“We overvalue nonessentials like a nicer car or house, or even intangibles like the number of our followers on Twitter or the way we look in our Facebook photos. As a result, we neglect activities that are truly essential, like spending time with our loved ones, or nurturing our spirit, or taking care of our health” (Greg McKeown, Essentialism: The Disciplined Pursuit of Less).

I’m guilty of spending too much time and energy over stuff that really doesn’t matter while neglecting those things that do matter. This culture has mastered the art of valuing what is worthless and trashing the sort of treasures that no one can put a price tag on. Even those within the Church culture sometimes get mixed up on what really matters and what doesn’t.

The Bible says to seek first the Kingdom of God and His righteousness, and everything else will fall into place. All those things that money can’t buy will be yours if you make God your first priority. Otherwise, you end up chasing after all the wrong things and end up with basically nothing in the end.

Seeking after God in true faith is never a wasted effort.

“God is at work. He does not slumber.
Christ intercedes. He does not fail.
The Spirit comforts. He does not forsake.
Be at rest. Be at peace.
Your name at the end of the day is Beloved” (Ann Voskamp).

Whether you finished the week with flying colors or barely inched across the finish line with zero strength left to spare, your name at the end of the day is Beloved.

No matter whether you feel like you’ve got a plan for your life that you’re working or if you have no control over anything, your name at the end of the day is Beloved.

God couldn’t love you any more if you kept every single commandment and somehow managed to be perfect all week long. He couldn’t love you any less if you screwed up every single good intention and broke all ten commandments in 24 hours.

You are always loved perfectly by a perfect God who’s love is always 100%, even when you probably deserve 0%. That’s the good news of the gospel. In case you forgot.

“If I speak with human eloquence and angelic ecstasy but don’t love, I’m nothing but the creaking of a rusty gate.

If I speak God’s Word with power, revealing all his mysteries and making everything plain as day, and if I have faith that says to a mountain, “Jump,” and it jumps, but I don’t love, I’m nothing.

If I give everything I own to the poor and even go to the stake to be burned as a martyr, but I don’t love, I’ve gotten nowhere. So, no matter what I say, what I believe, and what I do, I’m bankrupt without love” (1 Corinthians 13:1-7, The Message).

I am a recovering Pharisee. Back in the day, I could point a finger and judge with the best of them. I was quick to find faults with others and even quicker to correct. I know now more than ever that I am as much in need of grace as anyone I ever pointed the finger at back in the day.

That said, I feel like there are quite a few people who are just as quick to point out the flaws in others. They feel it is their God-given prerogative to make sure the rest know just how wrong and sinful they are. There’s a lot of judgment but not much mercy at all.

That’s not how Jesus operates at all. He said that He did not come to condemn but to save. He didn’t throw shade at the woman caught in adultery, but offered her grace and mercy. He did say, “Go and sin no more,” but He said it in love, not out of a harsh and judgmental spirit.

We’re all sinners and we’re all broken. A lot of us talk about wanting karma for others, but none of us want it for ourselves. At least, not if we’re truly honest. We’re desperately hoping for grace at the end of the day.

Before I speak a word against anyone else, it helps to remember how kind God in Jesus has been to me. It helps if I recall how deeply indebted I am for the multitude of mercies and the overwhelming flood of sins forgiven.

I do think it’s biblical to correct and rebuke others, but always in the spirit of grace and in the context of relationship. I have to earn the right to speak into people’s lives by how I listen to them and learn from them and love them well. I have no place to correct or rebuke a stranger who I barely know and have no knowledge of who they are or where they’ve come from.

Above all, I think it’s wise to choose to be as kind to others as God has been to me. The Bible says that mercy triumphs over judgment. Above all, let your speech and conduct be seasoned with grace, because grace is what saved and sustains all of us at the end of the day.

Yes. I do drink a lot of water filtered through those beautiful coffee beans, or as I prefer to call it, coffee. I have my extra large Death Star mug that I fill to the brim every single morning. Sometimes on Fridays, I get seconds.

If you really want to keep me happy, just keep bringing me coffee. It keeps me awake and wearing pants, which is a good thing for everyone. It turns me from sleepy and murder-y to sociable and friendly. Plus, it gives me that false sense of confidence and generic hope that come from the warm fuzzies of the liquid coffee beans.

While you’re up, please bring me another cup of coffee. Thanks.

The last couple of days have been heavenly. It’s been in the low to mid 70s with sunshine and gentle breezes. If I had to pick just one weather setting to live in for the rest of my life, I think that would be it. But then again, I’d miss the chilly fall temperatures, so never mind.

The point is that today was one of those rare spring days in Tennessee that actually feels like true spring. Not late winter or early summer, but actual, honest to goodness spring.

Maybe I’m being flippant or sacrilegious, but I think of days like today as freebies from God. It’s like He’s saying, “Here’s one on the house. Enjoy. Compliments of God.”

I realize that everything good is a gift from God. Everything good about me is God in me, working in me. All that is good and wise and beautiful comes from God and finds its perfect realization and fulfillment in God.

Still, perfect spring days are like a God-wink, those small blessings that are easy to overlook or take for granted but are everywhere if you have your eyes open and are paying attention.

I think the best way to acknowledge the gift is living a life of gratitude and thanksgiving. Also, saying the occasional “thank you” to God never hurts.

I call this a rerun because I’m 98% sure that I posted it previously. It’s one of my favorite quotes about the literal resurrection and what it means to faith:

WE CAN SAY THAT the story of the Resurrection means simply that the teachings of Jesus are immortal like the plays of Shakespeare or the music of Beethoven and that their wisdom and truth will live on forever. Or we can say that the Resurrection means that the spirit of Jesus is undying, that he himself lives on among us, the way that Socrates does, for instance, in the good that he left behind him, in the lives of all who follow his great example. Or we can say that the language in which the Gospels describe the Resurrection of Jesus is the language of poetry and that, as such, it is not to be taken literally but as pointing to a truth more profound than the literal. Very often, I think, this is the way that the Bible is written, and I would point to some of the stories about the birth of Jesus, for instance, as examples; but in the case of the Resurrection, this simply does not apply because there really is no story about the Resurrection in the New Testament. Except in the most fragmentary way, it is not described at all. There is no poetry about it. Instead, it is simply proclaimed as a fact. Christ is risen! In fact, the very existence of the New Testament itself proclaims it. Unless something very real indeed took place on that strange, confused morning, there would be no New Testament, no Church, no Christianity.

Yet we try to reduce it to poetry anyway: the coming of spring with the return of life to the dead earth, the rebirth of hope in the despairing soul. We try to suggest that these are the miracles that the Resurrection is all about, but they are not. In their way they are all miracles, but they are not this miracle, this central one to which the whole Christian faith points.

Unlike the chief priests and the Pharisees, who tried with soldiers and a great stone to make themselves as secure as they could against the terrible possibility of Christ’s really rising again from the dead, we are considerably more subtle. We tend in our age to say, ‘Of course, it was bound to happen. Nothing could stop it.’ But when we are pressed to say what it was that actually did happen, what we are apt to come out with is something pretty meager: this ‘miracle’ of truth that never dies, the ‘miracle’ of a life so beautiful that two thousand years have left the memory of it undimmed, the ‘miracle’ of doubt turning into faith, fear into hope. If I believed that this or something like this was all that the Resurrection meant, then I would turn in my certificate of ordination and take up some other profession. Or at least I hope that I would have the courage to” (Frederick Buechner, The Alphabet of Grace).

“That very day, two of [the disciples] were going to a village called Emmaus, which lay about seven miles from Jerusalem^. They were discussing with each other all the various things that had taken place.  As they were discussing, and arguing with each other, Jesus himself approached and walked with them.  Their eyes, though, were prevented from recognizing him” (Luke 24:13-16, NTE).

The passage speaks of two of Jesus’ disciples– one of whom was named Cleopas– walking down the road toward Emmaus. Somewhere in their journey, the risen Jesus joins them, but they’re kept from recognizing Him. The Bible never says how; it just says that they didn’t know that it was Jesus next to them the whole time.

The irony is that their whole state of mind and conversation centered around the Messiah who had so recently been crucified and buried. It just so happens that the actual Messiah was privy to the conversation.

They were probably some of the most despondent and sad people at the time of their journey. Little did they know that their despair was groundless. All that they had hoped for was walking next to them.

How many times have you and I been in the same place feeling the same kind of sadness and despair? How many have all but given up?

I wonder how many times you and I been unable to recognize Jesus in our midst. I wonder how often our own short-sighted fears and doubts kept us from seeing Him through eyes of faith.

In the story of the two disciples, nothing about their circumstances changed, save that they finally saw Jesus for who He was in their midst. It took the breaking of the bread, hearing Jesus repeat those familiar words: this is my body, broken for you . . . this is my blood, shed for you.

It’s interesting that Jesus took them to the Scriptures first. He spoke about how all the Bible up to that point pointed to the Messiah and all He would endure from the cross to the grave to the resurrection.

Maybe our hope is closer than we think. Maybe what we’ve longed for and dreamed for and hoped for is nearer than our own breath. Maybe the Spirit of Jesus has been with us all this time and we just didn’t know it.

I think that’s my new motto. I want . . . no, I need to pet as many cats and dogs as possible. That’s what I did today.

Today is the last full day of my wild and crazy extended weekend trip to Gatlinburg. I saw all my favorite places and ate all the food. I did a fair amount of shopping and a good deal of walking.

One of my favorite parts was revisiting a pottery shop on the Arts and Crafts loop. There’s a Great Pyranees who hangs out there. He’s a gentle old soul who’s nearly 11 years old. I was able to pet him one more time — although I hope he’ll be around next time. I feel like he recognized me, so that means we’ve bonded.

Maybe I’m too easily pleased, but petting the dog made my day. Plus, I ate a lot. I got my Gatlinburg/Pigeon Forge fix that should last me for awhile. I may have less in my checking account and sore feet, but it was way more than worth it.

“I find that when I think I am asking God to forgive me I am often in reality (unless I watch myself very carefully) asking Him to do something quite different. I am asking Him not to forgive me but to excuse me. But there is all the difference in the world between forgiving and excusing. Forgiveness says “Yes, you have done this thing, but I accept your apology, I will never hold it against you and everything between us two will be exactly as it was before.” But excusing says “I see that you couldn’t help it or didn’t mean it, you weren’t really to blame . . . .

Real forgiveness means looking steadily at the sin, the sin that is left over without any excuse, after all allowances have been made, and seeing it in all its horror, dirt, meanness and malice, and nevertheless being wholly reconciled to the man who has done it” (C. S. Lewis, The Weight of Glory).

So very true.

“The Lord did not say, ‘I am going up to Jerusalem.’ He said, ‘We are going.’ It is this ‘we’ that we have to emphasize. For it does not apply only to those first disciples; it also applies to us insofar as we want to be his followers. For us, too, the way to glory passes through suffering and death. To suffer with Christ for sin in the obedience of faith; to give up all foolish wishes and vain hopes with our eyes fixed on him; with him and in love to him to give our old self up to death; to die with him in quiet confidence in a blessed resurrection when our last hour comes; and then to be with him forever in the heavenly Jerusalem – this is our task” (Johann Ernst von Holst, The Crucified Is My Love).

I went to a funeral for my brother-in-law’s mother today. It was sad, but also joyful. We grieve for the loss of a wife, mother, grandmother, and godly lady, but we don’t grieve as those who have no hope.

We believe that because of the resurrection, we will see her again. Death is not the end, and the grave will not have the last word. We hold fast to the promises of Jesus in the midst of a beautiful but broken world.

For us, the best is yet to come. For her, the best is right now.

Source: The Crucified Is My Love