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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1. Most Stories Don’t Matter

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

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

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

3. News Shouldn’t Be 24/7

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

4. Guard Your Mind. Guard Your Heart

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

5. God’s Got This

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As I recall, the Philippines managed just fine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. It doesn’t work that way. Right?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not.

I wonder how Paul’s prayer sounded:

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

God responds: “Sorry, pal.”

Paul gives it another shot:

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

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

Paul, round three:

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

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

Paul says, “Roger that.”

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

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

We can fight for our beliefs without demonizing each other.

Not everyone knows this, apparently.

I have a love/hate relationship with social media. I love being able to reconnect with friends that I haven’t heard from in years. It’s pretty wonderful to find a former student from one of the youth groups I led 30 years ago and hear how they’re doing Kingdom work and loving Jesus.

That’s the love side of things. What I hate, though, is when I run across some political or social screed and just shake my head. Or, worse, when I let myself get suckered and drawn into a no-win discussion, i.e., argument. It devalues my soul.

In a world bursting with diverse opinions and beliefs, it’s easy to find ourselves at odds with others. Do we live in a divided country or what? But as Christians, we’re called to a different standard — one of love, understanding, and peace.

The Apostle Paul reminds us inRomans 12:18, “If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone.” This isn’t just a lofty ideal; it’s a practical guide for navigating our interactions, even when we disagree.

Understanding Over Judgment

One of the first steps in bridging differences is striving to understand rather than rush to judgment. Remember James 1:19, which encourages us to be “quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry.” Understanding doesn’t mean we have to agree with every point of view, but it does mean acknowledging the sincerity and humanity in others’ perspectives.

That’s hard. I’ll read something from a friend or acquaintance and think, “Dude, you must be possessed. How can you believe such nonsense? Who are you listening to? What are you reading? What are your sources?”

Then I remember: Everyone has a story. Their story isn’t my story. They came to their beliefs based on their worldview, their upbringing, their environment, and a whole host of other factors. Just like you and I did.

I’d like to think I work hard at this. I once found myself in a heated debate with a friend over a social issue. As we talked, I made a conscious effort to listen, not just to respond but to understand. It didn’t change my viewpoint, but it certainly softened my heart towards my friend’s experience and reasoning.

Love as Our Guiding Principle

In every interaction, love should be our guiding principle. Jesus couldn’t have been clearer when he said, “Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another” (John 13:34). This love isn’t just a warm feeling; it’s patient, kind, and self-controlled, as detailed in1 Corinthians 13:4-7. It’s choosing to respond with gentleness even when we’re tempted to be harsh, showing kindness when it’s easier to be indifferent.

Just be kind.

The Strength in Diversity

Our differences can be a source of strength, not division. Proverbs 27:17 tells us, “As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another.” Engaging with diverse viewpoints can challenge us to think deeper, understand more broadly, and grow stronger in our own beliefs. It’s like a community garden with a variety of plants; each contributes something unique to the overall beauty and health of the garden.

When I talk about diversity, I’m simply saying that we aren’t all alike. I’m not talking about a union of light and darkness, of sin and holiness. What I am saying is that just listening to others, even if you find their stances repellant and even wicked, can’t hurt. Just make sure you are secure in you own beliefs, and stand firm on biblical truths.

Bridging the Gap with Grace

Finally, grace is the bridge that spans the gap between differing viewpoints. Ephesians 4:2-3 encourages us to “be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love.” Grace involves listening, forgiving, and sometimes agreeing to disagree, all while maintaining respect and dignity. It’s recognizing that we’re all works in progress, journeying together towards understanding and truth.

As followers of Christ, we’re called to stand firm in our beliefs while also extending love and respect to those who differ from us. This balance isn’t just a nice idea; it’s a scriptural mandate and a practical pathway to peace and unity in a diverse world.

Let’s embrace our differences, not as barriers, but as opportunities to demonstrate the love, understanding, and grace that are at the heart of our faith.

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

A quick history lesson.

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

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

These are some powerful words:

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

I wish I’d written this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes yes yes.

You’ve probably said things like:

I thought God wanted me to marry him.

I thought I was supposed to take that job.

Moving to a new house felt right, somehow.

Here’s the lesson here:

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

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

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

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

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

Sweet.

Get this picture.

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

The Gate of the Year

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

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

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

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

Ode to Fried Chicken at Church Potlucks

Oh, golden treasure of the church social feast,

Crisped to perfection, a southern culinary beast,

Fried chicken, your sizzle whispers tales of home,

In the fellowship hall, where community roams.

Beneath steeples high, where hymns softly play,

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

Each piece, a sermon in crunchy, savory skin,

Whispers of potlucks past, and kinship within.

Thou art not merely food, but a binding spell,

Uniting souls in prayer, and stories to tell.

In your golden crust, a crunch of history resides,

Of grandmas and aunties, their secret recipes they hide.

Breast, wing, thigh, and drumstick too,

Laid upon checkered cloths, a heavenly view.

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

In the sacred halls, where the community sings.

You transcend mere taste, oh bird divine,

In your juicy depths, memories and love entwine.

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

A symbol of grace, in this humble place.

As hands reach forth, in harmony they gather,

Around your platter, differences don’t matter.

In the clasp of prayer and the breaking of bread,

Your presence reminds us of the words Jesus said.

In this potluck, a mosaic of dishes array,

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

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

In every bite, a testament of communal might.

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

You bring us together, and lift spirits high.

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

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

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

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

In each golden piece, a taste of southern love,

A blessing from kitchens below, and heavens above.

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.

Facing Trials with Authenticity: When God Chooses Real Over Superficial

Trials and tribulations are an inevitable part of life. You know, there are days when we wish we had a magic wand to wave away our problems, or a switch we could flip to fast-forward through the hard times. But if there’s one thing we can take solace in, it’s the knowledge that our struggles don’t catch God off guard. He sees them, understands them, and has a purpose behind each one.

When I say there are no magical words to take away your pain or speed up the trial you’re enduring, I mean it. But this isn’t a call for despair. Instead, it’s an invitation to embrace the reality that the struggle is a part of your story. Consider the most transformative stories in the Bible: Moses wandering in the desert, David facing Goliath, Paul enduring shipwrecks and imprisonments. Their trials weren’t quick fixes. They were journeys that molded, shaped, and refined them into the people God intended them to be.

One of the most reassuring truths is that God isn’t interested in the superficial. He doesn’t prioritize the Instagram-perfect moments, the airbrushed versions of our lives, or the temporary highs we get from feel-good quotes. Instead, God is all about authenticity. The term I like to use is, “God only does REAL.” Now, what does that mean?

In a world where so much feels curated and artificial, where we’re often sold quick fixes and shallow comfort, God’s approach is refreshingly genuine. He doesn’t promise us a life without challenges, but He does assure us of His unwavering presence through them. This isn’t about the fleeting motivation that gives a momentary lift. This is about lasting transformation – a deep, soulful change that not only affects us but also influences those around us.

By going through genuine struggles, we gain authentic wisdom and strength. This isn’t the kind of wisdom you acquire from reading a self-help book or attending a weekend seminar. This is wisdom born from experience, from wrestling with challenges, from sometimes stumbling and getting back up with God’s help. The strength we gain isn’t just physical or emotional; it’s a spiritual fortitude that anchors us even in the fiercest storms.

And there’s a ripple effect to all of this. When others see you – a real person, genuinely transformed by real experiences with a real God – they are inspired. Not by the artificial, but by the genuine growth and resilience they see in you. It becomes a testimony of God’s grace, of His ability to turn trials into triumphs, and of the beauty that can arise from ashes.

In closing, if you’re in the midst of a challenging season, I encourage you to lean into the authenticity of it all. Recognize that God is in the business of real transformations, not superficial ones. Let your struggle shape you, refine you, and prepare you for the next chapter of your story. And always remember: even when the journey is tough, with God by your side, the destination is worth it.

Talk later!