Purpose

What is the point of all this? Why am I here?

This aspect of our humanity separates us from all other creatures. The answer to this deep, soul-searching quest is personal. No individual's journey is the same when they seek to work through their own reality and circumstances.

The answer, like most things in life, isn't simple or one-dimensional. We will always encounter another layer or level as we answer the complicated question, "Why am I here?"

In attempting to answer that question, Christians believe God holds not only a purpose for individuals, but an overarching purpose for humankind.

Created for Divine Relationship

Human beings have a profound need to be seen. To feel worthy and loved. We crave relationships. God craves relationships, too. Understanding God's eagerness for a relationship with humanity brings peace to a Christian's restless heart.

The first layer in understanding a Christian's view on purpose is knowing the creation story. The first pages of the Bible provide a detailed account of how God designed the earth and everything in it. Within that story, you will find a holy God—who holds all power and knowledge-and desires a relationship with His created people (see Genesis 1:1-2; 1 Samuel 12:22).

Because God wants us here, we can view our existence—all its joy and suffering—through a lens of purpose.

God spoke every created thing, living and nonliving, into existence ... except humans. To create humans, He formed them from the ground. He brought them to life by breathing His own breath into them. He gave them responsibility—a job—to tend the land. God gave humans free will and the freedom to choose a relationship with their Creator (see Genesis 1:26-30).

Without choice, a man-to-God relationship would be based in control, manipulation, mistrust, or fear. God's desire for humans to choose Him indicates He places value on those humans. In other words, He wants them to want Him. He created mankind with a purpose in mind, the highest of which is friendship with Him (see Genesis 2:9; Genesis 3:8).

What is MY purpose?

Why am I here? What should I do with my life?

Those questions can paralyze people. The questions seem so large, so intimidating, they blind us to the simplest, most obvious manifestations of purpose in our lives.

Accepting where you are and what you have is one step toward discovering your purpose. That may sound trivial, but it is revolutionary. Great truth rests in tackling our mundane, daily tasks. It involves accepting the gift of each moment, knowing we might not be given another, and making the most of it.

Humans are not only unique from the rest of creation—they are unique from each other. Each human body contains a distinctive combination of DNA. An individual's genetics, background and experiences blend together, resulting in a set of skills, talents, strengths, weaknesses, and insights that do not match the set of any other individual. And that set is necessary for humankind. If one person doesn't carry out their purpose, their role will go either unfulfilled, or unfulfilled in the unique way they could do it.

How do you find the life purposes that are unique to you? There is no single answer, but God gives us a plethora of clues:

 Roles/Stations: Any role we fill in which we're responsible to someone or for something, and where our role doesn't by its nature require disobeying God, this is a calling from God. It's not about what we're responsible to do for God, but what God is doing through us.

 Gifts/Talents: God gives all of us different gifts—both "spiritual" gifts for building up God's church and kingdom, and "created" gifts for contributing to the temporal world. Our gifts and talents give us a sense of how God wants us to help others.

 God gives us all manner of resources in different proportions—material resources, financial resources, influence, time, knowledge, etc. He wants us to be generous with our resources, whatever form they may take (see 2 Corinthians 9:6-11).

 Passions/Desires: This one is trickier because passions and desires can come from God, or from the evil inside us, or they can come from a combination of sources, making it difficult to determine the good. But it is a misconception that Christians are supposed to let all of their desires die. Desire can be corrupt, but it can also be very good. God is very interested in our desires: "Delight yourself in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart" (Psalm 37:4). He also knows they have tremendous power to motivate us—no doubt he built us with desires so they would do just that.

 Opportunities: We believe God continues to be intimately involved in the details of how every earthly circumstance happens and turns out (see Romans 8:28; Luke 12:6-7). If God gives you an opportunity to do something good, it was on purpose.

 Needs: Compassion is feeling someone else's distress at a gut-level and thereby being compelled to act. The Holy Spirit nurtures compassion inside people of Christian faith. This word describes much of Jesus' action toward us. He gives us compassion, so we respond to needs as well. In a sense, a human need is a call from God.

Cohesive Independence

Talk of individuality raises the matter of independence. As Christians, we are to take care of ourselves and bear individual responsibility for our actions. We are to develop our skills and talents.

However, bloated individuality results in selfishness, the philosophy that "me" comes before "we." Christians believe that if our lives become exclusively about us—my comfort, my longings, my love, my truth—then we have stepped outside of God's original plan. Instead of functioning as one human race, we become isolated and alone. We can also lose our sense of purpose.

In God's plan, the question "What do I want to do with my life?" becomes "How can I use my unique skill and background to help others in this situation?"

Using the human body as an example once again, when one member of the body falls ill, other members produce and deliver white blood cells to bring the body back to wholeness. When one member does not function to benefit the body, the whole body grows weaker.

When we consider that our individual purpose should also edify life and humanity, our trajectory is altered.

How Suffering Can Enhance Purpose

Living with purpose has its challenges. What happens when life doesn't unfold as we anticipate or plan? When tragedy or hurt interrupts progress? When cancer steals dreams? When loved ones die? When an accident takes or dramatically hinders our physical abilities?

Sometimes, it's more acute—such as when others appear to have joy and life, while we dwell in a dark haze of depression or anxiety.

When it comes to suffering, Christians find comfort that Jesus—God—knows our pain and factors it into the bigger picture. We do not view ourselves as alone when we suffer. Our suffering is evidence of why we claim to need a Savior in the first place. It becomes a point of reference rather than a blemish. Because Christians believe God uses our struggles as a training ground to cement our purpose, it helps provide a "why" as we pursue the "how" (see Hebrews 2:9-10; 2:18; 5:8; John 16:33).

All great stories of redemption, reconciliation, or healing include deep scars. Christians do not desire struggle, but our trust in God helps us endure it.

The Big Picture

Viewing life through lenses of love and hope gives Christians a sense of purpose. That purpose is rooted in a relationship with God and built on our inherent value to Him. That awareness sets us free to pursue individuality based on service to others. We live our lives as members of a larger body, seeking to contribute to the greater good, even amid life's struggles.

Written by Team THRED

You can let us know what you think about this by clicking here and leaving a comment.

You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.

I'm a Pastor, and I Need Counseling

I walked in and there she was. A college student from the church I serve. I couldn't turn around. I couldn't un-commit. I could have lied about why I was there, but that's not ethical (right?). I was caught red-handed—seeing my professional counselor.

For the last decade or so, I've seen a professional counselor off-and-on. Sometimes, it's been for no special reason. Other times, I'm in the midst of a crisis. Today, I go regularly to see my counselor, and I think everyone—pastor, plumber, or professional wrestler—should consider seeing a counselor (in fact, definitely the wrestlers ... because, seriously).

According to a University of Phoenix study from 2014, the majority of Americans (97%) believe mental health issues are at least somewhat of a serious problem in the U.S.

Further, almost two-thirds of Americans (62%) report that they have personally experienced mental health issues.

Despite financial barriers, lack of coverage, and social stigma, almost half of the 43.6 million American adults (44.7%) who experienced a mental illness in the past year received mental health care, according to the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA).

The number of people seeking professional counseling for their mental health issues is on the rise. That's encouraging.

And yet, many professional caregivers—such as pastors, social workers, and others involved in counseling and caring for others in times of crisis—avoid professional counseling. Despite high levels of stress, the prevalence of burnout, and the need for self-care, many caregivers do not enlist professional help. They do not seek a safe place where they can process and receive input from a professional counselor, psychologist, or psychiatrist.

I get it. The social stigma can be tough, the costs can be prohibitive, and the fear of running into someone you know at the office can turn you off to the idea quite quickly. But hear me out. There are both push and pull factors that put me in my counselor's chair frequently.

Here are mine:

1) Fear of Burnout—stress is a normal, and necessary, part of anyone's life. Burnout—a stress-related emotional collapse or breakdown that can result in chronic stress—should not exist. And yet, many pastors and other caregivers burn out all the time. I've been there, and I haven't even been at this "pastor" thing for very long.

If you're regularly exhausted, feeling like you don't want to get out of bed to face the day, dreading that upcoming meeting, or wondering whether or not this job is for you, I believe you should consider seeking out someone safe to talk to about it. Your family, your church, your community, and your soul will thank you for it.

2) Catharsis and Counsel—I've got issues. I'm pretty sure you do, too. That professional wrestler we both know does. We all need a place, or a person, where we can dump the feelings of resentment, anger, disappointment, failure, insecurity, inadequacy, and loneliness we feel in the course of our life and career. Dumping them on the wrong person can cause us, and countless others, untold anguish.

For this, a counselor is perfect. Counselors are trained to take the venting, to engage in role-playing, or help us grow as we share our vexations. Our drinking buddies, stuffed animals, and the steering wheel of our car are not.

3) Learning Empathy and Best Practices—beyond the personal benefits of seeing a counselor, there are also professional advantages. Sitting on the other side of counseling gives pastors, and other caregivers, an opportunity to see what it's like to sit "on the other side of the room." As I feel those sensations of anxiety, insecurity, and of being lost, I can take that understanding into the next meeting I have with someone who's bringing me their cares. Not only that, but I learn from my counselor tips and best practices that make me a better pastoral counselor and friend to the people I love in my life.

For these reasons and more, I think it's a great idea for pastors to not only provide counseling to those they care for, but to care for themselves and seek out professional counseling themselves.

Written by Ken Chitwood

You can let us know what you think about this by clicking here and leaving a comment.

You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.

Loneliness

Loneliness is an odd thing. We all recognize it when it happens, and yet it's not that easy to get at what exactly it is, or how to prevent it. A person stuck at home because of illness or disability is likely to be lonely with very little human contact, but so is a mother or father of young children who spends the whole day with under-fives and can't even get enough privacy to go to the toilet alone!

Being Alone?

Clearly loneliness isn't the same thing as solitude. It's possible for some people to spend days or weeks alone (maybe camping in the Sierras?) and not feel lonely for a single moment. I'm one of those people. And yet some of my loneliest times have been in rooms where there are at least a hundred other people within earshot, all milling around and drinking coffee together.

So in loneliness, something else is going on besides lack of human contact—though that happens, too. The Bible tells us that in the beginning, God looked at the first human being He created and decided it wasn't good for that person to be all alone. But before God fixed that situation (by creating another person!) God drove that point home by having the first one look all through the animal creation, getting to know everything, until it was clear there was nothing and no one comparable out there. Poor Adam! No amount of aardvarks or amoebas was going to cut it for him. He must have really appreciated it by the time he met Eve!

I Want Social Input

What did Eve, the second human, bring to the situation? She brought human "input," if I can call it that, into Adam's life. And that's something we all need to avoid loneliness. Have you ever noticed how some people go home to an empty house and immediately turn on the TV, even though they have no intention of watching it, and they're not even in the same room? They want, they need the background noise, the sound of human voices. Others are continually on the Internet, getting their fix of humanity through Twitter or Facebook or texting. Human input seems to be a non-negotiable for pretty much everybody, even if the amount needed varies from person to person.

But Eve brought more than that when she came along. By being there, she insured that there was someone in Adam's life who had some concern for him—who noticed his existence and was interested in it—who was able to provide the "give" as well as the "take" of human interaction. I think this is where the parents of small children get their loneliness from. There's no shortage of human interaction when you've got a baby wailing every time you set him down, and constantly wanting to be fed or changed or soothed or put to sleep. And yet that baby is pretty much all about the "taking," with almost no giving. It's natural at that age. But it contributes to a unique kind of loneliness—the loneliness of the caregiver who nevertheless is not seen as a fellow human being with needs and wants of his or her own. No wonder parents long to spend time with other adults!

I Need Social Output

But other kinds of loneliness might be even more common. Consider the loneliness of a person who is always on the receiving end—whether that's because of sickness or disability or age or simple isolation. A hospital bed can be a very lonely place, in spite of all the professionals (and even visitors!) interested in your welfare. A person who's going through major crisis—whether it's financial or emotional or family or health-related—that person can feel pretty lonely, too, even as everyone else is trying to help. These are situations where human interaction is all "take" and no "give"—like a lake where there's constant inflow, but no outflow. It seems that the imbalance leads to loneliness. And this might be why the old-fashioned advice for lonely people is for them to get involved in some sort of activity or service project—because it will "take you out of yourself." It seems that being completely "in yourself" is a lonely place to be.

Dealing with Loneliness

So what if it's you? How can you cope with loneliness? There's no one-size-fits-all answer, as no doubt you know already. This article isn't going to solve all your problems (though I wish it did!). And much as I'd like to, I can't say something facile like "Go to church and you'll never be lonely again." Because that's baloney. Some of my loneliest times have been in church.

But you might want to consider the whole social inflow/outflow problem as it relates to your own life. Do you have contact with people who care about you and want to know how you are doing? If not, what can you do to get that contact? Taking a class, getting involved in an activity where you meet the same people again and again, even (yes!) going to church can help. Affection and even friendship tend to grow over time between people who see the same folks again and again and again—even when those people are the complete opposite of soulmates.

What about your outflow—are you doing anything to impact other people's lives for good? If not, consider some sort of service activity. (Doing a Men's NetWork GIVES BACK event this year between Thanksgiving and New Year's Day is one way to make this happen. See the article in this issue!) Believe me, people will notice and miss you immediately if you are the one who normally delivers a meal/calls a shut-in/tutors a child and suddenly you're absent one week. But even aside from that, the simple act of being effective in the larger world tends to cut down loneliness. Grandma was right—it "takes you out of yourself."

Certainly this isn't going to prevent any and all lonely feelings from now to forever, not for you and not for me. And if we've got other problems going on, like job or relationship issues, those things are going to just add to the loneliness. But if God is as aware of our lives and as caring as Christianity says He is, we can look to Him for help. Because He knows what it means to be lonely. Jesus experienced it many times. And He wants the best for us.

Written by the THRED team

What do you do to get around being lonely? If you notice or sense someone else is lonely, do you make an effort to give them some companionship? Do you have any examples you can share?

You can let us know what you think about this by clicking here and leaving a comment.

You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.

The Discomfort with Dismantling

A few years ago, my husband and I began exploring the possibility of moving into a new home. Having done a bit of research, we identified neighborhoods and entered our preferences into an online search bar, along with our price limits. We were disappointed by how few homes met our qualifications, but were excited to find a single, promising, slightly suspicious possibility: a spacious home, in a top-notch school district, priced inexplicably lower than comparable properties.

We planned a visit and considered all the possible explanations for this anomaly, but could not have anticipated what we found. The house was lovely: nice curb appeal, modern updates, and convenient amenities. Yet it took only 30 seconds and a walk across the front room for me to see it ... or rather, feel it. The house was crooked.

"The Magical Leaning House," I quickly named it as I began to observe how everything in the house was, not so subtly, pitched to one side. Now, having been familiar with the "settling" that can occur in older homes, it was not the leaning phenomenon that fascinated me most. Rather, I was baffled by how intentionally the previous owner had embraced this characteristic. The window frames were custom-made rhombuses, made to perfectly fit the off-kilter openings. The wood trim and molding was custom cut at precise angles to adjust for the tricky way the corners came together. Everything was modified to embrace the imbalance.

Yet a visit to the lower level revealed evidence of numerous attempts to seal and fill cracks in the basement floor. It was simultaneously impressive and troubling. I could not imagine why someone would go to such great lengths to aesthetically and superficially accommodate what was quite obviously a foundational issue.

Clearly, the owner did not tune in to home improvement reality television. There is something about making old things new and wrong things right that scratches a primal itch for viewers, including me. We can also all agree that there is no worse discovery for a new homeowner than learning there's a problem with the foundation. How badly we want for the renovation budget to be used for a beautiful new front porch, a clawfoot tub, or a custom kitchen island. But no matter the sacrifice, there is never a question—at least for the professionals—about what is actually the priority.

Whether the house needs to be hoisted up, reinforced, or even torn down, foundation work is backbreaking. It's time-consuming and often looks and feel destructive; torn-up landscaping, broken tiles, sledge-hammered concrete. It seems to halt all other progress. It costs.

But what is the alternative to foundation repair? I suppose it's "The Magical Leaning House." How problematic could it be to live in a house that leans? A rolling baseball and an uneven freshly-baked cake seem like small inconveniences in comparison to the colossal cost of breaking up and relaying a new foundation. Not so, say the experts. To the contrary, the longer a homeowner delays fixing the foundation, the more uneven it gets, the more damaged the structure of the house becomes, and the more will be required to repair it.

Many, at least publicly, agree that our United States was built on an uneven foundation. The land and everything on it was created to benefit some inhabitants more than others. Despite this history, and perhaps due to the great sacrifices and perseverance of individuals and groups, many attempts have been made to correct the injustices and assuage the legacy of our broken beginnings. But repairing broken foundations is colossal work, and it's become apparent to some (and remained painfully obvious to others) that the work that's been done is much like that in "The Magical Leaning House"—several crack repairs, but mostly aesthetic and superficial modifications to distract us from a structure that actually continues to be unstable and imbalanced.

For a great many, the unwillingness to deal with the foundational work has been intentional and self-serving. Their lives have been spent ordering custom rhombus windows and cutting precise angles so that all appears tidy and purposeful. It may seem that they benefit from this particular pitch, but they fail to realize that our collective dwelling is still rapidly sinking.

For others, "The Magical Leaning House" has become home. These residents have lived so long on an incline that it now feels mostly comfortable as their bodies and gaits have redistributed and modified to adjust to this constant state. For them, it no longer feels like a lean, but feels normal—even right. Not only would foundation repair be loud and disruptive to their environment, but it would create discomfort for their own physical bodies. So without clear knowledge of impending structural failure, foundation work feels not only unnecessary but detrimental.

Yet there are still others who, through personal investigation or the intervention of a visiting neighbor, have begun see the tilt and identify it as destructive. They lean closer, even as they wince at the reality that it is, indeed, worse than they thought. They seek input, get opinions, ask questions, do research. The closer they look, the more problems they find. The renovation budget seems to climb to insurmountable heights. They are regularly tempted to simply deal with the superficial, order custom windows, and get back to the joy of picking accent colors. But they have seen the truth and cannot unsee it, and the only lasting satisfaction they can now have is in pushing up their sleeves, grabbing a hard hat and a sledgehammer, and asking the foreman how they can help demo.

The institutions of our time are the houses we live in and the structures we build upon. May we not settle for the cheap praise that comes with fresh coats of paint and new wall art, but look closer and dig deeper to identify the brokenness that has kept us perpetually off-kilter. Let us lean into the discomfort of dismantling the systems that compromise our collective ability to flourish. The work will be far from easy, but there is no doubt that it will be worth it. The greatest peace and satisfaction will be most palpably experienced by those who have seen the foundation's crumbling condition, recognized the past and potential harm, but sacrificed control and comfort to ensure lasting security to all who pass through its doors.

Join in. There's enough work for all of us.

Written by Sabrine Rhodes

How is it where you live? What are the things that can be done to uplift and fortify your neighborhood and community? How can we see to it that compromised foundations (both local and national) are addressed rather than ignored and built over?

You can let us know what you think by clicking here and leaving a comment.

You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.

Virtue

Honesty. Truthfulness. Purity. Kindness. Forgiveness. Courage. Humility. Peace. Obedience. Integrity. Faithfulness. Trustworthiness. Mercy. Compassion. Hope. Perseverance. Love. Forgiveness. Responsibility. Cheerfulness. Strength. Loyalty.

This is a partial list of what we refer to as virtues-that is, qualities that are good, desirable, and beautiful in people. Some of these virtues come from lists in the Bible. Others come from classical antiquity or from cultures around the world. It doesn't really matter-the human race seems to have general agreement on what it means to be truly good-to be the way God meant us to be.

These virtues are goals we aspire to-things we want to see in our own lives and in the lives of the people around us. And they shine all the more brightly in the world we live in now-a world where so many powerful leaders openly lie, cheat, steal, and grab for what they want, with no concern for the needs of those weaker than themselves. And they have many imitators-possibly including a boss, a neighbor, or even a family member you live with. In dark times, virtue shines brightly. They attract us to themselves.

The Bible understands this desire. The prophet Micah references the virtues when he says, "He has told you, O man, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?" (Micah 6:8) If we could actually do this-twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, without messing up-actually living as the whole, healthy people God means us to be-how awesome that would be? It would be wonderful.

But of course, we don't manage it-not all the time, and not whole-heartedly. Which is why Micah was talking about it in the first place-he was talking to people who lived in a society just as messed up as ours is. They abused the poor and grabbed for money; they lived lives of excess and conspicuous consumption. Amos described them as people who "sell the righteous for silver, and the needy for a pair of sandals-those who trample the head of the poor into the dust of the earth" (Amos 2:6b-7a). Jesus described them as people "who devour widows' houses and for a pretense make long prayers" (Luke 20:47a). The details may have changed a bit, but the basic behavior remains-and not only in our leaders, but even at times in ourselves. Which of us does the right thing consistently-or even tries?

We need help. The virtues exist; we see them shining, sometimes, in people we admire, even in people we love and live with. We want to see them in ourselves. And for that, the Bible tells us, we need God's help. Trying harder can only take you so far. To really reach the goal God created us for-to be the people He means us to be-it takes God living in us, the Holy Spirit. As the early Christian leader Paul says, "But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control" (Galatians 5:22-23a). These are the good things that God grows in everyone who trusts in Jesus Christ. It may take a long time-years, even a lifetime-as you doubtless know from watching Christians fail! But the virtues come in the end, because God is recreating people through His power so that they have a family resemblance to Jesus Himself. God will do this for anybody-anybody who really wants it and asks for it.

Written as a collaboration by THRED's in-house writing team

You can let us know what you think by clicking here and leaving a comment.

You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.

Call Me Old-Fashioned

Call me old-fashioned, but I think technology is a little overrated. Yes, we can have pretty much anything we want delivered to us without even putting our pants on. Yes, we don't have to go through the hassle of making real friends when we can easily connect with people online. Yes, we don't even need to know where we're going before we get in the car.

But just because we have unlimited power at our fingertips, doesn't mean that we need to use it.

I learned this the hard way while spending an incredible ten days driving around southern Ireland with my fiancée.

Thanks to my stubborn (i.e. cheap) stance on not buying an international data plan, we were forced to navigate without the help of the internet.

Instead, we decided to rough it and use real a map.

What's a "real" map, you ask? Think Google Maps but analogue.

I know what you're thinking: "If this map you speak of is paper, then how does it update to let you know where you are?"

That's the beauty of it—it doesn't. No turn-by-turn directions. No continuous ETA. Just you, the open road, and a whole lot of confusion.

Confusion isn't always a bad thing. For us, it led to many surprising places and the occasional random adventure.

In our case, J.R.R. Tolkien's famous quote, "Not all those who wander are lost" couldn't have been further from the truth. We were both wandering and lost ... and it felt great.

Once we reached each city, we made it a habit to park the car and simply roam around until we came across a cafe or pub that tickled our fancy. Thanks to this (flying-by-the-seat-of-our-pants) strategy, we found hidden gems, met plenty of locals, and shared serendipitous conversations.

I can't think of a better way to spend your time.

Thanks to the brutal efficiency of Google Maps and other helpful technologies, we miss these fleeting opportunities every single day.

We're too busy with our heads down in our phones to realize life is passing us by.

In much the same way, I can't help but shun the invention of the audiobook.

I am one of the few remaining humans left who hasn't listened to one, and that's because I prefer its physical counterpart.

Call me old-fashioned, but I love the smell of a brand new book freshly off the shelf. I yearn for the feeling of accomplishment that comes with turning each crisp page. Heck, I even enjoy transforming mundane items such as receipts and coupons into useful bookmarks.

I'm not completely blind to the utility of e-books. As someone who listens to podcasts at 2x speed, I understand the convenience of "reading" while in the car or at work. We're all obsessed with productivity hacks and using multitasking as a misplaced badge of honor.

The thing is, I retain what I read much better when I actually read it. I want to build the magical world of Harry Potter for myself instead of having someone else do it for me, even if it is the insanely-talented Jim Dale (look him up, seriously).

Judging by these words, you may think I'm an old curmudgeon who despises technology. Quite the opposite—I'm just like any other millennial who's addicted to Instagram and spends most of his day behind a laptop.

My only issue with technology is that many of us rely on it to get by.

We have become crippled thanks to our dependence on technology to perform basic human functions like talking to others and finding our way from point A to point B.

Instead, we should be using it to enhance our lives, not run them.

What does this look like?

Using technology to amplify our ideas instead of our gossip. Talking with others who may not share our perspectives rather than publicly crucifying them. Embracing technology in order to learn and create instead of mindlessly consuming.

When used correctly, technology is an amazing way to take giant leaps forward.

That doesn't mean we don't need it to get started.

But hey, what do I know? I'm old-fashioned.

Written by William Frazier

You can let us know what you think by clicking here and leaving a comment.

You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.

Nice vs Kind

One of the many unintended side effects of becoming a parent is that you're forced to develop a new relationship with the English language. I don't mean that you'll instantly gain an understanding of homophones, homonyms, and homographs— no such luck. What I mean is that you'll learn that "sit on the couch" can mean a multitude of different things, ranging from the traditional butt-on-seat variation, to many other more creative arrangements that could end with a butt placed in a number of surprising locations.

For example, I remember a time when I told my son to go into his room to put on a pull-up before bed. Well, he did exactly that. It wasn't until the next morning that I learned that what I should've said was "Take off your underwear, and then put on a pull-up."

When I was preparing Noah for kindergarten, I spent a lot of time talking to him about the importance of being "kind" and, of course, that required an explanation of what I meant by that. My initial explanation was probably something along the lines of "You know, like, nice or whatever ..." but when you really think about it, being nice and being kind aren't really the same thing, are they?

According to my old friend Merriam-Webster, to be nice is to be pleasant or agreeable. To me, this describes a behavior or a particular style of social interaction. Nice is something that can be turned on when you clock in at work and turned off the moment your shift ends. Nice is great for job interviews and first dates. Nice is common, but not necessarily always genuine. Politicians are (almost) always nice because being nice gets you votes.

Don't get me wrong, I want my son to be nice, but not nearly as much as I want him to be kind.

Old lady Merriam's definitions of kind include words like "helpful," "gentle," and "loving"—all words that fall right in line with the lesson I wanted to teach my son. "Nice" is a way to behave, whereas "kind" refers to the kind of person you are. Kind people aren't kind because it could possibly yield rewards, or because it's part of a job description. Kindness is a result of a genuine desire to help other people and do good. When my grandmother forces "soda money" into my pocket before I leave her home, she's doing it out of kindness.

Nice and kind are two words that are similar in definition, but far from interchangeable. Nice people aren't hard to find: go to any Starbucks or Chick-fil-A and you'll find dozens of them ready to provide you with the best dining experience possible. Truly kind people, on the other hand, are a little harder to find. These are the people who go out of their way to help others and do good, no matter the reward.

I think the best thing for all of us is to try to be at least a little bit of both. What about you?

How do you teach a child what kindness is and how to be kind? Seems like there's a lot of example giving in that one. How do you try to teach others how to be kind? How much of being kind is internal, like a personality trait?

Written by Justin Fantroy

You can let us know what you think by clicking here and leaving a comment.

You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.

The Lies We Tell Our Kids

It's not intentional, really. We want to believe it's true when we say that they can be and do anything they want when they grow up. We want to believe that there's some relationship between that idea, and the need for them to perform throughout their teen years as if their lives depended on it.

We want to believe that there is no conflict between our urging them to "Follow your dreams!" morphing suddenly and abruptly into "What are you going to major in?" and "How are you going to support yourself for the rest of your life doing that?"

We tell them to do all the "right" things because we don't know what else to tell them, and we can't bear to tell them nothing. Or to let them fail. Or to let them veer from the prototypical success model-who knows where that might lead?

Maybe, just maybe, it will lead them slowly, and with some requisite turbulence, to themselves.

So if we really want to help our teen and young adult children, I'm thinking we should stop telling them that who they are is a series of grades and tests scores and titles and victories that must be accrued in a deliberate time and sequence-or else-and we should start telling them the truth, which, when you step back, I believe, looks something like this:

Between the ages of 15 and 25-give or take-you're going to want to learn some things, for example:

 What you like to do, and what you're good at, and if those are the same things

 What kind of people make you happy and what kind of people seem happy to be around you

 What it feels like to love another person and the delirious grace that comes from being loved back

 Whether or not sex is going to become a defining factor in your life

 How to dig yourself out of a hole

 How to throw yourself into an idea that is bigger than yourself and seeing what happens

 How to cook a meal, do your laundry, clean your bathroom, and live with roommates

 How to look someone in the eye when you shake their hand

 What it feels like to earn a paycheck and then pay for something with money you earned

 Whether or not you can make enough money doing the things you like and are good at to live the way you want to live

 Or if money is more important to you than spending your time doing things you like or love and what that choice will cost you down the road (this usually has to be learned later)

 You'll want to know what you believe in about Big Questions like God, and compassion, and why there's evil in the world, and if you think you're contributing to it, and how you feel about that

 You'll want to know how to learn new things-some of your choosing, some not

 You'll have to decide if your word will be your bond

 And to recognize those whose word is not

 It's hard to build a good life on a wobbly foundation so you're going to want to develop some confidence-if you're lacking in that area-or some humility, if you're not

 Do you know what makes you feel confident yet?

 Do you know how to express your thoughts and feelings?

 Do you know what you were put on this Earth to be and do?

Our kids will learn these things, and others, in no particular order, and often multiple times. No one will give them a certificate or a grade or a degree or a prize for them. But when they feel they've got a handle on most of these, they'll be ready to have a really nice life. Let's remember to tell them that sometimes.

Written by Heather Choate Davis

Nobody said raising kids was easy, and if they did, they weren't too bright. Do you have any time- and experience-tested truths you can add to the above list?

You can let us know by clicking here and leaving a comment.

You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.

Growing up White in America

"This teenager was arrested for not giving up her seat on a bus in Montgomery, Alabama ..." The emcee at the Dr. Martin Luther King workshop paused his cadence to let the audience think of an answer. I missed the teenager clue and mentally filled in the blank with Rosa Parks, when he continued into the microphone, "...nine months before Rosa Parks."

My smug smile washed away. In my mind, Rosa Parks was an anomaly, not part of a bigger movement. A young African-American man shouted behind me and interrupted my thoughts, "Claudette Colvin!"

The crowd congratulated the young man's answer, and the emcee continued with the next quiz question, but I didn't hear it. I was lost in my own internal dialogue, weighing the newly-exposed depth of my Whiteness. Growing up White in America meant I knew relatively few names from Black history. What's more, referring to it as "Black history" is an acknowledgement that the vast majority of the history I learned is implicitly another color:

Mine.

But growing up White in America was an education that extended far beyond the classroom.

Growing up White in America meant the way I spoke at the dinner table was the same dialect I used in the classroom. I never had to learn how to code-switch if I wanted to ascend through school or business. The pastor at my church and the news anchor on TV interpreted reality for me with the same tongue I used.

Growing up White in America meant I went on road trips in college without fearing how I would be treated at a small-town gas station. The language of a green book never echoed in my car.

Growing up White in America meant I was startled when a room wasn't a White majority. Conversations with the description, "we were the only White people there" was code for dangerous. Or poor. Or uneducated. And when I was a minority in one of those dangerous hospital waiting rooms, I knew it was only temporary. The story would resolve when I returned to the safe, prosperous place which happened to be dominated by my skin color.

Growing up White in America meant I could go through my day without thinking about my race. I could wake up, drive, shop, eat, study, watch TV, and sleep without ever being reminded that I was different than the world around me. Band-Aids were always my skin type; hotel shampoos were always my hair type; food aisles were always my food type.

Growing up White in America meant that I could walk in public with four of my fellow teenaged friends without judgment. Store clerks rarely watched us judiciously. Women never switched their purse to their other arm when we walked by. Fathers never shuffled their children to stand behind them when we were close.

Growing up White in America meant that I looked like those in positions of highest influence. Scientists were overwhelmingly White like me. So were programmers. And doctors and lawyers and CEOs. White-collar professionals (pun intended) were disproportionately White like me.

I was on Mount Rushmore, not their slave ships. I was on my currency, not their auction blocks. I was on the cover of comic books, not their mug shot tabloids. I conquered. I legislated. I enforced.

Learning about Claudette Colvin didn't erase my history, nor was it redeemed. But I did grow in awareness, which is a much better meaning of growing up White in America.

Written by Chris Paavola

You can let us know what you think of this blog by clicking here and leaving a comment.

You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.

What I Didn't Know I Needed to Know

Like many others, I wasn't able to escape the craze surrounding Hamilton: An American Musical that has swept America in the last few years. Whether it's the shock and novelty of rap in a major musical, the celebration of an unsung American hero, the brilliant character development, or the themes that keep recurring in unexpected places, it seems to be finding its way into American hearts on a host of levels.

And even though I can't resist getting into a good hip-hop song, I think my favorite thing about Hamilton is the way you're invited to empathize with so many different characters. You can relate to the heroes and the villains. In fact, some might say there aren't really clear heroes or villains. There are just humans ... all of whom made some poor choices and some heroic choices. History tends to flatten these individuals as good or bad, and Hamilton brings those characters back to life and gives them dimension. Makes them all relatable. Makes you ask if you might have made the same choices in the same circumstances ... makes you question things you thought you knew about yourself.

This is really what I appreciate about any good musical, when I give myself the chance. What do I not know about the world, or myself, that I can discover by seeing through this or that character's eyes?

I've observed recently that the opportunity exists to use movies and music in the same way—to invite them to expose me to different perspectives—but I typically don't. I typically listen to music that celebrates the things I already think and feel. I typically like movies that celebrate the kind of stories I already value or paint the world in a way I already see it.

And I've realized I don't like that about myself. I am missing the chance to see the world through the eyes of the artist or director—and in doing so, to learn and to grow. To bump into ideas and experiences and perspectives I wasn't aware of. To learn things I didn't know I needed to know.

I say I don't like to spend time around ideas and people that reinforce what I already think, but I don't always act on that. Sometimes it might be that I don't know where or how to look for those artistic expressions outside the circles I already walk in. But I appreciate contemporary art in all its forms as something that can break through my current viewpoints and stretch me farther.

And I'd like to do that more—I'd like to invite more art into my life with the purpose of letting it show me things I didn't know I needed to understand.

Do you use art to expand your mind? Or to reinforce what you already think? Or do you invite art into your life for a totally different purpose?

Written by Megan Panarusky

You can let us know what you think by clicking here and leaving a comment.

You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.

"Take a Chance on Me!"

A friend of mine who is in the job market just shared a bit of frustration with me: almost every position that is advertised, he said, is requiring 3-5 years of experience. My friend looked me in the eye and asked, point blank with a bit of despair, "How am I supposed to get any experience if I can't get hired in the first place?"

A good question.

My friend's experience brought back my own memories of job hunting over the years. I had faced the same problem. Thankfully, at various times, people took a chance on me, and I was able to get that precious on-the-job experience.

Requiring 3-5 years of experience seems like those who are hiring are really looking for candidates who won't require a lot of handholding, on-the-job training, or a significant amount of oversight. In other words, it sounds like the those who are in leadership—the ones to whom the employee would directly report—are aiming for some level of certainty and control. After all, were they to hire someone who couldn't hack it, their own position might be threatened due to a failure of leadership.

But what if leadership of the best sort is just the kind that leaves a lot of space for failure? What if leadership means leaders take on a significant amount of responsibility for raising up those around them to meet the demands of the job? What if "a job well done" in this context is the job that is accomplished collaboratively, by people who are relying on each other because they form a network of gifts, talents, and skills that are shared among everyone, even if everyone does not possess the same ones as all the others?

Leadership in this sense would be a kind of weak leadership. The leader, whoever that person is, would know what needs to get done and what it takes to do it. He or she would know they are incapable of doing the job alone. Perhaps this leader could only do just a facet of the necessary tasks to complete the job. That makes him or her vulnerable, putting them in need of others. It seems to me that this would prompt a different approach to leadership—something like leading weakly.

Leading weakly is just a name for what I think good leaders really do. Good leaders know their weaknesses, deficiencies, gaps in their learning, understanding, and abilities. They also know that they need others to make up for these things. Furthermore, as leaders, they know the abilities that others have, and they encourage, promote, upbuild, and direct those they lead so that, as a network or team, whatever challenge is set before them can be accomplished.

I'm struck here by a unique story about Jesus. He was a leader of a band of disciples. He knew full well that what the future held for Him, so He commissioned those disciples to carry on His work. But the striking thing is that He commissioned a bunch of inexperienced, untrained, feeble, and mistake-prone humans to do something that it seems like only a God could do. Interestingly enough, however, He did it without worry or concern. He was not some kind of micro-manager who interfered at every level of the process to be sure things got done His way. Rather, He was really quite hands-off.

I'm reminded in this sense of a quote my wife likes to use, the origins of which I'm unaware: "God does not call the qualified; He qualifies the called." It strikes me that this perspective offers a leadership principle that pictures leadership from a weak, rather than strong and confident, perspective.

What if, as we find ourselves in positions of leadership, we reflectively spend time knowing our weaknesses and our needs, hiring those who have the potential to supplement our deficiencies, and build teams that are made up of people who have complementary gifts, skills, and talents? Then we could spend our time as leaders supporting them, investing in them, caring more about their success than our own, and working together with all of them to achieve mutually beneficial goals.

I'm astonished when I'm reminded of it, but it seems as if this is exactly what Jesus did. If you believe He's Lord of the universe and Creator of all things, well then, He doesn't need any help getting His mission accomplished. Yet He chose to involve others, none of whom had 3-5 years of experience. And they changed the world.

Can we learn something from His approach?

Written by Chad Lakies

What's been your experience with leaders and management over the years? Were there any standouts for you—men or women who proved fully capable and yet were interested in seeing you grow as an employee?

On the flip side, have you had people over you that left you scratching your head, wondering how in the world they got to that position?

You can let us know what you think by clicking here and leaving a comment.

You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.

If I Identify as a Christian, Does It Have to Be 'All or Nothing'?

Some people associate an "all-or-nothing ultimatum" with identifying as a Christian: "You believe the entirety of the Bible and take it as fact, or none of it. There isn't room to pick and choose."

This is a big challenge for people who—by contrast—identify as Christian, but take more of a middle-ground approach on many of the issues the Bible raises.

On one hand, I get it. Religion isn't Chipotle: you don't get to customize your order and get something completely different than the patron behind you ... or do you?

Like most children who grew up attending church, I took all of what I was taught as fact. The stories of apples, snakes, arks, and crowns of thorns swam around in my thoughts. As I closed my eyes each night, I drew comfort from these stories.

As I got older, I was faced with contradictions between what I had come to believe and what I was experiencing. I began to doubt. In all honesty, this doubt brought along with it an enormous amount of guilt.

The first time my faith came into question was during a 6th-grade mythology lesson. As a society, the ancient Greeks had created gods to help make sense of the unknown. These gods were blamed for misfortune or worshiped for blessings. The idea of creating tales to help cope with unexplained events brought comfort into a situation that was previously frightening.

The concept of stories explaining the unknown was a part of my own faith background, too.

The second time I examined my identity as a Christian was near the end of college. I attended a church that was a different denomination than the one I grew up attending. They still used a Bible though. So how different could it be? I left in shock about not only how differently the sermon was approached, but how the meaning in the words had changed for me.

It became apparent that the Bible was being interpreted in a number of ways to fit a purpose, or even a specific agenda.

As a consequence of this experience, I found it difficult to see the Bible as factual. My opinion was a fact is not interpretable. You shouldn't be able to read the same passage and draw individualized conclusions from it.

Overwhelmingly, I had the urge to find fault in all of it.

As the years have passed, I still find comfort in the faith I had as a child. I have allowed myself to accept the Bible for what I believe it is: a wonderful guide for life, yet still subjective to the reader.

After openly talking with others, I have found I'm not alone. People might not use the phrasing "pick and choose," but they have found other ways to meet in the middle when it comes to the Bible and its rich selection of narrative.

I have found my own way to believe. I personally don't need the approval of other religions or institutions; I need only the approval of God. I will find what I think is good, and in the good, there will be God or whatever he/she may be called.

I think a middle ground can exist. It just takes people realizing their own way can't always be 100 percent right. Finding faults in other people and their interpretations is easy, but taking the time to understand each other's thoughts and ideas—and recognizing that just because they're different doesn't necessarily mean one of us is wrong—would leave us all much better off in the end.

Written by Alisha Wittstruck

Interesting. What's your take on the Bible and inerrancy and literal and figurative meanings and how we read it and what it means to believe in it?

You can let us know what you think about this by clicking here and leaving a comment.

You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.

When Your Parenting is Put to the Test

In a few weeks, my son will be on his way to college. At such a time, lots of parents take stock. (Just Google "tips for parents of college students," or look for online essays on the topic).

I'm a bundle of nerves, sublimating my anxiety by buying sheet sets and collecting boxes for the car ride, one which will result in driving home without the boy who, now almost a man, was the second-grade "new kid on the block," the diligent Eagle Scout, and the senior high school student playing Macduff in "Macbeth."

As parents, we tend to second-guess ourselves a lot along the way to such transitional times. Did we give our kids the tools they need to succeed in work, in relationships, in the challenges they will inevitably encounter? What about the times we waved the white flag when we should have stood firm, or didn't give in and perhaps should have?

Whether you are a stay-at-home parent or have a career outside of it, you are likely to have the same question: Did I help my son or daughter navigate the rocky path to adulthood as best I could?

At such times, you might also remember how many other people and places have influenced-and will continue to influence-your child. There's the English course in junior high where he was introduced to a famous British poet for the first time, one he can't wait to study in college. There's the music class where she learned to play the trumpet: she's already signed up for marching band next summer.

Then there's the music he plays when he's hanging with his friends-and the door is closed. And let's not forget the friend who's grappling with drug addiction, the Cub Scout trip to the mountains, the Saturdays volunteering at the hospital, and the mission trip to Guatemala.

There are so many threads that weave the fabric of a person's life. As parents, ours is only one of them, though certainly one of the most important.

Your voice and influence won't cease to matter when they show up at their freshman orientation week. But they will be put to the test as perhaps never before. And in that way, the example you set may, ironically enough, be very important. Are you a person of your word? Are you generous-with praise, with money, with moral and psychological support? Are you a good friend?

Part of the fun (or so I'm trying to tell myself) of being the parent of a college student is watching what happens when you become the backbeat of your child's life, instead of the melody. I feel as though I'm cramming for a very important test ... and I'm not sure how I'll do.

Ask me in a year. I'll let you know how it goes.

Written by Elizabeth Eisenstadt Evans

A kid going off to college can be traumatic—for both the kid and the parents. If this has been an episode in your life, how did you handle it?

You can let us know what you think about this by clicking here and leaving a comment.

You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.

Gratitude—The Big and Small of It

Many of us, myself included, use the words "thank you" as carelessly as "excuse me" or "gesundheit." We tend to throw around "thanks" without necessarily giving it a thought. We say it at the Starbucks drive-thru, after opening a present, or when someone holds the door for us. But I want to talk about gratitude, and I'm not entirely sure that thanks and gratitude are as synonymous as we might think.

To be fair, I try (at least some of the time) to be genuine and sincere when expressing thanks—even in the most trivial of circumstances. I'll sometimes see people do a double-take when I do express genuine thanks. Sometimes the thank-yous that seem trivial to me, may not be to someone else.

Less ubiquitous than thanks, and assuredly far less automated, is gratitude. I think gratitude has both a macro and a micro aspect to it. My genuine gratitude towards someone could be macro to them, even though it seems micro to me.

In my estimation, micro gratitude is more closely related to the expression of thanks, but without the same impetus. For example, at this moment I'm very grateful to be on a plane pointed towards home and to my daughters who I haven't seen in a week. The sensation of gratitude and its expression are very specific and intentional. (Even more so because I almost missed my flight.) I miss my girls. This plane is getting me back to them, and therefore I'm grateful on a number of levels. The micro aspect of gratitude is also the one I'm more frequently aware of primarily because many little things happen every day for which I should be grateful.

The macro side of gratitude is a bit more nebulous (which is probably one reason we are less frequently aware of it). Still on the topic of my girls—I'm grateful for them beyond words. But I'm not always mindful of that fact, especially on no-nap days when I long for the peace of early bedtimes.

Today, for example, has been quite frustrating, with airport shenanigans, delays, and a higher-than-normal amount of bureaucratic inefficiency. All of those things combined played into my earlier expression of thanks that I'm at least now headed in the right direction. As I arrived at my gate (the second one, which required two rounds of airport security) and my ire was rising, I met a woman who had been through that same security as well as four terminal changes to be on my flight. Her cheerful expression of relief at finding the right gate finally completely shamed my experience and returned my sense of perspective.

It's a question of perspective, and true gratitude is a game-changer in that regard.

I believe it is impossible to be grateful and anxious at the same time. True gratitude tends to quickly dampen anger. If I'm being honest, and really spending some time focusing on the macro side of gratitude, things that often give me tunnel-vision (see also: stress) usually diminish in importance.

The great part about both the macro and micro sides of this is that when they're combined, they usually give me ample opportunity to realign that perspective. I can be grateful I made my flight with just one terminal change (micro), I can be grateful for my kids in general (macro), and I can also be grateful for the reason for the flight at all, which was celebrating my fifteenth wedding anniversary. I'd call that a check in both macro and micro columns.

The magnitude of those things makes my somewhat ridiculous morning gallivanting around the San Francisco airport seem quite unimportant in comparison.

Gratitude is certainly more prominent when there is an upcoming national holiday dedicated to it, as well as another one focused on gifts and giving, which also generates thankfulness (or not) for those gifts. However, during this busy season, I often find myself contemplating the nature of gratitude all year long in everyday life, rather than simply in conjunction with a holiday or even a season.

How often do I really focus on expressing gratitude—not just an automated response to a barista, a delivery guy, or the customer service rep who fielded my call—on a person who did something that merited thanks, however small. If I'm being honest, I don't do this as often as I should. I know folks who begin and/or end their days making a list of things they're grateful for, and I believe they are happier because of it.

Likewise, how often do I try and take in the view of gratitude for the large-scale things present in my life that make it what it is? Again, the answer is far less often than I should. How is it that the people I know with the most difficult situations are sometimes the most grateful for what they have? Is it privilege that makes me ungrateful?

I'll conclude by saying that I am very grateful for the opportunity to put thoughts out into the ether on this forum. If my words cause even one person to pause and consider something more deeply or in a different way, I'm grateful.

Written by Aaron Roose

Let us know what you think about gratitude's different levels (micro and macro) by clicking here and leaving a comment.

You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.

What if I'm Wrong?

During the Soviet-Afghan war (1979-1989), a group of U.S. special forces—operating undercover—were captured by Soviet special forces. On searching the U.S. soldiers, the Soviets found large amounts of U.S. dollars—funds designated for their covert mission. It was a ton of cash.

The Soviets were baffled to realize the U.S. soldiers were carrying out their mission willingly. Why would you be fighting in such a harsh, unforgiving place, when you could take all that cash and get out of there?

It was a turning point among the war-hardened team of men from the Soviet special forces. Their passports were held by their government while they were fighting in Afghanistan. They fought because they were under orders. Yet here was a bunch of guys who fought not only because they were soldiers, but because they personally believed in the ideals of their country.

This is a true story. I know one of the Soviet soldiers who was there. It changed his life and the lives of his men.

It got me thinking—what if someone told me everything I've learned about life was wrong? That my understanding of right and wrong is haywire, and what I thought was gold is essentially worthless. That my perception of reality comes from a systematic program of brainwashing.

Now imagine if you're the person that has to break this news to someone. What do you say?

"You're an idiot. You're like this because you're a product of a narrow-minded sheltered life. You have an evolutionary genetic fault that causes you to be pre-deposed to this idiocy."

Sadly, on social media these days, this approach seems to be the norm. There are plenty of folks trying to change someone else's long-held mindset (or maybe protecting their own) by bullying them online. This is especially true in the areas of politics and religion. We've entered an era of verbal warfare, thinking that words don't really inflict injury. But they do. They have led to a greater divide in this country.

An idea: what if we learned to use a posture and tone of dialogue online, instead of debate?

Some might say, "I'm absolutely certain about what I believe, so why would I need to dialogue? I just need to debate and convert people to my way of thinking." I'm not advocating for arbitration—though there's definitely a need for that on some social issues. What I'm suggesting is that we can get better at agreeing-to-disagree if we have a posture and tone of dialogue instead of debate.

Why is debate our default position? Why is it that we struggle to listen to other points of view?

In my opinion, it's because we've developed a calloused layer of pride in our culture. If someone attacks our left- or right-leaning political position, or our Christian or atheist beliefs, we don't start by assuming it's possible we could be wrong. We don't start by assuming someone else's point of view might have value. We start with, "How can they be so stupid?"

Our culture has instilled a sense of "me first." We have been taught to fight for our rights. We have been instructed to stand on our own two feet. God forbid you should attack my beliefs; I'll come out fighting.

I'm not suggesting we need to let go of our strongly held, time-tested beliefs. I'd be a liar if I said I didn't want everyone to adopt my worldview, and I'm quite happy to debate it with you. But maybe if we started conversations with a tone and posture of dialogue, instead of debate, we might actually learn something from each other instead of engaging in verbal warfare.

In the Bible, there's story about some religious orthodox Jews who brought a woman to Jesus who had been caught in an affair. According to their law, she needed to be stoned. Jesus doesn't disagree with them, but essentially says "go ahead, just make sure the first person that throws a stone at this woman doesn't have anything sinful in their life." They all walked away without throwing a stone.

It always seems to be the people that have an egocentric approach to life—whether it's politics or religion—that are demanding a public stoning. Something needs to change.

That's why we started THRED. Yes, we're a Christian organization and have strongly held beliefs about life and faith. But we see the need to replace debate with dialogue. We may not agree on whether there's a God, but maybe we can work together for justice in our communities. We may not agree on how the world came into being, but maybe we can work together to protect the environment and restore the beauty of the earth we live in. Maybe there are some things we can agree on that can change this world regardless of our differing motivations.

Of course, if I can convince you of my worldview, I will try. But I want to learn to listen with a posture that says, "I am willing to truly listen to your point of view and learn from you." To have this posture, there needs to be a layer of humility. It may not be the automatic reaction like our pride is ... but maybe that can change over time.

Written by Andrew Fitzgerald

For many of us, it's easy to adopt a different persona online. Do you try to stay true to who you are when you're conversing online?

Do you take liberties online that you might not in face-to-face conversation?

You can let us know your thoughts on using social media by clicking here and leaving a comment.

You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.

Do You Pray Like a Preschooler?

Have you ever been in a restaurant when a customer doesn't get what they want, and they completely freak out? Are you sometimes that customer? It's certainly a tense and awkward situation when this happens. You're sitting there listening to the person yell that they ordered cheese on their burger, and somehow the meager slice they received just didn't cut the mustard.

As awkward as it can be, I'm never surprised. This is the culture we have set up for ourselves: "I have money. I want to spend it on what I want, and you must give it to me. And if you don't give me what I want, I have the right to act like a three-year-old who needs a nap."

It doesn't surprise me that this is the way we often treat prayer. And it's not limited to Christian prayer. I hear people from different walks of faith talk about sending out positive energy so they can get what they want. It's like a magical wish list. We add small things we think might be nice. Then we add grand things just in case God is feeling generous. Then we add things we actually want in the middle of all that. Then if God doesn't give us what we want, we get mad and wonder what's the use.

I've even seen something like this on a certain evangelist's website: post your prayer, and if two or more people like your post—and of course you have enough faith—then God will give you what you want. Sometimes you see people praying for a real need. They are praying for someone they love to be healed of cancer. Or they are praying to get a job and not become homeless. I even saw someone's request for more faith.

But in the middle of these heart-wrenching needs that you want to pray for, there are other prayers. You might find some disgruntled soul who no longer likes his Porsche and wants something better. Or they might want a house with a few more bedrooms. Now I'm not saying you can't pray for expensive things, but are these prayers selfish?

The problem with having this mentality toward God and prayer is what happens when you don't get what you want? Does it mean you don't have faith? Does is mean God doesn't love you? Treating prayer, which is a gift from God, in this way is dangerous. It can lead people away from God—unnecessarily—if it doesn't appear that He is listening or responding to their requests.

Prayer shouldn't be this complicated. We shouldn't use it to try to convince God to grant us our every wish. It's better to just pray, and trust God to answer how He will. The best example of this is Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane praying before He gives His life for the sins of the world. And as He's sweating blood from the intense pressure, He prays to His Heavenly Father to take this burden away. But He concludes the prayer by saying, "Yet not My will be done, but Yours."

Jesus has complete confidence that whatever takes place will work out for the best.

As I said earlier, prayer is a gift. It's a time when we can have a holy conversation with our loving God. He cares about our wants but more than that, He cares about our needs. So the better approach is to use prayer as a way to give everything that is weighing on our hearts to God, and trust that He will respond in the way that is best for us.

This means that God might say no to your request to win the Powerball—even if you promise to give more money to the church if you win. 😊

It's easy to make our prayers grand wish lists of things we think we can't live without. Do yours resemble that kind of prayer sometimes? Do you notice it when they do?

If you pray, why do you do it? And what do you hope to get out of it?

Written by Micah Glenn

You can let us know your thoughts on prayer by clicking here and leaving a comment.

You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.

My Actions & My Intent

In recent years, I've noticed a trend: my friends and acquaintances have been justifying their not-so-great actions with the phrase, "but I'm not a bad person."

To me, that is a particularly nondescript way of defining one's self. Because at any given time, the sum of the things that do define you will be far smaller than the sum of the things that don't. I am a 27-year-old man. I am not a 26-year-old, 25-year-old, 53-year-old etc.

Doesn't it make more sense to define yourself by stating what/who you are? In other words, wouldn't it be easier to say, "I am a good person."

But therein lies the problem. That statement would force us to confront the truth: we don't feel that we are inherently good. And to make that statement and to be lying in doing so would be, well, ironic.

So, how do we define what it means to be a "good person"? That question is probably a bit too lofty for a blog post. Therefore, I will pose another: is it a worthwhile endeavor to attempt to define what it means to be good?

When I began this post, I asked a number of colleagues that question. Invariably, we all concluded that the answer was likely "Yes," but we could not put a finger on why.

In my opinion, we as humans have a unique focus on intent. It's not usually a person's actions alone that define them for us. We care about the things that led up to the action. That's why whenever a mass shooting occurs the news anchor remarks about the defendant's facial expression as they are sentenced, and we learn about the pre-existing conditions that person was living in. It is unnerving if that person sits emotionless or if it becomes apparent that there was nothing remarkable about their life before the incident. Meanwhile, we are relieved if they are repentant.

This same instinct is what allows us to forgive a child who breaks our favorite vase or writes on the wall. Likewise, this is what allows us to give our best friend a pass when they say something that offends us. We are concerned with the hearts of our cohabitants, and we understand nuance on a fundamental level.

Additionally, when we look introspectively, we attempt to define ourselves in regard to this amorphous set of values that we have been establishing internally our whole lives. And, well ... I think it's worth it. There are moments when we cut ourselves some slack because we know we don't mean to devalue our relationships when we flake out at the last minute. In that moment, our intent matters in helping define ourselves to ourselves. "I'm not a bad person."

Now we are back where we started. As I stated earlier, defining what it means to be a good person in its entirety is a fool's errand. But it does seem as though we are always doing so in part. Based on the previous example (flaking out on your friend), we see that you could hardly call yourself a good person just because your intent wasn't malicious. In this way, not being a bad person is passive.

But in order to be considered (even if it is only to some degree) a good person, you'd likely have to do something positive. Perhaps something like ... showing up? This is just my opinion, but it seems that intent alone cannot define us either. It must be paired with action.

I know these examples will be cliché, but they make the point. Mother Theresa would have just been a lady with nice thoughts if she hadn't acted in Calcutta. Kobe Bryant would have likely been another dad with unfulfilled dreams if he hadn't gone to the gym daily to work on his shot. See what I mean? Actions paired with intent define us.

The reason I say all this is to affirm something that I started this post saying. It is important to consider what it means to be a good person.

Consideration is defined on dictionary.com as

(noun)

1: careful thought, typically over a period of time

2: thoughtfulness and sensitivity toward others

Consideration spurs intent. Intent leads to actions. Actions become habits. And I would argue that habits, given time, end up weaving themselves into our legacy (the way people think of/define us). Being defined as a good person doesn't happen in a vacuum. It happens in relationship. When we look in the mirror and ask ourselves, "Am I a good person?", we have to consider how our actions/habits generally affect others.

And while we may never agree on the full definition of what it means to be a "good person," it's important to consider it. Because consideration can prompt change. Change is the agent of growth. And growth may just be the purpose of life.

Written by Jon Christopher

You can let us know your thoughts by clicking here and leaving a comment.

You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.

Old Friends, New Friends, and the Lonely Spaces In-Between

My family made four cross-country moves before I turned 18. I don't remember the move from California to Michigan because I was just a toddler. The move from Michigan to Illinois was a mixture of excitement for something new and sadness because I quickly missed my friends of eight years. The next two moves, when I was 11 and 16, turned my already naturally introverted personality into that of a human frightened of meeting new people and who reveled in close friendships with a select few.

When I got married, I was convinced that I was done with moving. When my husband and I finally settled into our home in Indianapolis, I felt like we were in our "forever" place. We might eventually need a new house, but we would live in the city until at least retirement. I would never have to go through the painfully awkward experience of moving to a new city again.

We celebrated my 30th birthday with our closest friends and our newborn daughter. The next day, my loving husband, who knew the emotional scars that remained from moves during my adolescence, informed me that his boss wanted him to transfer to a new city, two hours away.

I spent the next year trying to mentally prepare myself for the painful task of picking up and starting over.

A year later, we packed up our belongings and moved away from one of my sisters, friends that were like family, a church community that I loved, work colleagues who made my job easy, and a place where I felt I belonged. As soon as we moved, I dove into working on our foreclosure house purchase and grad school classes to distract myself from the fact that I wasn't where I wanted to be. I wasn't very fun company, and I'm thankful that my husband actually stuck around to see me come out of the deep loneliness that settled in.

I reached one of my lowest points shortly after our move, while I was trying to find the bank that was "hiding" in plain sight on a main road just a half-mile from our house. I eventually found it after calling my husband and explaining my frustrations though angry tears. I don't know what exactly was the final straw, but something snapped then and I sat in my car at the ATM, my husband on the other end of the phone, my toddler daughter in the backseat, and screamed the Cadillac of profanities.

I am not proud of that moment of human weakness.

As an introvert, I treasure rare moments alone, the times when I am allowed to just take a step back from everyone and everything and be with my own thoughts, interruption-free. I know that some people do not understand the difference between happily being alone and being lonely, but over the years I have learned that they are two entirely different states of being. Alone time refreshes me; loneliness slowly destroys me from the inside out.

Of course, my introverted tendencies don't always help me cure my loneliness. In my adult life, my husband and I have moved five times, four of them fairly significant distances. Three of those four significant instances, I moved into situations where I already knew people and had some kind of initial connection in my work and church life. Those connections helped to build our community, no matter how small. In the move from Indianapolis, that was not the case. I got along great with my grad school classmates and fellow TAs, but I wasn't hanging out with them outside of our small basement office. My family tried multiple churches over the course of two years before we finally settled into a church we liked. But we still failed to make connections like the ones we had when we lived in Indianapolis. When our son was born a year after we moved, I missed the community I had when our daughter was born two years earlier. I longed for a playdate that included babies sleeping on the floor, while friends and I talked about the joys and struggles of motherhood.

My four moves growing up taught me that friendships after moving can remain, as long as one is willing to work on it. But in order to emotionally survive a change in location, I needed to build new communities. While Facebook and text messages help me stay connected to geographically distant friends, they are no replacement for Steak 'n Shake nights with my girlfriends and dinners with laughter, good food, and a glass or two of wine.

As a culture, we are getting really good at being connected, but we are miserable at connecting. We need to be better at noticing loneliness and connecting to those who just need someone to notice them and listen to what they have to say-it's a difficult task to open our social circle to someone new, but it can make a critical difference. For example, when we first moved to Texas, our family spent six weeks living in our 30-foot travel trailer while we waited for our house purchase to go through. A college acquaintance invited us over for dinner to get us out of the camper. That single invite led to Easter dinners, impromptu BBQ nights, and a Thanksgiving camping trip. It was the beginning of genuine friendship.

We are social creatures. Some of us need bigger communities than others, but we all need our own "tribe." I love social media because it keeps me connected to friends and family across the globe. But on a bad day, sometimes I just need someone to say yes to a couple hours hanging out at Starbucks while I nurse a Java Chip Frappuccino.

And maybe now that I am finally rebuilding my own tribe, I can occasionally step out of my introverted self to help someone else find theirs.

Written by Sarah Styf

You can let us know your thoughts by clicking here and leaving a comment.

You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.

Is Nature All There Is?

Is nature all there is? When you look out at the cosmos or stop to contemplate the beautiful designs of a flower abloom in spring—do you imagine that all of it is the product of a purely natural process, or that perhaps there is something more going on here? Something deeper? Something grander? Something perhaps more designed than we might recognize?

When it comes to these big questions about evolution and creation, design and the origins of the universe, there are generally two major camps: naturalism and supernaturalism.

On the one hand, naturalism is defined by the Oxford English Dictionary as the "idea or belief that only natural (as opposed to supernatural or spiritual) laws and forces operate in the world." Those who adhere to philosophical naturalism (so-called "naturalists") make the claim that nature is all there is—nothing but natural laws and material forces are at work in the world, govern its behavior, or alter the universe at various stages of development and decay.

On the other hand, supernaturalism is the philosophical claim that the natural world cannot simply be explained by the laws of nature or scientific naturalism alone. Instead, there is a spiritual world beyond nature (super-nature) that can include anything relating to deities, ghosts, the human soul, or other non-material entities. As one can readily see, supernaturalists exist along a spiritual spectrum and can include individuals ranging from astrologists to Christians, Zoroastrians to the spiritually inclined, but not religiously defined.

In general, however, those who believe in the beyond challenge the naturalist view that nature is the sum of reality's parts. Instead, they argue that this is an intentional universe alive with hints of the divine.

What do you think?

It can be hard to deny the benefits that philosophical naturalism, and the science and technology based on its principles, have brought to our world. Medicinal breakthroughs, advances in travel, and gadgets for entertainment are just a few of the services science provides.

However, naturalism has its weaknesses. At times it can rob the universe of its wonder or leave individuals without a place to turn to in their deepest and darkest moments. Furthermore, its promises of bringing health, hope, and wholeness to the world fall short as humanity continues to struggle with its doubts, despair, and deadly selfishness (with all this said, I do not want to claim that naturalism necessarily leads to utter despair or global social meltdown, supernaturalists struggle with the same issues).

Furthermore, naturalism suffers from rational problems. For example, if nature is all there is, how can that claim be tested empirically? If there is nothing outside of nature to test it how can we be confident, according to the scientific method, of our hypothesis that what we see in nature is what we get and nothing more?

Perhaps most worryingly, naturalism can, at times, discount those who take stock of the supernatural and believe in its existence and power. While I am not here to stage an all-out defense of the supernatural worldview or to engage in a serious attack against philosophical naturalism, I am concerned with how a naturalistic viewpoint can sometimes reduce the universe to its elemental parts and perhaps miss its most inspirational aspects—that which lies beyond our senses and scientific measurements.

I believe there is something more to our universe. The very brilliance and depth of the cosmos, the intricacies and intimacies of flowers or the smallest birds, the grandeur of natural spaces that take our breath away, or the awe-inspiring work of the human body and mind as it reacts to, and seeks to work with, the world around it.

I appreciate the natural world. I marvel at the advancement of science and technology and am moved by the possibilities of human discovery. And yet, I remain humble to the fact that there is something more, something divine, about the world we live, move, and have our being in.

Perhaps what I am encouraging here is a consideration. An invitation, maybe. That when we turn our gaze to the natural world and wonder at its majesty, we might also consider what is actually not far beyond the natural world—the divine, the holy, the supernatural.

It is my hope that we might even entertain that it is through these natural things that we might be able to seek the supernatural. Even more, that we might perhaps feel our way toward that "something more" that is at work in our world—if only our minds, hearts, and philosophical postures are open to it.

Written by Ken Chitwood

With the recent image taken of a black hole, the outer edges of our universe are again in the news. What do you think about when you look at the heavens? Do you see the hand and mind of God at work? Is there some particular combination of forces at work where, maybe, God started the process, but it now runs of its own accord, without the need for divine influence or interference?

You can let us know your thoughts by clicking here and leaving a comment.

You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.

The Art of Becoming Politically Mature

The political landscape has changed. And I'm not just talking about the results of another election. I mean that the attitude and atmosphere surrounding politics in our country has shifted dramatically.

Growing up, I dreamed of pursuing a career in politics. It was the age of The West Wing, when being a part of the American government was something prestigious, a great way to serve our country and work for real change.

But it doesn't seem that way anymore. We now live in a world of Scandal and House of Cards. Politics is now seen by many as a necessary evil. National dialogue often sounds more like a toxic relationship than an open conversation. State politics (at least where I live) are a mess. Even races for local government have become combative.

But recently I got a phone call. It was from a college friend who is running as an independent for a seat in his state legislature. He was calling to ask for prayer, encouragement, and financial support.

As we talked, I shared with him how disillusioned I've felt. He listened. And then he shared his hope.

He said he understood my frustrations. But unlike me, his frustrations led him to get more involved.

In his words, he is running as an independent, "not as a way to turn my back on the other parties, but because I really think I can help build bridges. We all share the same concerns. Now we have to do the hard work of finding the solutions."

He went on to share his heart and his hopes, what he's learned from being involved, and where he has already seen change as a result of doing the hard work of crossing party lines and looking for common ground. For him, politics is still a way to serve his neighbors and work for the common good.

That one conversation changed my whole outlook. Why? Because my friend had painted a picture for me of what it looks like to be politically mature—what it looks like to stay engaged, even when the political landscape looks bleak.

And, he helped me to re-engage.

Since our conversation, I have picked up the newspaper again, started reading books about politics, and begun to pay more attention to both national and local political races.

Along the way, I've learned a couple of lessons about how to stay engaged even when my candidate or party doesn't come out on top. Maybe they can help you, too.

Lesson 1: There's Always Another Election.

It's very possible that the candidate that I'm pulling for will lose. But I'm realizing that's okay. Just because they lose this time, or my preferred party doesn't come out on top, there is always another election. I have the great gift of being able to vote ... again and again and again. So, I'm committing to not giving up. To stay informed and keep voting.

Lesson 2: My Representative Still Represents ME.

Even if my top pick didn't win, I need to remember that the person who now occupies that seat is still my representative. As such, he or she answers to me. So, I need give my elected officials a call. I need to write their offices. Show up at their local events. Let them know what issues concern me and ask them to seriously consider the impact their position will make on their constituents.

Lesson 3: Read. Listen. Learn.

And I'm not talking about checking in for 60 seconds to my favorite 24-hour news network. Really read. Yes, read deeply and from a variety of perspectives on the issues. I need to get a couple of newspaper subscriptions and take in what is going on over my morning cup of coffee. Furthermore, I need to learn to listen, to tune in to longer conversations on the radio or television in which the candidates and officials themselves are sounding off at length about their positions and the issues that they see as central. I can't let someone else do my thinking for me. I need to learn as much as I can and weigh my options.

Lesson 4: Pursue GREAT Conversations.

I've started opening my door to every person handing out a political flyer in my neighborhood. Why? Because it is a chance to learn more about the candidates and have some awesome conversations about the issues that matter. I'm getting to know people on both sides of the aisle. So my encouragement to you is this: don't close yourself off from having those conversations. If you get an invitation to a local meeting of the Democratic or Republican parties, GO! Hang out with them. Ask good questions. Learn about the positions and encourage them to consider other perspectives. Showing up can have more of an influence than we realize. Let's open the door, take the phone call, and accept the invitation.

Lesson 5: Run for Office.

Yes. Some of us should consider it. That is what I admire most about my friend. He believes he can make a difference and decided to run for office. Sure, he might lose, but there's always the next election. The important thing that he taught me is that politics isn't a game to win. It's about leading change well and realizing that sometimes, just by running, you can shift the conversation and highlight issues that wouldn't have otherwise been addressed. So if you are feeling inspired to run, then go for it! Your voice matters. Use it well.

In short, these are just a few of the lessons that are helping me to become more politically mature. My friend gave me a great gift in reminding me that we still have incredible opportunities to make a positive impact on our world.

Written by Nick Price

You can let us know your thoughts on all things political by clicking here and leaving a comment.

You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.

Failing Friendships and Learning to be Kind

I've heard it said that, even more than their lessons, educators teach who they are as people. Students learn about their teachers' passions, annoyances, available buttons to push, and amount of care they hold for their pupils-perhaps even more than they learn about their coursework. As a teacher, I have seen this happen. As a former student, I've learned that the most important person a student can learn about is oneself.

Of course, I recognize that academic lessons in school are necessary. I still remember the pride I felt on the day I mastered spelling that word: necessary. I feel a sense of pride each time I spell it correctly, with only one "c" but a double "s." There are also personal lessons to be learned that have a huge impact on a child's future. Failure is a frustrating but useful tool to guide a student's holistic education.

Growing up, the walls of my classrooms and libraries were covered in motivational posters about how Michael Jordan was cut from his high school basketball team, or how Thomas Edison failed "x" number of times before he successfully lit a lightbulb. The details of those stories may be more myth than truth, but the lesson was clear: "Don't let failure hold you back. Don't give up. Keep trying."

Failures are not fun, but they can be valid and helpful experiences in shaping who a person becomes. Looking back, certain childhood failures might not seem as monumental as they did at the time. However, I certainly learned more from a few notable negative experiences than I did from any lecture. Memorable failures from my school days taught me how to trust my young self and motivated me to grow into the person I hoped to become.

During my adolescence, I experienced one such memorable "failure." It involved a good friend. Those were the days of embroidery thread friendship bracelets and halves of heart necklaces, so she was my best friend. In typical teen fashion, we started to drift apart as she became closer to a different friend who would replace me as "best." I remember feeling confused and a little desperate, willing to do whatever it took to win back my friend. Changing my hairstyle or going to parties didn't help. Laughing at dirty jokes or trying to like sports didn't help. Not even pretending I knew the band Nine Inch Nails helped. Honestly, I was probably pretty unconvincing on that one.

This all seems ridiculous now, but the fact that I couldn't hold onto a best friend made me feel like a gigantic failure. I stupidly loved decades-old music and had hair that was impossible to de-frizz. I couldn't succeed at being a girl or a teen-least of all a friend that people wanted to be with. Most of us remember sad and lonely times like that from school. It felt like I was forever doomed to be friendless and worthless.

One day the alliances of friendship suddenly shifted again. Thankfully, this opened my eyes to the fact that my friendship problem did not rest with who I was as a person. I realized how incredibly unhappy I had been pretending to be someone I wasn't. It didn't work anyway, so what was the point? In time, my world expanded, and I learned that there are many opportunities to make friends. First and foremost, I needed to be comfortable and happy with who I was. It was okay to trust myself to be me. I might not always be happy. I might sometimes be lonely. But I had the freedom and peace of knowing that a fake identity is not satisfying.

Sometime later, I had a much better friend. She was unendingly fun and truly kind. We made mountains of memories that I treasure (although they would be pure nonsense to anyone else). With her I could definitely be my odd-music-loving, frizzy, dorky self. But there was a moment in this friendship that taught me that "being yourself" shouldn't come without warning.

We were both smart, but very silly. She was better at math than I was, but she was a horrible speller. I knew that she was sensitive about her spelling. It had come up in discussion many times. I still cringe a little when I remember the day our group was talking and teasing each other and people started making fun of my friend for a basic word that she had misspelled. "You can't spell worth crap," a friend said. To which I immediately chimed in, "She can't even SPELL crap." Beat.

It wasn't a big deal in the world of insults. I only saw surprise and a tiny bit of hurt on her face for a second before she started laughing with everyone else. It was funny, but that had never before been the tone of our friendship. We didn't talk to each other that way. We told each other that we were beautiful and wonderful.

She might not even remember that moment, but I will never forget it. It was when I realized that I wasn't always "nice." I must have been delusional, but I truly didn't know until that conversation that I could be purposefully unkind to a friend. "Nice, kind, and sweet" was who I was. People had always described me this way. No one had ever said that I would be willing to betray my friend (even in a small way) for a joke. The point really wasn't that I made fun of her spelling. The point was that, in my heart, I knew that I had made this silly joke on purpose for attention to get a laugh. I knew that it would be at the expense of her feelings. I had failed my friend.

Failure is okay. It helps us grow. Michael Jordan and Thomas Edison's experiences attest to this. Teachers believe this. When pressed, even most students will admit that it's true. Frizzy-haired, smart-mouthed girls everywhere should take heart. Failure, though painful at the time, is often beneficial in the long run. I am thankful that I know how to be me. My mouth has gotten me into less trouble than it could have because of the lesson in kindness that I learned. Where would be if we lived our lives free of failure? Perhaps without any great success. Learning from failures helps us to grow in honesty as well as compassion. Those are two of the greatest successes that I can imagine.

Written by Elizabeth Rehwaldt

You can let us know what you think by by clicking here and leaving a comment.

You can let the folks at THRED know what you think by clicking here.