It’s easy to micro-focus on your current situation that’s not ideal and to forget that what seems impossibly big is actually incredibly small in light of eternity. So much of what has kept me awake at night over the years didn’t really matter as much as I wanted it to matter enough to waste my anxiety on it. I’ve probably forgotten a lot of it and time has a way of putting these things into proper perspective.

I remember as a kid being afraid of quicksand. I remember “stop, drop, and roll” in case I ever burst into flames spontaneously. I seem to recall an earthquake drill or two back in the day. None of those things has turned out to be a real issue for me. I can’t say when the last time was that I stepped in quicksand or actually caught on fire. And (knock on wood) no earthquakes yet.

I also remember what someone taught me. If you can imagine the absolute worst possible scenario playing out then remember that God will still be with you, it’s not so bad. Basically, if what you’re afraid of actually came to pass — and that’s highly unlikely based on my own history of worrying — even that can’t separate you from the love of God in Christ.

Also, it’s momentary. Paul told us that the absolute worst that can happen in this lifetime is a light and momentary affliction compared to what’s coming. Hint: it’s the good stuff. It’s the absolute best possible outcome anyone who belongs to Jesus can hope for. It’s all your best daydreams and hopes and wishes multiplied by a thousand times a thousand.

You have heaven to look forward to and Jesus to with you until you get there. That makes everything worth it!

I’ve decided that I work better with older dogs. I had the opportunity to look after a 3-month old puppy recently, and as fun as they are, they are a lot of work. At least you have to keep an eye on them at every waking moment. Plus, you have to be ready to extract any weird objects from their mouths since they’re constantly looking for something to chew.

These pups I’m looking after aren’t really puppies. They’re more settled and calm. They have their moments when they can be full of energy and super cute, but they also have lots of times when they’d rather lay around and nap. I can relate to that a lot lately.

Currently, I can see both of them nestled comfortably in their spots, snoozing away. Hopefully, that will be me in a little bit. I do think there’s something peaceful and calming about a sleeping dog or cat. Maybe it’s earning their trust to the point that they’re willing to be completely unguarded around me. Maybe it’s that one of them is lightly snoring away.

Puppies are fun to play with. But older dogs are more my speed. They’ve grown into such understanding and gentle creatures who have a special kind of love that just about nothing else does. The only drawback is that they don’t live as long as people.

But I hope I get more chances to take care of these two in the future. I don’t have any favorites when it comes to dogs, but between you and me (and the whole internet), they’re secretly my favorites. But don’t let them know I told you.

“We use lights to make manifest. A Christian man [or woman] should so shine in his life, that a person could not live with him [or her] a week without knowing the gospel. His [or her] conversation should be such that all who are about him should clearly perceive whose he [or she] is, and whom he [or she] serves; and should see the image of Jesus reflected in his [or her] daily actions” (Charles Spurgeon).

A tragedy struck a family I’ve known since I was little. It happened a few days ago when a pastor and his wife were killed in a car wreck in Memphis. In a short span, three people lost both parents. So many are grieving at the sudden end of their lives.

But a beautiful thing is happening. Their tragedy is becoming a platform for the gospel to go to people who might not otherwise hear it. People will hear the message of Jesus who might ordinarily not give much thought to eternity, but with this tragic loss, will be forced to consider the claims of Christ.

My prayer is that people will come to saving faith in Jesus. I know the legacy of these two will live on as the seeds of their lives of faithfulness and dedication to the gospel will bear much fruit. The Book of Revelation says that those who die in the Lord are blessed from now on, because they rest from their labors and their work follows them. Their obedience created a ripple effect that will be felt for generations to come.

The pastor was faithful to preach the gospel and to instill the love of Jesus into his family. He and his wife are hearing the words, “Well done, good and faithful servants” and their loved ones grieve with hope because of the promise of the resurrection.

Maybe that’s the problem. If you look at the history of the Church, we’ve always thrived under persecution. That persecution isn’t the exception, it’s the norm. If you look at the Church in America, we’re the exception in that we have so much religious freedom and cultural acceptance (or at least we did and still do to an extent, though that acceptance is decreasing rapidly these days).

I don’t want anyone to think I’m in favor of the Church in the U. S. undergoing persecution. I definitely don’t want us to lose our freedom to worship how we choose. But sometimes, I wonder if all that freedom hasn’t made us soft. I heard the analogy that we have a cruise ship mentality where we want to be entertained and comfortable where the biblical idea is of a wartime battleship where we seek to save the lost at any cost (or at least point them at any cost to Jesus who saves them).

That cruise ship mentality gives us an unbiblical view of how Church works. We look for the Church to cater to us and our needs. We throw out any theology we don’t like or that makes us uncomfortable. We accommodate with the culture to maintain our comfort instead of being true salt and light with the true gospel.

I hope we can see revival. Maybe what we need is another reformation like in Martin Luther’s day. What I’m afraid is that it will take persecution and poverty and even prison to wake us up.

The greatest period of the Church in my mind was during the early days under Roman rule when it was illegal to be a Christian. So many were willing to die for their faith rather than deny Christ. The result was that the Church exploded and transformed the world, not because of all the fancy production value or the mega-million dollar facilities or the crafty branding but because they loved Jesus more than their own lives. People could see them and tell they had been with Jesus, first and foremost above all else.

That’s what we need. Not more political power. Not getting the right people elected. We need to get back to laying down our lives for Jesus and the gospel. Period.

“There is probably no prayer in the history of Christianity that has been prayed so frequently and intimately as the prayer ‘Lord, have mercy.’… This cry for mercy is possible only when we are willing to confess that somehow, somewhere, we ourselves have something to do with our losses. Crying for mercy is a recognition that blaming God, the world, or others for our losses does not do full justice to the truth of who we are. At the moment we are willing to take responsibility, even for the pain we didn’t cause directly, blaming is converted into an acknowledgment of our own role in human brokenness.

The prayer for God’s mercy comes from a heart that knows that this human brokenness is not a fatal condition of which we have become the sad victims, but the bitter fruit of the human choice to say no to love” (Henri Nouwen).

This brings to mind the parable in Luke 18 of the Pharisee and the tax collector. One basically used prayer to brag about his credentials and how he wasn’t as sinful as those around him. Basically, he believed that they were what was wrong with the world, not him.

But then there’s the tax collector praying, “Lord, have mercy on me, a sinner.”

He had gut-level honesty about who he was before a holy God. He knew he couldn’t blame anyone else but only beg God for pardon and forgiveness. God heard his prayer and not the one from the Pharisee.

I also remember that back in the day, a London newspaper sent inquiries to all the leading men of the day to write in about what was wrong with the world. One of those, G. K. Chesterton, wrote back with the shortest reply. He said. “I am. Yours truly, G. K. Chesterton.”

That’s not me telling you to beat yourself up about how horrible and nasty you are. It’s being honest about who you are and who God is. It’s taking that pointed finger away from everyone else and pointing it in the mirror instead. It’s admitting your complete dependence on God and finding out that He is close to the contrite and broken-hearted.

I could go on and on about how all these other people on social media need to read this, but I think in keeping with the spirit of this post, I should be the first one.

Lord, have mercy on me.

“So the three mighty men . . . drew water from the well of Bethlehem . . . and brought it to David. Nevertheless he would not drink it, but poured it out to the Lord.” –2 Samuel 23:16

What has been like ‘water from the well of Bethlehem’ to you recently–love, friendship, or maybe some spiritual blessing? Have you taken whatever it may be simply to satisfy yourself? If you are always keeping blessings to yourself and never learning to pour out anything ‘to the Lord,’ other people will never have their vision of God expanded through you” (Oswald Chambers, My Utmost for His Highest).

This one rates an “amen” and and “ouch.”

It’s easy to want to hoard God’s blessings like they will one day run out. We’re just like those Israelites in the desert who wanted to stockpile manna just in case it didn’t show up the next day only to find out day-old manna stinks in the most literal way possible.

I wonder how many future blessings we unlock when we share the present blessings with those around us who are in need. I wonder that maybe when we see ourselves as a conduit through which God’s gifts pour instead of a reservoir, we might not see more of God’s good gifts to us.

It’s interesting that we don’t have to learn to be selfish. We come out of the womb grasping and holding with clenched fists. We have to be taught how to share. We learn out to give. We become like God when we learn to give as freely as He’s given to us.

My pastor reminded us of a familiar saying that those who trust God in the giving of tithes know that God knows we can live off the 90% more than we could if we kept it all to ourselves because we understand that God blesses those who give. I believe the New Testament standard is not 10% but giving generously out of the overflow of God’s gifts to you, but the truth remains the same. God blessed generosity.

“You’ll not likely go wrong here if you keep remembering that our Master said, ‘You’re far happier giving than getting’” (Acts 20:35, The Message).

I love that idea! The very obstacles and hindrances that keep you up at night and fill you with fear become the very materials God uses to pave the road to victory and overcoming. Those very things that once meant defeat are those which God works together for good into your testimony.

The key is faith. As I always say, it’s not big faith in God but faith in a big God. It can be as small as a mustard seed that almost disappears in your hand but it’s enough. After all, what counts isn’t the amount of your faith but the object of your faith.

I trust in a God who walks on water. I also have placed my past, present, and future in nail-scarred hands. Those reminders from various places keep my hope alive these days. God keeps sending me little reminders that He’s still working in me and for me.

“The Christian doctrine of suffering explains, I believe, a very curious fact about the world we live in. The settled happiness and security which we all desire, God withholds from us by the very nature of the world: but joy, pleasure, and merriment, He has scattered broadcast. We are never safe, but we have plenty of fun, and some ecstasy. It is not hard to see why. The security we crave would teach us to rest our hearts in this world and oppose an obstacle to our return to God: a few moments of happy love, a landscape, a symphony, a merry meeting with our friends, a bathe or a football match, have no such tendency. Our Father refreshes us on the journey with some pleasant inns, but will not encourage us to mistake them for home” (C.S. Lewis, The Problem of Pain).

I forget that all the time. I keep thinking that this life should be better, but then I remember there’s more. Kinda like in the game shows where the announcer is all like “but wait, there’s more . . .”

In this case, the “more” is hereafter. This world isn’t all there is, nor is it a final destination. I’ve heard it put that our present reality is like a very clean bus station (or airport terminal) where you can wait until you leave for your actual home. No one in his or her right mind lives in a bus station or an airport terminal indefinitely.

Also, it’s a beautiful but a broken world. At some point, it needs some major renovations. The Bible promises that one day there will be a new heaven and a new earth. All that went wrong when Adam and Eve disobeyed will be gone and only the original design will be left.

I don’t know what that will look like. Will we still work? Will we worship all day and all night? I’m pretty sure the idea of sitting around on clouds playing harps is not in Revelation. But I do know that whatever it is is not here and now.

That’s the hope for those who have gone on before us. We will see them again. All that we’ve lost will somehow be restored beyond our wildest expectations. We will finally have all those undefined and unmet yearnings fulfilled because we will fully and forever be home.

“Lord, I don’t ask for a faith
that would move yonder mountain.
I can take enough dynamite and move
it if it needs movin’. I pray, Lord,
for enough faith to move me” (Norman Allen).

I like that prayer. I don’t necessarily need a mountain moved as much as I need something to move me. And sometimes I feel like it might take a few sticks of dynamite to dislodge me from my stubborn ways.

I don’t want to be a casual Christian (to quote the wise theologians Eddie DeGarmo and Dana Key). I don’t want to be a status quo believer who seeks comfort over transformation and conformity over obedience.

I pray for God to make me more like Jesus, but then I don’t always like how He answers those prayers. If I’m wanting to be like Jesus, how can I not expect to go through difficulties to be like the one Scripture called a Man of Sorrows? Jesus even said that those who believe in Him would have trouble, and if the world hated Him, they’d surely hate us, too.

I think every single person who claims Jesus as Lord and Savior will need a wake-up call at some point. We all need a kick in the seat of the pants, theologically speaking. We might even need a rude awakening once or twice. Not because suffering is fun and enjoyable but because we might not respond any other way.

I’m thankful God’s more patient with me than I am with Him. I’m thankful God’s not about to let me settle for a mediocre life of lukewarmness but will poke and prod and push and drag me (sometimes kicking and screaming) into holiness.

Move me, Lord.

“What is my barrenness? It is the platform for His fruit-creating power. What is my desolation? It is the black setting for the sapphire of His everlasting love.

“I will go in poverty, I will go in helplessness, I will go in all my shame and backsliding, I will tell Him that I am still His child, and in confidence in His faithful heart, even I, the barren one, will sing and cry aloud” (Charles Spurgeon).

I can think of very little to add to what Mr. Spurgeon said. I think the Apostle Paul talks about weakness being a platform to showcase God’s perfect strength. He also said something about boasting in weakness rather than hiding it or pretending it doesn’t exist because that’s where God shows up in power.

Even in my shame and backsliding, my anxiety and fear, my poverty of faith and helplessness –all of that and much more — I am still His child. I can still sing and cry aloud. I’m in good hands.