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.
Tuesday, May 28, 2019
Tuesday, May 14, 2019
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.
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.
Tuesday, April 30, 2019
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.
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.
Tuesday, April 16, 2019
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.
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.
Tuesday, April 2, 2019
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.
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.
Tuesday, March 19, 2019
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.
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.
Tuesday, March 5, 2019
What We Hate Most in Others
"You hate most in others what you hate most in yourself," Mr. Baxter said, as he looked around my seventh-grade class. Then he focused his gaze on one of my fellow students in particular. She knew those words were meant for her.
I saw her tense up. She did not take his words kindly.
Why? Because instead of allowing for her to judge another pupil with impunity, Mr. Baxter turned the tables and pushed her into a moment of honest (and most likely scathing) self-reflection.
You hate most in others what you hate most in yourself. Ouch!
I don't quite remember what it was that my classmate was upset about, or what aspect of her personality Mr. Baxter's words called her to give consideration to, but for me, the quote stuck. In fact, it has become a kind of "life axiom."
Legitimate self-reflection can be hard. It can hurt. It can burn our egos and slight our psyches. In the end, however, using axioms like Mr. Baxter's can help us have a principled view of ourselves and a more grace-filled view of the world.
Mr. Baxter's adage has become that for me. That's why when I find myself critiquing, condemning, or commenting on the shortcomings of others, his words often give me pause.
They interrupt my self-righteous disapproval and judgment of others and invite me to think about what it is that I find so annoying or aggravating about them. Moreover, they guide me into honest self-evaluation and reflection.
When I am upset with someone who I think is overreacting to a situation and stressing everyone else out, I pause to reflect on how I can often be found doing the same with my family and friends. When I think people need to take a "chill pill" and not be so worried, I try to give them some grace and note that I often find my anxiety hard to control and can be a ridiculous stress-ball over some of the simplest things in the world. When I find someone's evaluations of my work objectionable or mean-spirited, I stop and think about how some people feel that way when I level my critique in their direction.
Not letting my reflection end there I try to do a conscious assessment of my attitudes and postures toward colleagues and coworkers and appraise my relationships with friends and family.
In this way, Mr. Baxter's axiom helps me lead a more examined life, which deepens my experience of life in general. Best of all, coming clean about my character flaws, habitual shortcomings, and many missteps helps me learn how to be more merciful toward others and, in the end, more forgiving of myself.
I find this type of self-evaluation truly helpful but be warned: this axiom can be a double-edged sword.
Self-reflection and criticism are healthy disciplines, but they can turn toxic if used as a bludgeon against our own psyches. Self-evaluation and growth can be painful for mere mortals like you and me, especially if we don't give ourselves some grace. Without that, we are only left with the hate. The loathing. The self-criticism and censure. Then we are miserable, endlessly evaluating everything we do and feeling worthless, discouraged, and hopeless.
The trick is to not let valid self-evaluation turn into unfounded self-hate. That is sometimes easier said than done.
After all, with Mr. Baxter's axiom we are evaluating what we hate-in others and, ultimately, in ourselves.
To avoid the trap of self-hate, I try to turn that dislike into energy for change. It motivates me to assess myself honestly, to make a plan for persisting in healthy habits and disciplines to replace the negative ones, and to realize that in the long run wrath against myself isn't a way to wellness.
Instead of letting self-evaluation become a constant barometer of our success or failure in making ourselves a perfect person that we would admire, like, and generally want to be around, it should eventually lead us to be softhearted toward ourselves.
That's really why Mr. Baxter's axiom is so healthy for me. Just like I can't change what I hate in others, I also find it really difficult to change what I hate in myself. I've found some success and made some better choices here and there. Self-improvement is definitely possible.
But, when it comes down to it, wellness is not the same as perfection.
Wellness and healthy self-evaluation mean having an honest, but compassionate, view of others and ourselves-faults, failures, foibles, and all-and letting our hate dissolve in the face of forgiveness and charity.
So, may you use axioms like Mr. Baxter's (or your own collection of truisms) to enter into a process of honest self-appraisal. May this lead you to wholeness and health. But, may you not get caught up in self-hate. Instead, may you change what you can and give yourself grace with the rest.
May you give grace to others as you also give grace to yourself.
Written by Ken Chitwood
The old expression "Hate the sin, love the sinner" can be applied to ourselves as well. Do you find it hard to forgive yourself for past blunders?
Do you find yourself turning the flamethrower on those who commit the same errors you do?
Is there hope for self through the love of Christ?
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.
I saw her tense up. She did not take his words kindly.
Why? Because instead of allowing for her to judge another pupil with impunity, Mr. Baxter turned the tables and pushed her into a moment of honest (and most likely scathing) self-reflection.
You hate most in others what you hate most in yourself. Ouch!
I don't quite remember what it was that my classmate was upset about, or what aspect of her personality Mr. Baxter's words called her to give consideration to, but for me, the quote stuck. In fact, it has become a kind of "life axiom."
Legitimate self-reflection can be hard. It can hurt. It can burn our egos and slight our psyches. In the end, however, using axioms like Mr. Baxter's can help us have a principled view of ourselves and a more grace-filled view of the world.
Mr. Baxter's adage has become that for me. That's why when I find myself critiquing, condemning, or commenting on the shortcomings of others, his words often give me pause.
They interrupt my self-righteous disapproval and judgment of others and invite me to think about what it is that I find so annoying or aggravating about them. Moreover, they guide me into honest self-evaluation and reflection.
When I am upset with someone who I think is overreacting to a situation and stressing everyone else out, I pause to reflect on how I can often be found doing the same with my family and friends. When I think people need to take a "chill pill" and not be so worried, I try to give them some grace and note that I often find my anxiety hard to control and can be a ridiculous stress-ball over some of the simplest things in the world. When I find someone's evaluations of my work objectionable or mean-spirited, I stop and think about how some people feel that way when I level my critique in their direction.
Not letting my reflection end there I try to do a conscious assessment of my attitudes and postures toward colleagues and coworkers and appraise my relationships with friends and family.
In this way, Mr. Baxter's axiom helps me lead a more examined life, which deepens my experience of life in general. Best of all, coming clean about my character flaws, habitual shortcomings, and many missteps helps me learn how to be more merciful toward others and, in the end, more forgiving of myself.
I find this type of self-evaluation truly helpful but be warned: this axiom can be a double-edged sword.
Self-reflection and criticism are healthy disciplines, but they can turn toxic if used as a bludgeon against our own psyches. Self-evaluation and growth can be painful for mere mortals like you and me, especially if we don't give ourselves some grace. Without that, we are only left with the hate. The loathing. The self-criticism and censure. Then we are miserable, endlessly evaluating everything we do and feeling worthless, discouraged, and hopeless.
The trick is to not let valid self-evaluation turn into unfounded self-hate. That is sometimes easier said than done.
After all, with Mr. Baxter's axiom we are evaluating what we hate-in others and, ultimately, in ourselves.
To avoid the trap of self-hate, I try to turn that dislike into energy for change. It motivates me to assess myself honestly, to make a plan for persisting in healthy habits and disciplines to replace the negative ones, and to realize that in the long run wrath against myself isn't a way to wellness.
Instead of letting self-evaluation become a constant barometer of our success or failure in making ourselves a perfect person that we would admire, like, and generally want to be around, it should eventually lead us to be softhearted toward ourselves.
That's really why Mr. Baxter's axiom is so healthy for me. Just like I can't change what I hate in others, I also find it really difficult to change what I hate in myself. I've found some success and made some better choices here and there. Self-improvement is definitely possible.
But, when it comes down to it, wellness is not the same as perfection.
Wellness and healthy self-evaluation mean having an honest, but compassionate, view of others and ourselves-faults, failures, foibles, and all-and letting our hate dissolve in the face of forgiveness and charity.
So, may you use axioms like Mr. Baxter's (or your own collection of truisms) to enter into a process of honest self-appraisal. May this lead you to wholeness and health. But, may you not get caught up in self-hate. Instead, may you change what you can and give yourself grace with the rest.
May you give grace to others as you also give grace to yourself.
Written by Ken Chitwood
The old expression "Hate the sin, love the sinner" can be applied to ourselves as well. Do you find it hard to forgive yourself for past blunders?
Do you find yourself turning the flamethrower on those who commit the same errors you do?
Is there hope for self through the love of Christ?
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.
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