I’m not sure why social media isn’t called antisocial media.

Most everyone seems to agree that life is getting busier, crazier, and more frantic with each passing day. We’re bombarded by more information than we know how to process—news, ads, commercials, blogs, tweets, music, pics, and more ads. Crazier still is that we have more devices, programs, and apps than ever before to make life easier. 

 And unquestionably these new innovations help make our lives better. We can text with close friends halfway around the world and let them know we’re praying for them. Want to share pictures of our daughter’s birthday party with relatives thousands of miles away? Do that. We can check our 401k, order a pizza, or book a hotel at the beach. And yet with all the upsides, these conveniences we “can’t live without” create many unintended problems. 

We love technology and all it offers. But we also hate it.

We hate our dependence on it and how it causes us to get out of balance with what matters most to us. It’s antisocial media.

Although many factors contribute to why we hate it, I’m convinced it’s mostly because social media makes everything all about us. We’re sucked into measuring our lives by who follows us and how many online friends we have. We want to believe we’re more than the total number of clicks on our last post, but we still check to see how many we have. 

Oddly enough, however, the more we focus on ourselves, the less satisfied we feel. And the more we’re consumed with the things of this earth, the more we feel empty on the inside. 

The reason is simple. We were created for more—way more. Earth isn’t our home.

We were not created to be liked but to show love. We were not created to draw attention to ourselves but to give glory to God. Collecting followers isn’t or goal, but it is to follow Christ. Antisocial media can hinder that. 

Social media and technology are great. But it’s time to be honest about our struggles. And to regain control of the amazing tools that technology provides us. 

It’s time to put technology back in its place. Let’s be done with antisocial media, at least the way we’ve tended to use it.

It’s time to love God with our whole hearts. 

In the pursuit of fulfillment in life, technology and social media allow you to capture every moment along the way. You’re not only on the fast track to success, but you get to show selfies at each lap along the way. Which only confirms how up-to-the-nano-second cool you are. 

So get the biggest data plan you can, and collect wi-fi passwords at every stop. Check in at all the cool places. Share every inspirational thought you have, and every joke. Snap lots of pics. Get video clips, too, of course. And never stop uploading the whole show to the Cloud as you go. 

Post everything online for the whole world to see. Pile up Likes and Friends and Followers until it’s all just one frenzied blur. Hustle until your real life exceeds your dreams. And finally, once you’ve reached the summit, I can guarantee you this one thing: your longing for more never stops. See what I mean by antisocial media? Like the latest technology, your achievements are outdated overnight. 

Why? How could that be possible? 

Because you were not created for earth. You were created for eternity. And there is nothing on this earth that can ever satisfy that spiritual longing you feel inside—even if you can collect it all. 

Nothing. 

I’ve heard people say, “God makes a Christ-shaped void inside every person.” I remember that saying annoying me. I remember not understanding what they were talking about. But then one day I learned for myself why they said it: because it is absolutely true. Nothing outside of a living relationship with Christ can ever fill the emptiness of that ache inside your heart. 

Your scavenger hunt for success will never be enough. Christ is what you’re searching for. He is your source. He is your strength. God is your sustainer. He is your joy. He is your contentment. Jesus is your all and all. He’s everything that matters. 

When Christ is all you have, you’ll finally realize that Christ is all you need. 

Christ. Is. All. You. Need. 

In the abstract, ending a relationship isn’t something I want to do, even when it’s best for everyone involved. It’s a matter of “We done. I don’t love you any less, but we done.”

Social media, specifically Facebook, gives you an easy out in ending a relationship. Unfriend them. Boom. Done. But what if you want to salvage things? Perhaps you’re thinking after this troubling season is over, which is rife with toxic politics and COVID issues, we can go back to normal with the people we care about.

What do you do when you want something for someone worse than they want it for themselves?

I’ve always prided myself on being able to build solid, lasting relationships.

I don’t make friends easily. Now, I can’t imagine anyone not liking me, although I’m sure it’s happened and I was unaware. There have been a couple of times when I knew someone didn’t like me, but because of who it was, I didn’t particularly care.

I’ve just been selective in who I invest in. It’s an introvert thing. If we’re friends, you’re stuck with me, unless we move on because of distance, interests, or something else. 

But what if you DO care?

For those of you who know me well, I’m going to deal in hypotheticals here. So don’t spend a lot of time trying to figure out if I’m talking about one specific individual. This is a fictional character – or, at most, a composite. It’s a story of ending a relationship.

Let’s call her Martha.

I first met Martha my sophomore year in college. She was supercute. We had a handful of classes together. I don’t know if there was any “chemistry” there, but it was pretty obvious early on that we could have a relationship.

We became friends first. Isn’t that the way it’s supposed to happen? She had a wry sense of humor, was somewhat introverted, but could still strike up a conversation with anyone. Actually, I didn’t know of anyone who didn’t like her.

There was this unspoken thing between us, and we were both sensitive enough to know it. We would never be anything other than friends. And that was just the way it was supposed to be. If the relationship had gone to another level, it would’ve messed everything up. So friends we remained. Really, really good friends.

We were sort of inseparable. We were so, so open and transparent with each other.

Invariably our conversations gravitated toward two things. We were both Christians. Martha was well read, and we’d have these late night theological discussions about the most obscure tenets of our faith. We tended to have the same beliefs.

The other, of course, was romantic relationships.

We’d talk about the differences in males and females – especially the vast chasm between how we looked at dating life. Martha got plenty of attention from guys. I wanted to vet them all. And she did the same, and more than once she kept me from really messing up with some girl. Fortunately, that personal threshold between us was never crossed. While I was astutely aware of just how pretty she was, and I kind of enjoyed being seen out and about with her, a dating relationship was never an option. Which was good; sometimes I think a friendship can be one of the most pure, uncomplicated relationships around.

Growing old together?

I thought that’s what was going to happen. We’d joke about that. We’d talk about both of us being in the nursing home with our spouses, spending evening playing dominos. We talked about being in each others’ weddings.

And then, the bad thing.

It was over a guy. Wouldn’t you know it? This is what led to me ending this relationship.

I knew Charles vaguely – we didn’t run in the same circles, but I was on a decent enough acquaintance level with him. He was handsome, of course, and charming, and always at ease. I liked him well enough.

He and Martha had grown up in the same town, went to the same school, but he’d graduated a year earlier than her. While they knew each other growing up, they really hadn’t had anything to do with each other.

Now – for reasons unknown – they’d rediscovered each other.

Bottom line is that they started dating. She’d asked me what I thought, and I’d observed them together. I’ll spare you my “A guy knows another guy” lecture, but the simple fact is that this cat only had one thing on his mind. You don’t think I could look in his two eyes and tell you what he was up to?

So I told her what I thought.

She’d asked me what I thought, right? But what I said wasn’t what she wanted to hear. I told her that he was decent, but that she could do better. Sne needed to know that he had the capacity to tell her just the stuff she wanted to hear. I told her I thought he was capable of manipulating her and the relationship.

She took it in stride, but I knew she was gonna do whatever she wanted to do anyway.

My mistake? I couldn’t let it go.

Truth and not fiction here – I want to fix everyone and everything. I want everyone to be happy, to get along, to be at peace. Maybe that’s some sort of weird codependency thing. I’m not sure.

So I kept warning, giving advice. Finally, one night, Martha said, “Tony, you’re gonna have to give this a rest. You’ve said all you need to.”

I feigned hurt, told her that she’d misunderstood, that I wouldn’t hurt her for the world, all that.

She blew up. I don’t mean just telling me to back off. She went Vesuvian on me. It was awful. I didn’t see it coming, and I couldn’t even respond.

Martha spent a good ten minutes peeling the hide off me, accusing me of meddling, of misunderstanding, of being sanctimonious and holier-than-thou. She said I’d been that way with her and others for a long time.

There was more, but that was the gist. She cried. A lot. I couldn’t string together a coherent sentence in my defense. Blindsided doesn’t even begin to explain what happened to me. “I’m sorry,” I said over and over again.

And that was it.

She stormed off after that exchange, and you know what? It was the last real conversation we ever had.

I reached out to her through friends, because she wouldn’t take my calls. When we were in proximity to each other, what little conversation we had was brittle and uncomfortable.

I wanted to patch things up, to make things right. She would have nothing to do with it or me.

I’ve spent a lot of time on this story. Here’s why, and here’s my takeaways.

Maybe they’ll be yours, too, because I’m fairly certain you’ve had a relationship go south yourself. Perhaps you didn’t handle it appropriately. Maybe you aren’t over it yet. Ending a relationship is thoroughly unpleasant, even when it’s right.

• You aren’t exempt from loving that person. Nope, you don’t get a pass. If you’re a believer, hate isn’t an option. You are commanded to love them (love your enemies, right? That’s a non-negotiable.)
• Love, in this context, isn’t a feeling. You will feel what you will feel. That’s not what this is about. Love, here, is a purposeful act that exists apart from your emotions. (I don’t know how to tell you how to disengage your emotions from this. You just choose to.)
• Relational issues may be objectively obvious to you as you observe someone else. But etch this in stone – if you want something for someone worse than they want it for themselves, you will experience horrific grief. 
• You have to develop the skills and sensitivity to know when a relationship can’t be salvaged. If you’ve reached out in good faith, had an attitude of accepting and receiving forgiveness, and done all that decency and Christian faith have required, and you’re still rebuffed, it’s done. But refer back to that first point.
• Sometimes you genuinely have to mind your own business. Enough said.
• I don’t want to address self-care too much here, but you do need to protect yourself from emotional pain. There can be a breaking point when you’ve done too much to try to fix things.
• Ultimately, you may need to simply close the door. Or even slam it. 

Which brings me to the title of this blog. I mean what it says.

There are times when ending a relationship is appropriate. Sometimes you just have to be done with someone. Not mad. Not upset. Just done.

Our challenge is to be done with them in love. Do this, and allow God to do the healing. Perhaps, in His providence, He’ll restore that relationship, and you need to be sensitive to His hand as it works in your life (and the other persons’ life.) Until then, take care of yourself.

How can you know that you’ve truly forgiven someone? To truly forgive someone means that, in the words of the great theologian Elsa, you’ve let it go.

I know, right? Not so easy.

We can forgive in the Christian sense – I mean, we forgive because Christ first forgave us (more on that later) – but there still may be that nagging sense of not being able to walk away. We nurse grudges. Maybe we avoid the other person.

I’m blessed in that I’m not one who tends to hold a grudge. But, I do remember wrongs done me.

It’s not that I’m hypersensitive. (Maybe I am.) While my memory isn’t what it was – and it never was all that great in the first place – things that happened literally decades ago are still present.

Seeing that in writing is kinda sick. I should be better than that.

So if I want or need to know that I’ve truly forgiven someone, there should be some realities of forgiveness.

Here’s my four.

First, though, a word from ancient script. It’s Colossians 3:13 – I love Colossians.

¹³ Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you.

Pretty basic. Keep reading; I’ve been convicted.

1. Forgiveness means that you’ve surrendered your right to get even. Okay, then. Revenge is a natural response to being wronged, isn’t it? In the Christian realm, we know that the blood of Jesus has covered all our sins. In order to receive that forgiveness, we have to do some up close and personal business with God Himself. We pray, and we receive Jesus for salvation. It doesn’t happen by osmosis. We have to acknowledge our wrongdoing. We don’t have to ask for forgiveness from God over and over again – when we receive Christ, we’re forgiven of past, present, and future sins. There’s no need to keep a scorecard. It’s a done deal. Of course we always need to acknowledge our sins. However …when you forgive someone else, that means that you’ve also placed the outcome of the matter in God’s hands. You let go. He has it. That might make you feel like it’s unfair – the scales of justice are unbalanced – but it’s not your concern. God will deal with you and the other person as He sees fit. That’s liberating.
2. Forgiveness takes time. Remember what I said about being aware that I can remember wrongs done decades ago? That should be sufficient time to get over anything. This is perhaps one of the differences between divine forgiveness and human forgiveness. God forgives with just a word, and that’s it. Finished. We, on the other hand, sometimes have to go through a gradual purge to rid ourselves of any lasting memories. Those wrongs from a long time ago still be in my memory, but they don’t sting like they once did. There is an element of choosing to move on that factors in here, too, but I don’t have a sweet personal testimony about that. Choosing is hard work. “Let go and let God,” they say, and while that looks good on a t-shirt or bumper sticker, it’s a principle I struggle with. Sheesh. It just takes time, and I’ll leave that right there.
3. Forgiving doesn’t require forgetting. That may seem counter to what I’ve already shared, but I believe there’s some truth here. I’m haunted by Isaiah 43:25 –“I, even I, am he who blots out your transgressions, for my own sake, and remembers your sins no more.” That’s amazing … but just to put some nuance in this, remember that God didn’t forget that Peter denied Jesus. Really – on a human level it might be futile to try to forget, and we don’t need to get all weirdly guilty because we don’t. The more we try, the more we remember. Ack. There has to be some way to detoxify that bad memory and cleanse it from our souls. It may remain in our heads, but it doesn’t have to stay in our hearts. I think it’s legitimate to beg God to make that a reality in our lives. I sure can’t do it on my own.
4. Forgiving is expected. Painful truth, that. I simply can’t find a loophole. Here’s the thing: nothing enables us to forgive like knowing in our souls that we have been forgiven ourselves. This is so fundamental, so basic. You don’t have to look any further than the Lord’s Prayer, specifically at Matthew 6:12: And forgive us our debts,as we also have forgiven our debtors. That’s what Jesus taught. It’s wise to listen to Him and obey, feelings notwithstanding. 

It is unthinkable for a forgiven person to refuse to forgive someone else.

If the question is “How can I know if I’ve truly forgiven someone?”, those are four ideas to consider.

I’d love to hear your comments. I’ve provided space below.

Be well.

I love having guest bloggers grace You Can Have Hope! I’ve been reading Amy’s stuff for a while now, and think what she has to say is sweetly wonderful. I heartily recommend her to you all.

Amy Carroll is a speaker and writer for Proverbs 31 Ministries. She’s the author of Breaking Up with Perfect and Exhale as well as the director and coach of Next Step Coaching Services.  As a woman who loves a great story and a challenging idea, co-hosting the Grit ‘n’ Grace podcast has become one of her favorite things.

Amy and her husband live in lovely Holly Springs, NC where you can find her on any given day texting her adult kids, typing away at her computer, or trying to figure out one more alternative to cooking dinner.  Join Amy at amycarroll.org where she’s gathering tender hearts and strong voices, or find out more about her speaker coaching services at nextstepcoachingservices.com.

The longer I read the shorter my breath grew, and I felt the heat of stress radiating from my constricted heart. “At my house, the bustle stops when we gather with our daughters to trim the tree,” Gayle Butler, editor of Better Homes and Gardens, gushed.

Then she went on to describe her family’s lovely evening complete with traditional music, story-telling, and eggnog. She ended by saying, “By the time our quiet evening concludes, we’re energized and ready to try something new.”

Wow. That sounds just like my family. (Insert sarcastic tone here.)

My case of hives wasn’t so much from the article. I’m happy for Gayle and her peeps. Really. Instead, it came from memories of one particular tree-trimming evening at my house.

We all started well–hubs, the boys and me–matching up with the perfect pictures of Christmas preparations in my mind. It was just like BH & G. Amy Grant crooned Christmas carols in the background. Eggnog was poured into the red glass cups that I had snagged at a tag sale, and boxes of decorations from the attic lined the walls. For a fleeting moment, we experienced the perfect Christmas season.

But everything started downhill when it came time to put lights on the tree.

Squabbles erupted over tangled strings of bulbs. Somebody turned on the football game, and the sound of the TV clashed with the carols from the stereo. Instead of telling lovely stories of the ornaments’ histories as we hung each one, my boys began to make fun of the 70s-style baubles from my childhood. The perfect moment all fell apart faster than you can say, “Mama’s in a snit.”

Maybe they just got distracted, or maybe it was the maternal growls and snarls that drove them away, but suddenly I found myself sitting alone on the floor in front of the tree. The rest of my family had abandoned our decorating traditions.

I furiously gave the tree a yank to position it for another ornament, and…   TIMBER! It fell on me, driving the metal rod of one of the artificial branches into my arm.

That’s when it happened. Out of my mouth popped some of the overflow of a disgruntled perfectionist’s heart—a big, fat, four-letter word.

That brought the family back into the room.

“Mom! Did you just say #*!@?!”

To this day, there is one favorite Christmas story at my house. It’s not The Gift of the Magi or The Polar Express. Not even How the Grinch Stole Christmas makes the cut. Our family’s favorite story is The Day Mom Cussed When the Christmas Tree Fell on Her.

Sigh.

So much for the perfect family Christmas. Ours might be rated R.

This year is likely to be the hardest Christmas any of us can remember… especially if we’re holding tight to the idea of the ideal Christmas. After all, nobody’s up for singing “I’m Dreaming of a COVID Christmas.”

The tree-trimming I described above happened almost a decade ago, and I’ve now spent almost two decades breaking up with perfect. Only Jesus brings true perfection, so I’ve stopped pursuing my own so that He can start His perfecting work in me.

I’ve learned a few things we can all do as the holidays approach that will usher in what we all want this time of year—joy, peace, and a Jesus-focused heart. They’re all centered on relationships—with yourself, God, and others. Our circumstances will never be perfect, but our Christmas love can thrive.

Keep It Simple

Don’t drive yourself this season, and for heaven’s sake, don’t drive others either (a lesson I’ve learned the hard way). The pandemic has been difficult for all of us, and we’re tired. Be gentle with yourself and others.

For example, keep a family calendar and preserve some white space. For each opportunity presented, ask yourself what should not go on your calendar.

Leave some of the decorations in the attic. Pick up cookies for the holidays at the local bakery. Give a gift card to your cranky cousin that’s never pleased with his gift.

Have a discussion with friends and family about what is important to each person, and then let the rest go. I shake my head in sadness when I think of all the years that I drove myself and everyone else crazy with all the things I thought had to be done… stuff nobody enjoyed anyway.

Make Sure to Savor

Savor each person (even if they’re on Zoom instead of in the room), each moment, and most importantly, savor time each day with God. Linger in the candlelight of early morning. Let music of praise wash over you. Savor this season with all your heart, mind, soul, and strength.

For me, it’s particularly hard to savor my relationship with Jesus from November through December. My mental lists lengthen in any quiet moment, so this is the season when I need some great devotional books to keep my thoughts focused. Here are a couple I’ve got close at hand for this season:

• The Greatest Gift by Ann Voskamp
• The Women of Christmas by Liz Curtis Higgs

I’m looking forward to a simpler but happier Christmas with my family in 2020. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that breaking up with unrealistic expectations—those pictures of the perfect Christmas that only live in my head—is the key to creating a Christmas that’s perfect for us. (Hopefully, minus four-letter words this year!)-

Nope. I didn’t know what sonder meant, either.

Or maybe you were familiar with it, and I’m just playing catch-up.

It’s a word and a concept we need to embrace, though.

Here’s a definition, and I love the source – The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows:

sonder

I’ve been thinking about the implications of sonder, and have concluded it’s pretty earth-shattering.

Let’s talk about “us and them.”

Isn’t that the two camps we segregate ourselves into? Me and my people and you and your people?

These days our default position is to mistrust those who are not like us. Republican and democrat. Believer and atheist. Mask wearers and non-mask wearers. And so on.

A disclaimer: I’m rabidly conservative. There are plenty of other folks who aren’t.

But this  sonder thing. I’m realizing that people who aren’t like me (they’re liberal, or atheist, or non-maskers) are not stupid or malicious. (Okay, there may be the occasional exception, but I’m not talking about them.)

They have a whole host of talents and abilities. They’ll have interesting lives and backstories. They generally want what they feel is best for society, even mankind.

I may be so far removed from them socially, politically, religiously, and otherwise that they might as well be from another planet. I wonder “What brought you to this place in life you occupy?”

I’m sure they feel the same way about me.

Go back and read that definition of sonder. Read it again.

You’re probably several steps ahead of me by now, but I’ll state the obvious: It just helps to walk a ways in their shoes.

Sometimes about mid-afternoon, if it’s not so unbearably hot, I’ll take a 20-minute break and walk down to Smith Park, a couple of blocks away. Smith Park is one of the few remaining green spaces in downtown Jackson, part of the original city plan when it was laid out a long, long time ago.

I’ll people watch from a bench. I’ll see businesspeople, government officials, laborers, the homeless – it’s a nice microcosm of the population here.

Often I’ll focus in on one person and observe them. I’ll wonder – “What’s their story? Who do they claim as family? What brought them to this place in life they now occupy? What are their beliefs, hopes, and dreams?”

And I’ll think … gee. We’re alike. Those are the same questions I ask of myself sometimes.

We can judge people all we want. They do the same thing with you. They’re human. They are Americans, and if you’re one of our foreign readers, you can think in terms of your national context.

It would be great if we could simply choose to learn what we all have in common. That’s what sonder means to me.

There is also, in concert with this, a desire, at least on social media, to convert everyone to your own worldview. I’m not saying that’s a hopeless quest, but it’s wise to understand all those other worldviews first before pouncing on others.

State your case, and walk away. Don’t devalue folks who don’t see things the same way you do.

Because (drum roll!) you can’t change anyone but yourself.

God, of course, routinely changes lives. More accurately, He “rebirths” them. Isn’t that a worthy thing to pray for? Would you not want your own life changed to conform more to His?

Ancient script says this, in Galatians 3:26-28.

²⁶ So in Christ Jesus you are all children of God through faith,²⁷ for all of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. ²⁸ There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.

To make sonder personal, here’s some final thoughts:

• Everyone, and I mean everyone, you see today has a story. It’s not yours. It’s theirs. And it’s every bit as valid as yours.
• They may be wearing a MAGA hat, or have a rainbow flag on their shirts. They are human and of worth to God.
• You are not the center of their universe. Actually, you aren’t even the center of your own universe. That makes the playing ground pretty level.
• Embrace the practice of seeing everyone as adding value to the vast mosaic of life. The world would be just a little less if they weren’t in it.
• Relax. God’s got this. He has you, and He has them.

Sonder. Just know we are in all this together, no matter what your worldview.

Be well.

Tony’s Question: What do you have to conquer internally in order for sonder to be a reality in your own life? Comment below. Engage and respond. And subscribe to get some more good stuff.

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

Here’s why.

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

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

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

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

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

For Brandt, unforgiveness was not an option.

How about you?

And, my followup question:

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

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

Isn’t it a pleasure to despise someone else?

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

Or not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Paraphrasing R.C. Sproul:

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

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

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

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

You can have hope. Don’t forget that.

But you can also, in your search for hope and encouragement, make others miserable.

Some people take a perverse delight in being annoying. That’s not what I’m talking about. Rather, I’m talking about those who desperately reach out to others, perhaps in good faith and with good intentions, and once they get the attention they want, they simply won’t let go.

Here’s an example. There are plenty more, but I’ll start here. You’ll readily understand what I’m talking about. (And if this all sounds too much like any program on the CW, hang on. I’ll give you something more substantive in a bit.)

I’ve worked with teenage students for a lot of years. Kids spend those teenage years swimming in a sea of hormones. Their parents know it (we were all kids once, right?), their peers know it, and they know it.

The result? Romantic urges. A crazy, tsunami of desire to want to have a significant other. (Okay, this isn’t restricted to teenagers. But let me exploit my own example here.)

One scenario: A boy and girl start “talking.” Perhaps they were already friends. Then the talk escalates, each one probes the other trying to determine how they really feel, and they take the next step,

Lo and behold, they are now going together. The clouds part, the sun beams down, angels sing in chorus, and love reaches full bloom.

Then one of them messes a good thing up.

This is not the sole fault of one gender over the other. Clinginess is an equal-opportunity virus. What happens, typically, is that one party becomes obsessed over the other to the extent that the obsessed clinger won’t let the clingee have a life of their own. They want to know what they’re doing, who they’re with, and why are they thinking and acting the way they are.

Putting it succinctly, I’ll quote one line I heard from a 16-year-old girl to her soon-to-be-former boyfriend:

“You act like you own me.”

Know what I mean? But it can be an even more subtle unhealthy attachment. It might just be a tendency on the part of the clinger to want to spend every waking moment with the object of their affection. Love can be like that, but it can get, well, icky.

It is thoroughly unpleasant to be involved with someone that won’t give you the breathing space you need. This teen scenario is pretty obvious.

However – clinginess can manifest itself in other ways:

• A husband doesn’t want his wife to have a life that doesn’t involve him.
• A mom needs to know every aspect of her daughter’s life to the extent it becomes oppressive (can you say “helicopter?”)
• An employee consistently and obnoxiously kisses up to his boss for special favor.
• A student goes to great lengths to be the “teacher’s pet.”
• Someone plays the martyr card if they don’t feel like they’re appreciated.
• Someone depends on another for their sense of self-worth.
• Someone gets their identify from how others treat them or talk about them. So they act like chameleons, trying to be what they think others want them to be.

For me personally, I detest the thought that I might come across as emotionally needy. I don’t want to come across as some sort of invalid. Aggghhh.

My temperament lends itself to that, frankly. I don’t want to be the center of attention, but I still want to feel like I’m needed. That can manifest itself in  my lifelong quest to fix everything and anyone, whether they want fixing or not. I have been horrifically guilty of trying too hard. Being “all in” isn’t always a virtue.

What I’m learning in these sunset years is that there is nothing more pitiful than wanting something for someone worse than they want it for themselves. Listen to your Uncle Tony on this one: Don’t do that. Save yourself a boatload of grief. Don’t try to be the assistant to the Holy Spirit. Last time I checked, He’s the only one that can bring about eternal life change.

But I digress. I’ve said all that before.

There’s an element of codependency in clinginess. The clinger might be well-meaning, thinking he or she is being helpful and affirming, when in reality they are simply being annoying at best and repulsive at worse. It’s not a way to win friends and influence people.

So if you have had to deal with a clinger, you know how unpleasant and cloying that can be. You look for ways to put as much distance between you and them as you can. If you’re gracious and compassionate, you struggle to love them and shut them down at the same time. Sometimes you just have to put your mercy on hold and say, “You are just gonna need to stand down.” If they have a molecule of self-awareness and desire to do the right thing, they’ll understand, and maybe even do what you’ve asked. All will be well because both parties have learned and grown and the relationship is sweeter than ever.

There’s that. But. What if you’re the one who is clinging? What if you’ve abandoned all decency and common sense and figuratively (if not literally!) say “What’s wrong? Don’t you love me? Don’t you appreciate me?”

I hope I’ve never been there. Maybe I have. Shame on me.

Maybe you have yourself. Maybe you knew what you were doing but felt powerless in the grip of some emotion.

I’ve wondered what puts us in that state. Here’s what I’ve decided:

We often demand of people what only God can give us.

We want encouragement, affirmation, strength, motivation, and many other like things. God can provide every one of them. Every one.

But when we look to others as our primary source of these things, we can wring them dry.

It’s okay to expect some things from people as long as you know they are human beings who thirst like you do. But they need an Infinite Well as much as you do.

Those close to you really want to help you and come alongside you. They’ll listen to you, pray for you, and do what they can to make things  better. The problem – and it’s a big one – comes when your dependency on them to meet those needs I mentioned above (and others) overrides your dependence on God. You try to pull from a secondary finite source, and regrettably it’s often someone you care for greatly.

If they’re honest, there may come a time when they have to say, “I got nuthin’.”

What a bad state. You realize you’ve asked them for something they aren’t able to give. You’ve become a clinger.

Others have let you down before. I’ve certainly been let down. But I can’t help but consider today how much of my being let down was because of me. It’s not necessarily because I deserved it. It might, however, be because I didn’t know how or when to turn to God completely rather than thinking someone could be a substitute for Him.

I know and believe that God uses other people in our lives. God’s so cool – so, so many times He has sent along just the right person at just the right time with just the right words to bring about sweet little relational miracles. I cherish that. People are gifts!

It’s when we look toward the gift instead of the Giver for our primary comfort and care that we mess up royally.

The key, methinks, is to learn to recognize when you are trying too hard, reaching out compulsively, and depending on a fellow struggler instead of the true Source of comfort. Love your people. Cherish those who will speak truth to you. But don’t let anyone become a substitute for the transforming Jesus dwelling inside you. It’s impossible to cling to Him too desperately.

Self-awareness is a scary thing.

For one, confronting and evaluating yourself can be thoroughly unpleasant. It’s like looking under a rock and finding the nastiest, slimiest slug imaginable, trailing its thread of goo.

It’s possible, though, that self-awareness can be pleasant. You look at where you once were and where you are now, and think, wow, I’ve come a long way. I’m not the person I used to be. That’s a good thing.

In any case, a periodic time to examine yourself is a positive way to be something better than you are. You can see your shortcomings and go to work on them. Or, you can see where you’re thriving and build on that.

Let’s go a step further.

Self-awareness can be a companion to others-awareness. The idea is that you are who you are in large part because of those who have entered (and perhaps exited) your life.

Think about this. Think about those whose lives have intersected yours. I’d suggest those intersections aren’t random.

This was very much on my mind when I got up this morning. I’m old enough to have known hundreds, if not thousands of people. Some I knew and know intimately. Others are the barest of acquaintances. I know many of them because of personal contact. And, interestingly enough, I truly believe I’ve come to know and love some people because of contact through social media. (And before the chorus of haters break into song, I totally understand that cybercontact is a pale imitation of personal “same space” contact. But it does have it’s place. And there are people I’ve never met physically that sure mean a lot to me. I also know that I only know of people online what they choose to reveal, but that’s another discussion.)

Think about this. There are people who are important to you. People who are unimportant to you. They cross your life, love appropriately, or interact carelessly. You have your ordained time with them. And they move on, and you are fine with that.

There are others who enter your life and you think, “Why in the world did I ever have to encounter them?” They devalue your spirit and suck dry your soul. One day they’re gone. You take a deep breath, mutter “thank God,” and move on. You are fine with that, too.

Then there are the unique others. I can think of a half-dozen of them in my own life. These are the folks that leave and you experience a quiet, piercing, agony and wonder why they had to go and leave such a gaping hole. That’s happened to you, right? They are gone. And you look at those currently present in your life and wonder, “O my goodness. What if they were to go, too?”

This is the way of life.

• Children leave parents.
• Friends leave friends.
• Romantic couples part company.
• People move away to a new home.
• People simply grow apart.
• Enemies hate and move on.
• Friends love and move on.

There are those who I was especially fond of that have now drifted into the hazy recesses of my memory. I still think about them.

There are those who are close to me now. I look at them and wonder.

What do you do when you are afraid of having to move on from someone? Or, even more significantly, what if you are the one that has to do the moving?

Ancient script says this, through the words of the Apostle Paul to his young student, mentoree, and friend Timothy. (In addition to all his other gifts and responsibilities, Paul may have been the first youth minister.)

”For I am already being poured out as a drink offering,† and the time for my departure is close. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. There is reserved for me the crown† of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge,† will give me on that day, and not only to me, but to all those who have loved his appearing.” *

Paul knew he was soon to leave this world. He knew that he wanted to leave Timothy with words to comfort him, but at the same time he wanted to be realistic in saying, “Timothy, my dear friend, I am finished. And it is all good.”

But I am enraptured with this imagery, the word pictures Paul paints! “I have fought the good fight.” “I have finished the race.” “I have kept the faith.” Old Paul. He realized he’d completed what he was put here to do. He was at total peace.

So, we have Paul and Timothy, who are, in effect, saying their goodbyes.

There are times when we have to do the same thing. As I’ve already mentioned, I believe that how we say and experience our goodbyes has to do with the context of what is happening.

I’m so stinking socially awkward and so all up in my head it’s a miracle I can even function outside the house. (That’s a joke. Mostly.) I’ll have a conversation with someone and walk away thinking, “What did I just say? Did it make sense? Did I make it too hard for them to understand where I was coming from? Did I say too much? Did I babble? Did I say something inappropriate? Did I say something to make them dread having any more contact with me? Did I say the right thing for them to know my heart and not be uncomfortable or freak out? Did I simply try too hard?”

I strive mightily to not care about those things. So far, I’m an utter failure.

In spite of that, people, I believe in God’s master plan for our lives. It doesn’t really matter all that much how good I was at communicating or relating.

Back to the goodbyes thing: I believe that God moves people in and out of each others’ lives. I think we each leave our mark on others. I believe we are all made up of little moments, little points of contact, little poignant memories of everyone who has ever touched our lives, whether we’re aware of it or not.

I believe you are more because of it. And I think you would be less if those precious lives had not intersected.

I pray God that we accept everyone who comes into our lives with humility and wonder.

I pray we never question. And I pray we never regret.

* 2 Timothy 4:6-8

My goodness. There’s all sorts of irony in the title of this blog.

When I cobble these posts together, I purposefully try to be as broad as I can for people all along the faith spectrum. Most of the time, I’m writing what I want to hear for myself. I just kind of let you sit in.

Today, though, I am more in the camp of believers, Christians.

If you are a Christian, how well do you love?

You know I’m not talking about love in the sense of romantic love, or even love among friends and family. I’m not even talking about self-love, which is a big deal.

Nope – I’m talking about supernatural, God-ordained love.

That kind of love operates separate from feelings. It’s a love that is actually an act of the will. It’s a love that can’t be self-generated. It has to come from another source outside ourselves.

Because, y’know, in and of ourselves I simply don’t think we have the capacity for that kind of love.

Here’s my autobiographical note: This actually comes easy for me. It’s a capacity for love that God just has seen fit to give me, and I’m grateful for that. I can say without hesitation that, to the best of my knowledge and heart, I love everyone.

Which is NOT to say that I care to keep company with everyone. There are some people I’d just as soon see going as coming.

And, of course, there have been people who’ve hurt me.

What’s your response to that? Unless you’re a hermit (and some days that seems appealing – like my friend Becky Brown noted, “I could easily be a hermit, but God won’t let me”), you have had someone – or maybe multiple someone’s – wound your soul.

You’re gonna have to look hard to find benefit in that, right?

The benefit comes in how you respond to being hurt. Talk about self-revelatory! Hurt can teach you an awful lot about yourself.

So. Are you a grudge holder? Do you erupt in Jovian anger? Do you retreat just to sulk and brood? How about plotting revenge? Is that you?

Well, how about this in response to hurt: be kind.

Stay with me here, because I’m not being patronizing.

I will tell you that the world may not look favorably on you if your response to hurt is to be kind. That’s not the way things work, right?

Some of the kindest Christians I know have lived in a world that wasn’t so kind to them.

That is so intriguing. Not only does it fly in the face of conventional wisdom, it doesn’t even really make sense. That is not a typical response.

Yet there are those who have been through so much at the hands of others, and they love deeply. They still care.

Are there steps one can take to reach that state?

I’m not sure. I do know that it isn’t something to be found in our sinful, carnal nature. It has to come from a different place. I dunno. Some people relish unforgiveness. I’ve never known of a time when forgiveness was anything other than a virtue.

In giving this a lot of thought over the years – the reason why people choose not to forgive – I have come up with a handful of “why’s,” possible reasons why people cling to this unique misery of unforgiveness.

• They don’t understand mercy. Mercy is one of the most divine of all traits. We are simply thunderstruck by Jesus’ words from the Cross – “Father, forgive them, because they don’t know what they’re doing.” That’s mercy, right there, all encapsulated in a magnificent example of forgiveness.
• They prefer a hard heart to a tender one. Perhaps being tender hearted is viewed as weakness. I’d suggest that it’s a whole lot more courageous to be tenderhearted than it is to take a hard line.
• We are fallen people living in a fallen world. It’s hard to to be kind when the whole of civilization seems to want us to be harsh and inappropriately aggressive. I see so much hatefulness everywhere I turn. This is not, nor will ever be, a “political” blog, but given the current state of things … I mean. Mama said “if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.” Looking back, that might be a lot more wise (or certainly more kind) than I used to believe. What a toxic world! And don’t come at me with a statement like, “Jesus was controversial. Jesus was harsh. Jesus turned over tables and ran people out of the table.” C’mon, now. Really? Of course He did. But when your (or my) motivations are the same as Jesus’, we can use His tactics. Otherwise, it’s best that we stand down. This culture of outrage we have embraced doesn’t seem to help – all it does is make folks on the same side of an issue feel good (or empowered) about themselves. I don’t see many converts coming from rage.
• It’s simply easier to hold a grudge. It takes no effort. It feels good for a season. It makes you feel mighty and self-righteous. It feeds into that nature that says, “I’ll show you. I’m gonna hurt you back. And when I hurt you back, that’s gonna make me feel really, really good.”

“I can’t forgive,” you say. “I can’t be kind to him/her/them.”

Here’s my bottom line for the day:

Sometimes, it’s the Christians who have been hurt the most who refuse to be hardened in this world, because they would never want to make another person feel the same way they themselves have felt.

If that’s not something to be in awe of, I don’t know what it is.

What do you do when you want something for someone worse than they want it for themselves?

I’ve always prided myself on being able to build solid, lasting relationships.

I don’t make friends easily. Now, I can’t imagine anyone not liking me, although I’m sure it’s happened and I was unaware. There have been a couple of times when I knew someone didn’t like me, but because of who it was, I didn’t particularly care.

I’ve just been selective in who I invest in. It’s an introvert thing. If we’re friends, you’re stuck with me, unless we move on because of distance, interests, or something else. 

But what if you DO care?

For those of you who know me well, I’m going to deal in hypotheticals here. So don’t spend a lot of time trying to figure out if I’m talking about one specific individual. This is a fictional character – or, at most, a composite.

Let’s call her Martha.

I first met Martha my sophomore year in college. She was supercute. We had a couple of classes together. I don’t know if there was any “chemistry” there, but it was pretty obvious early on that we could have a relationship.

We became friends first. Isn’t that the way it’s supposed to happen? She had a wry sense of humor, was somewhat introverted, but could still strike up a conversation with anyone. Actually, I didn’t know of anyone who didn’t like her.

There was this unspoken thing between us, and we were both sensitive enough to know it. We would never be anything other than friends. And that was just the way it was supposed to be. If the relationship had gone to another level, it would’ve messed everything up. So friends we remained. Really, really good friends.

We were sort of inseparable. We were so, so open and transparent with each other.

Invariably our conversations gravitated toward two things. We were both Christians. Martha was well read, and we’d have these late night theological discussions about the most obscure tenets of our faith. We tended to have the same beliefs.

The other, of course, was romantic relationships.

We’d talk about the differences in males and females – especially the vast chasm between how we looked at dating life. Martha got plenty of attention from guys. I wanted to vet them all. And she did the same, and more than once she kept me from really messing up with some girl. Fortunately, that personal threshold between us was never crossed. While I was astutely aware of just how pretty she was, and I kind of enjoyed being seen out and about with her, a dating relationship was never an option. Which was good; sometimes I think a friendship can be one of the most pure, uncomplicated relationships around.

Growing old together? 

I thought that’s what was going to happen. We’d joke about that. We’d talk about both of us being in the nursing home with our spouses, spending evening playing dominos. We talked about being in each others’ weddings.

And then, the bad thing. 

It was over a guy. Wouldn’t you know it?

I knew Charles vaguely – we didn’t run in the same circles, but I was on a decent enough acquaintance level with him. He was handsome, of course, and charming, and always at ease. I liked him well enough.

He and Martha had grown up in the same town, went to the same school, but he’d graduated a year earlier than her. While they knew each other growing up, they really hadn’t had anything to do with each other.

Now – for reasons unknown – they’d rediscovered each other.

Bottom line is that they started dating. She’d asked me what I thought, and I’d observed them together. I’l spare you my “A guy knows another guy” lecture, but the simple fact is that this cat only had one thing on his mind. You don’t think I could look in his two eyes and tell you what he was up to?

So I told her what I thought.

She’d asked me what I thought, right? But what I said wasn’t what she wanted to hear. I told her that he was decent, but that she could do better. I told her that he had the capacity to tell her just the stuff she wanted to hear. I told her I thought he was capable of manipulating her and the relationship.

She took it in stride, but I knew she was gonna do whatever she wanted to do anyway.

My mistake? I couldn’t let it go.

Truth and not fiction here – I want to fix everyone and everything. I want everyone to be happy, to get along, to be at peace. Maybe that’s some sort of weird codependency thing. I’m not sure.

So I kept warning, giving advice. Finally, one night, Martha said, “Tony, you’re gonna have to give this a rest. You’ve said all you need to.”

I feigned hurt, told her that she’d misunderstood, that I wouldn’t hurt her for the world, all that.

She blew up. I don’t mean just telling me to back off. She went Vesuvian on me. It was awful. I didn’t see it coming, and I couldn’t even respond.

Martha spent a good ten minutes peeling the hide off me, accusing me of meddling, of misunderstanding, of being sanctimonious and holier-than-thou. She said I’d been that way with her and others for a long time.

There was more, but that was the gist. She cried. A lot. I couldn’t string together a coherent sentence in my defense. Blindsided doesn’t even begin to explain what happened to me. “I’m sorry,” I said over and over again.

And that was it. 

She stormed off after that exchange, and you know what? It was the last real conversation we ever had.

I reached out to her through friends, because she wouldn’t take my calls. When we were in proximity to each other, what little conversation we had was brittle and uncomfortable.

I wanted to patch things up, to make things right. She would have nothing to do with it or me.

I’ve spent a lot of time on this story. Here’s why, and here’s my takeaways. Maybe they’ll be yours, too, because I’m fairly certain you’ve had a relationship go south yourself. Maybe you didn’t handle it appropriately. Maybe you aren’t over it yet.

• You aren’t exempt from loving that person. Nope, you don’t get a pass. If you’re a believer, hate isn’t an option. You are commanded to love them (love your enemies, right? That’s a non-negotiable.)
• Love, in this context, isn’t a feeling. You will feel what you will feel. That’s not what this is about. Love, here, is a purposeful act that exists apart from your emotions. (I don’t know how to tell you how to disengage your emotions from this. You just choose to.)
• Relational issues may be objectively obvious to you as you observe someone else. But etch this in stone – if you want something for someone worse than they want it for themselves, you will experience horrific grief. 
• You have to develop the skills and sensitivity to know when a relationship can’t be salvaged. If you’ve reached out in good faith, had an attitude of accepting and receiving forgiveness, and done all that decency and Christian faith have required, and you’re still rebuffed, it’s done. But refer back to that first point.
• Sometimes you genuinely have to mind your own business. Enough said.
• I don’t want to address self-care too much here, but you do need to protect yourself from emotional pain. There can be a breaking point when you’ve done too much to try to fix things.
• Ultimately, you may need to simply close the door. Or even slam it. 

Which brings me to the title of this blog. I mean what it says. Sometimes you just have to be done with someone. Not mad. Not upset. Just done.

Our challenge is to be done with them in love. Do this, and allow God to do the healing. Perhaps, in His providence, He’ll restore that relationship, and you need to be sensitive to His hand as it works in your life (and the other persons’ life.) Until then, take care of yourself.

Get over yourself.

I sure don’t want to hear that said to me. The implication is that I’m selfish, self-centered, and think the world owes me something.

Well, it does, right? I mean, all of you readers are supporting actors in my autobiography. I’m the star. The sun rises and sets on me. I think about me all the time. I know what I want and need. I have to look after Number One, because no one else will.

Wrong, on just about every level. You know that.

Here’s the reality check.

There are miracles and exceptions, but on a bad day, I’m not one of those miracles and exceptions. I wake up thinking about what I’ve got to do today. There are obligations I have for work and family. I try to meet those obligations. But at the core of things, I’m always thinking about how I feel, what I want, and how to keep myself happy and content with no rough spots in my life. Those rough spots are totally unwelcome.

Maybe that has something to do with a mutant form of self-preservation. After all, if I don’t take care of myself, I can’t meet the needs of others, right?

That’s partially true. You can’t water others from an empty well. 

That’s not the real issue. Under a thin veneer of doing the right thing, there is a selfish being dwelling inside each one of us. We let self-care get the best of us. We serve because it makes us feel good. It’s a great byproduct to know that we’ve helped someone else, but the bottom line is that our needs, at least in the flesh, come first.

Still with me?

This may get worse before it gets better, but hang with me.

We are all hot messes. It’s just a matter of degree. We can be awful. At the same time, we have the capacity for amazing goodness. It can only happen when we take our eyes off ourselves and quit being so preoccupied with what makes us feel good.

Hence, “get over yourself.” Let’s unpack that.

• You are not the center of the universe. I know that’s hard to believe, because we tend to think about ourselves all the time. That’s not necessarily a bad thing – self-awareness can keep us from being stupid. The problem is when we convince ourselves that we exist to be served.
• We are all needy. If you were to graph yourself at some point along a continuum (or get someone objective to do it for you), you’d see we are all pretty much in the same state. We all have needs, hurts, wants, desires. Yours may be different from mine. Fact is that we are not all that unique. Others may have things “better” than you do. Others are in far worse shape. Just be careful in adopting the philosophy that you are the Great I Am. You are one of a zillion or so people who want to be successful in that pursuit of happiness.
• I trust there are people who care deeply about you. Some days you may feel totally misunderstood (true of me MOST days), but while my emotions are jerking me around, I do know intellectually that I have loved ones aplenty. Relish that. And if you for real don’t have anyone who cares for you, (1) get a dog, and (2) invest yourself in a benevolent activity – volunteer at a homeless shelter, take cookies to the fire station, get immersed in the life of a church. I’m a total introvert, but I still need people. Truly. (OK, maybe I need them on my own terms. Another blog topic, perhaps.)
• As a companion thought to that last point – serve, serve, serve. This may sound simplistic, but you can sure broaden your worldview by giving yourself away to a cause bigger than you are. Your intent shouldn’t be to serve yourself by serving others – you serve others with no strings attached, feelings notwithstanding. (Although, I think it’s impossible to not achieve some degree of satisfaction when you help someone else. It’s a side benefit, and shouldn’t be your main motivation.)

Here’s what we collectively need to understand: Every one of us have reasons to be grateful. Whatever your state, no matter what life is piling on you, gratitude can still be the condition of your heart. 

We who live in the West have it all, if you want to think in material terms. You have stuff to eat. You have some clothes. You didn’t sleep outside involuntarily. With those three things, you’ve already positioned yourself ahead a sizable chunk of the world’s population.

But you knew that. You’ve heard variations on those simple facts all your life.

Don’t let me or anyone else “guilt” you into feeling bad because you aren’t as grateful as you think you should be.

Gratitude is a learned state.

We are born selfish. (I’m thinking about grandbabies right now – granddaughter Katherine learned to say “Mine!! … soon after birth.)

So don’t beat yourself up. Admit you’re selfish, and it’s hard to be grateful when you think you always need more than you have, whatever that may be.

Move on. Realize that in the grand cosmic scheme of things you are doing pretty doggone good. Take some time to simply be thankful. I’m not sure how I got started doing this, but every morning I journal what I’m grateful for. I do the same thing before bedtime. I don’t want to present myself as some sort of virtuous superhero, but I’ll tell you straight up being grateful changes me daily, and that’s a good thing. I’d wager it will fix you right up, too.

Finally, a word about supernatural blessings.

God blesses us all.

When we have a “me focus” instead of a “Him focus,” we find ourselves in that same awful place of discontentment. Realize that He blesses in ways you may never be aware of, and He does that constantly. He’s always at work. He never slumbers nor sleeps. You may not “feel” anything – but feelings, of course, can be great betrayers. Don’t depend on how you feel at any given point in time to determine the state of your heart.

So celebrate that heartbeat.

You have the capacity to move out of your own head and heart, and be just what someone else needs, even today. Watch for it. Opportunities abound. Just get over yourself.