When we wrestle, we engage, we ask questions, we seek understanding, and in the process, we grow stronger and closer to the Creator.

Now, here’s the upbeat part: These battles, these wrestlings with God’s will, they shape us into the individuals we are meant to be. They prepare us for bigger roles in life, molding us into stronger, more compassionate beings. They teach us empathy, patience, and resilience.

Next time you find yourself in a secret battle, don’t be disheartened. Embrace it! Know that in that struggle, you are finding your path, shaping your character, and learning to dance with God’s will.

Remember, your fellow believers are dancing too. Maybe not to the same tune or in the same way, but they are engaged in the same beautiful, sometimes complex dance with destiny.

So, let’s celebrate these battles. Let’s find joy in the wrestlings. Let’s encourage each other and understand that we’re all on this journey together, each finding our way, each learning our steps, and each dancing our unique dance with God’s purpose.

Talk soon!

Less than a week ago I had eye surgery. I haven’t said a whole lot about the nature of the surgery itself. I’ll say that it hasn’t been pleasant, but it wasn’t risky. I’m doing well, and can go back to work next week.

I’ve been homebound, which for an introvert isn’t the worst thing that can happen. What has been challenging, though, is that for the first few post-op days I had to restrict screen time – very limited computer, television, iPhone, all that. Nor could I read. Any of these activities made it feel like my eyeballs were melting and running down my cheeks. There’s an image for you – reference Raiders of the Lost Ark to complete the picture.

Thank God for Audible. There is nothing wrong with having someone else read to you.

What’s been interesting, and at times downright bizarre, is how aware I’ve been of time.

I never get bored. Seriously. I can always find something to do. Boredom seems to equate to time … the more you have on your hands, the more likely boredom becomes.

And yet, time rushes by. It doesn’t matter the state of your health, what you find to do with yourself, or how busy or idle you are. Time is time. Our perception of it is what makes it real to us. It doesn’t matter if you’re cleaning the bathtub or composing a symphony. It moves at the same pace regardless of my request to speed things up, or slow things down.

Laying on the couch with cold compresses over my eyes, in self-imposed darkness, I got to thinking about where the time has gone, and I’m talking about 67 years of time.

The usual thoughts crop up. Watching our kids grow up and start families. Experiencing body parts wearing out. Thinking about places I’ve lived, churches I’ve served, people who have crossed my path that made indelible impressions on me, and watching the seasons change.

To use a shopworn phrase: “It is what it is.” Time, I mean.

Know what I can do, though? In spite of the flow of time, I can make choices as how to use it. Things around me change all the time. I just need to make wise decisions in the midst of all that change. I am not powerless. I can choose. I have the power to choose.

You do, too. You can absolutely choose the quality of your life even if you can’t control the outcome of what’s happening around you.

What I’m seeing in these days are so many people yearning for a return to what once was, whatever that is to them. They don’t want to change unless it can take them back to a perceived better place.

Well, pilgrim, things do change, sometimes rapidly, and there is plenty that we’ll never go back to. We have to grapple with that.

I am not exempt from how life keeps moving in me and around me. And there’s a conclusion that is certain: unless Jesus delays his return (and I’m so dang ready for that!) then I am going to pass away. You too.

While that sounds grim, it’s really not. Our deaths should be a healthy consideration, because it helps us determine what we need to be about in the meantime.

It’s simple, really. We need to make wise choices. I can’t spend my life paralyzed thinking about how awful things are. I mean, we live in a fallen world. Should we expect anything other than awfulness?

What are we supposed to do, then?

Slow down a bit. (I’ve been forced to do that, and it ain’t all bad.)

We live in the midst of chaos, and it will continue relentlessly.

Try standing still.

You know what the end game is. I get the picture of storm-driven ocean waves crashing against a rock – the waves part and spray and the rock stays firm.

Beloved, you can actually choose to be that rock. Read that again. It’s absolutely true. Don’t play the victim. Don’t bemoan how awful things are. (And my mantra: Avoid the news, except for the things you can actually take action on. Feel free to watch sports and weather, though. Most everything else will put you in a dark place, and you don’t need to do that to yourself.)

Yeah, there are changes that need to be made. I’m not advocating abdicating your responsibilities as a parent, son, daughter, friend, citizen, church member, or anything like that. There are things to be improved, values to embrace and defend, and priorities to set.

Know this: if we’re going to make any changes, it’s time to do that right now, because time is limited. You have to choose, and you’re supernaturally equipped to do just that. Life is a gift, and a long(er) life isn’t guaranteed. How you choose will impact your present and shape your future.

In October of 2016 I gave up worrying. It didn’t seem to help. I recommend doing that.

Don’t let yourself get overwhelmed. Maybe just “whelmed.”

Ancient script has some good stuff to encourage you.

Look carefully then how you walk, not as unwise but wise, making the best use of the time, because the days are evil. Ephesians 5:15-16

So teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom. Psalm 90:12

As always, believer, I feel obligated to share this: Whatever you’re facing, it’s gonna be alright. It always has been, and always will be. Without fail. Easy? Probably not. The ultimate victory? It’s all yours.

Choose wisely and make things more fulfilling and rewarding for yourself.

Talk later! Responses are encouraged and welcome.

Forgiving God may seem like an unusual concept in Christian theology. After all, isn’t God, who is perfect and sinless, the one who forgives us? However, when we feel anger, pain, or disappointment due to perceived unfairness in life, the process of ‘forgiving’ God can help us release negative emotions and realign our hearts with Him.

This blog grew out of a conversation I had just last night. I heard about a young lady who lost her mother, went through multiple pregnancies and abortions, substance abuse, the whole nine yards. Her attitude toward God was “why?” She blamed God for her mother’s death, and by inference blamed Him from everything else that was wrong. (She’s healed and whole now, so there is a very happy ending.)

Understandably, life often presents us with circumstances that appear unjust or unexplainable. In such instances, you might find yourself angry with God. Key point – it’s crucial to remember that God doesn’t need our forgiveness in the literal sense because He never sins or makes mistakes. Instead, when we talk about forgiving God, it’s about acknowledging our feelings of anger or betrayal, processing these emotions, and then releasing them, allowing ourselves to trust in God’s goodness and sovereignty once again.

When our expectations collide with reality, disappointment is a natural reaction. Often, this disappointment is directed towards people around us – loved ones, colleagues, or friends. But, at times, we might even feel disappointed with God, the omnipotent figure who, in our understanding, holds our lives in His hands. If you’re wrestling with these feelings, you’re not alone. Disappointment with God is a shared human experience and requires a compassionate, introspective, and grace-filled response.

It’s about adjusting our perspective, understanding that God’s wisdom transcends our human comprehension. Isaiah 55:8-9 says, “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,” declares the LORD. “As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.” God operates on a divine timeline and with an eternal perspective that we, as finite beings, can’t fully grasp.

So. How do we unpack all this? It’s heavy stuff, but I think there are some answers.

Firstly, it’s important to acknowledge that it’s okay to feel disappointed.

Christianity is not a faith of stoicism or indifference. Throughout the Bible, we encounter many instances of God’s people wrestling with feelings of disappointment, doubt, and despair. Job questioned God in his suffering, and David cried out in Psalms: “Why, O Lord, do you stand far away? Why do you hide yourself in times of trouble?” (Psalm 10:1). Even Jesus on the cross cried out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Matthew 27:46).

Feelings of disappointment with God are not indicators of weak faith; rather, they are evidence of an engaged, authentic relationship with God. Like any relationship, our bond with God involves emotional peaks and valleys. The key is to remember that it’s not about eliminating our feelings but understanding them.

Secondly, it’s crucial to bring your feelings to God.

God is a loving Father who cares deeply about your experiences, including your disappointments. Talk to Him, express your feelings, ask hard questions, just as David and Job did. It may seem counterintuitive, but sharing your disappointment with God is an act of trust. It means you believe He cares for you and understands your pain.

Next, let’s lean into His Word.

The Bible offers a vast array of perspectives on dealing with disappointment. There is the ever helpful Romans 8:28. Paul writes: “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 is not a dismissal of our disappointment but a reminder that God’s perspective is eternal. Our present disappointments may be part of a larger plan we can’t yet perceive.

It’s also necessary to adjust our expectations.

God is not a genie to grant our every wish but a wise Father who knows what’s best for us. Some folks choke on this. Often, our disappointments stem from unmet expectations, which can sometimes be misguided. Another classic, Proverbs 3:5-6 advises, “Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight.” Letting go of our need to control outcomes can alleviate disappointment.

Finally, don’t hesitate to seek support from your Christian community.

Share your feelings with a trusted friend, pastor, or mentor. These individuals can provide you with perspective, comfort, and wisdom.

Remember, God’s love is steadfast, His plans are good, and His mercy is new every morning. Feeling disappointed with God doesn’t mean He has failed you. Instead, it’s an invitation to deepen your relationship with Him, to explore your faith more deeply, and to seek His comforting presence in your disappointment.

When we ‘forgive’ God, we’re not pardoning Him for a wrong He’s done. Instead, we’re acknowledging that our understanding is limited, and we’re choosing to trust Him. We are surrendering our perceived right to question His wisdom and fairness. In doing this, we open ourselves to His healing touch and restore our faith in His infinite wisdom and boundless love.

This journey of ‘forgiveness’ is not always easy and might require patience, prayer, and spiritual guidance. In these moments, remember Paul’s words in 2 Corinthians 12:9: “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.”

So, take heart. Your disappointment doesn’t disqualify you from God’s love; it draws you closer to His heart. Remember to engage honestly with your feelings, communicate openly with God, immerse yourself in His Word, align your expectations with His wisdom, and lean on your Christian community. In this journey, you will discover that even in disappointment, there’s a gift – the gift of God’s grace.

So, when we find ourselves wrestling with the concept of forgiving God, it’s not about finding fault in Him but about realigning our hearts with His. It’s a step towards healing, acceptance, and a deeper understanding of His unending grace.