JAYOPSIS.COM

The Problem of Work- Day 5 June R&R

2026-06-05T06:54:09.733-05:00

One of the things I have been thinking about during this June Tune-Up is 'work' itself.

Dr. Dan Doriani has done extensive work in this important area:

“The Bible doesn’t oppose fulfillment, but it sees work differently. It focuses on love and service to God and neighbor. It seems to see happiness or satisfaction as an unplanned result of honest labor. Ecclesiastes blesses the laborer who can “find enjoyment” in his toil (Eccles. 2:23; 5:18). It also knows that those who tire themselves in noble tasks tend to sleep well: “Sweet is the sleep of a laborer” (Eccles. 5:12). This suggests that fulfillment at work is like friendship. We find it indirectly, by giving ourselves to other things.”

Most educators limp into June exhausted.

Teachers, coaches, administrators, staff members, parents — everybody seems tired. And not just physically tired. There is a deeper kind of fatigue that builds over time when work becomes stressful, repetitive, frustrating, or emotionally draining.

In Chapter 5 of The Call- Guinness tries to press the point that we should never let “a” call compete with “THE” call and we have to keep reminding ourselves that the Bible never treats work itself as the problem.

A lot of people talk as if work was part of the curse, but when you go back and read Genesis carefully, Adam was given work before the Fall. He was told to cultivate, manage, organize, name, steward, and rule over creation. Work was originally part of God’s good design.

In other words, meaningful work is not punishment. It is part of what it means to bear the image of God. But then Genesis 3 changes the equation. The curse did not create work. The curse frustrated work.

Now work involves Thorns- Resistance- Conflict- Exhaustion- Disappointment.

In my new role in Operations, I can tell you a hard truth: “Entropy IS REAL!”

Left alone, systems break down. Buildings deteriorate. Communication gets messy. Problems multiply. The same thing happens in schools, businesses, churches, and probably every organization on earth.

And of course, the frustration is not only external. We bring our own selfishness, pride, impatience, insecurity, and laziness into work too. That is part of the Fall as well.

Os Guinness talks in The Call about the tension between vocation and “the struggle for daily bread.” I think most adults feel that tension eventually. We want work to matter. We want purpose. We want fulfillment. But sometimes work simply feels hard.

Some days work feels deeply meaningful. Other days it feels like answering emails while putting out fires and trying to survive meetings.

Most people eventually settle into one of two extremes. Either work becomes an idol, where achievement and identity consume everything, or work becomes something to escape from. We count the days until vacation, retirement, or the weekend while quietly resenting large portions of our lives.

I do not think either approach is healthy.

What has challenged me lately is realizing how passive many of us become about work. We complain about leadership, difficult co-workers, impossible schedules, frustrating parents, broken systems, lack of appreciation, or unrealistic expectations. We hope things improve. We wait for circumstances to change.

But we rarely stop and intentionally dedicate our work back to God.

We rarely pray seriously for difficult bosses or co-workers.

We rarely ask what God may be teaching us through frustrating environments.

And we rarely think much about providence- God’s Sovereignty!

Romans 6:13–14- but present yourselves to God as those who have been brought from death to life, and your members to God as instruments for righteousness. [14] For sin will have no dominion over you, since you are not under law but under grace. (ESV)

Romans 6 uses active language when Paul talks about the Christian life. He talks about presenting ourselves to God. Offering ourselves. Yielding ourselves. There is intentionality there.

Paul is not describing a passive faith where we simply hope to drift toward holiness, nor is he encouraging some kind of self-punishing spirituality where misery becomes the goal. Throughout church history there were periods where people believed holiness came through harsh treatment of the body or withdrawal from ordinary life, but those approaches rarely changed the deeper condition of the heart. Paul’s emphasis is different. The Christian life is not about mutilation, but re-dedication. We intentionally place our minds, work, relationships, desires, habits, and circumstances back under the authority of Christ. We stop seeing our daily lives as interruptions to spirituality and begin seeing them as the very places where faithfulness is practiced.

But perhaps part of spiritual maturity is learning how to place even difficult work under the sovereignty of God.

That does not mean every job is wonderful or every environment should simply be tolerated forever. Some situations genuinely need change. But I do think Christians should ask deeper questions before simply running from discomfort.

Why has God placed me here right now?

What opportunities for service exist in this season?

What weaknesses in my own character are being exposed?

Am I approaching my work as worship, stewardship, and service… or merely survival?

Dan Doriani writes often about the dignity of ordinary work and the importance of faithfulness in the places where God has currently placed us. I think that perspective is deeply needed today because modern culture constantly tells us fulfillment is always somewhere else.

A different job. A different boss. A different city. A different season of life.

And sometimes change is appropriate. But sometimes growth happens precisely in the places we would not have chosen for ourselves.

I think that is especially true in education.

Schools are full of meaningful work and frustrating work happening at the same time. There are moments of joy, influence, growth, and purpose mixed together with exhaustion, bureaucracy, interruptions, conflict, and pressure.

That tension is not strange. It is Genesis 3.

But even in a fallen world, work still matters because God still matters.

And perhaps part of a June Tune-Up is learning not simply to escape work, but to re-dedicate our work, our attitudes, our relationships, and our circumstances back to God again.

Instead of bogged down in tasks or papers- consider you are changing lives to the glory of God!

Instead of murmuring about your co-workers or bosses- pray for them and love them as Jesus does.

It is a game changer!

Song Link: Another World?

Purpose Fuels Zeal- Day 4 June R&R

2026-06-04T06:07:35.458-05:00

Several years ago I chose the word “Zeal” as a personal theme for the year. Looking back, I think I chose it because I realized I had grown a little flat spiritually and emotionally. I was still working hard and staying busy, but there is a difference between activity and passion. I was functioning fine, but I did not feel particularly energized or inspired.

Around that same time I was reading Os Guinness’ The Call, and one of the things I kept noticing in both the book and in Scripture was how often zeal seems connected to purpose and calling. People tend to develop energy around things they genuinely believe matter. And passion is also very contagious!

That may sound obvious, but I do not think it really is.

As I read through the Bible that year, verses about zeal kept jumping out at me. Romans 12 says, “Do not be slothful in zeal, be fervent in spirit, serve the Lord.” When Jesus cleansed the temple, the disciples remembered the phrase, “Zeal for your house will consume me.”

I started realizing that biblical faith is not meant to be lifeless or detached. That does not mean every Christian becomes an intense personality or emotional extrovert, but there does seem to be a kind of energy that accompanies conviction and calling.

I can be so 'mental' only- clinical- I am in love with the 'idea' but not the person.....

I have seen this over and over in coaching, education, leadership, and probably just life in general.

Parents sometimes come talk with me about a teenage son who seems aimless, unmotivated, distracted, or disengaged. Usually they are worried because the young man has no clear direction and no real energy toward school, work, or responsibility. Honestly, I remember going through seasons like that myself.

I usually tell them "keep praying and waiting- and when the rocket lights, you will see it"- (you just hope it is a worthwhile endeavor LOL)

But I also remember when things started to change. Once I had a clearer sense of direction and purpose, my energy level changed too. I have seen the same thing happen in athletes, students, teachers, coaches, and leaders. Aimlessness tends to drain people. Purpose creates movement.

That does not mean calling removes exhaustion. Some of the things we are most called to do can also be the most tiring. Education certainly fits that category. Leadership does too. But meaningful work usually creates a different kind of endurance than meaningless work.

I think that is one reason burnout becomes so dangerous when people lose connection to purpose. Once work becomes only maintenance, pressure, deadlines, or survival, it is difficult to sustain energy for very long.

At the same time, I think there is an important warning here too.

Modern culture constantly encourages us to “find our passion” or “follow our dreams,” but those ideas can become very self-centered very quickly. The focus turns inward and life becomes centered on personal fulfillment or self-expression.

Guinness pushes against that throughout The Call. Biblical calling does not begin with self-discovery. It begins with God. The central question is not simply, “What would make me happy?” but “What is God asking me to do with my life?”

That is an important distinction because “my calling” can become narcissistic if it is disconnected from humility, service, community, and obedience.

Real calling usually pulls us outward toward responsibility and service rather than inward toward obsession with ourselves.

And interestingly enough, that is often where zeal grows too.

People who believe deeply in the value and meaning of their work usually find reserves of energy and perseverance they did not know they had.

I want to stop here and reflect on this amazing definition Guinness is using about our calling:

Calling is the truth that God calls us to Himself so decisively that everything we are, everything we do, and everything we have is invested with a special devotion and dynamism lived out as a response to His summons and service.

slow down- go back up- and read that again- bit by bit....

So maybe part of reflection during June is asking a few honest questions:

Do my kids, grandkids, students see me passionate for the Lord- am I showing a faith I would even be willing to die for?

Have I drifted into survival mode?

What work consistently gives me life and meaning?

And am I still listening carefully for what God may be calling me toward now?

If you are reading along with me- drop me a note, I would LOVE to know: jayopsis@gmail.com

My Aim?- Day 3 June R&R

2026-06-03T06:11:43.115-05:00

Pushback- Can limitless curiosity itself become a kind of wandering?

When I first went back and started reading these devotions from more than a decade ago, I realized pretty quickly that the early ones were not nearly as strong as the later entries.

Part of that is probably because I was still trying to figure out exactly what I wanted this series to become. I think I was also intentionally trying not to simply summarize Os Guinness’ book The Call. I wanted these thoughts to become more personal and practical as I worked through ideas about calling, mission, purpose, leadership, and what I eventually started calling “My Aim.”

At the time, that phrase sounded really important to me.

“Aim Small, Miss Small” sounded wise and disciplined and purposeful (and it is a common thing I say to QB’s ALL the time.. So it is a buzz phrase for me and of course, it is from “The Patriot” one of my favorite movies)

And there is certainly truth in that idea.

But looking back now, more than ten years later, my life has not unfolded nearly as neatly as I once imagined it would. Honestly, it often feels less like carefully aiming at a target and more like running around like a headless chicken while God somehow still gets me where I need to be.

That may actually be closer to reality than I wanted to admit back then.

One of the most important chapters in The Call is called “Seekers Sought.” I probably underestimated that chapter when I first read the book years ago. Or maybe I simply had not lived enough life yet to fully appreciate it.

Guinness spends some time discussing Leonardo da Vinci, and that example affects me differently now than it did a decade ago.

When you are younger, Da Vinci mostly sounds inspiring. Brilliant. Curious. Creative. Interested in everything. But the older I get, the more haunting that story feels. So many unfinished projects. So many scattered interests.So much searching. (and it is Exhausting)

And maybe age just makes you more aware that the clock is ticking a little louder than it once did.Just a few months ago I wrote the quote from Tennessee Williams (That time is short and it doesn't return again. It is slipping away while I write this and while you read it, and the monosyllable of the clock is 'Loss, Loss, Loss' unless you devote your heart to its opposition.)

But the encouragement in this chapter is not really about becoming a better seeker. Guinness’ point is almost the opposite.

Christianity is not mainly about our search for God. It is about God pursuing us.

That is a very different idea than most modern discussions about spirituality, purpose, and self-discovery.

Scripture is full of examples of people wandering, resisting, doubting, running, hiding, failing, and zig-zagging through life while God continues pursuing them anyway.The Bible narratives are messy. This journey is not clinical- it is NOT a straight line.

And honestly, I find that encouraging.

Because if my life depended completely on my own clarity, discipline, and ability to perfectly execute some master life-plan, I would have failed long ago.

Instead, when I look back over my life, I mostly see the faithfulness of God through a lot of imperfect decisions, changing seasons, unexpected turns, unfinished plans, and occasional confusion.

That does not mean calling is unimportant. I still think calling matters deeply.

I still think we should think carefully about direction, stewardship, priorities, and how we spend our lives.

But I think I understand something a little differently now than I did when I first wrote these devotions years ago.

Peace does not come from perfectly engineering your future. Peace comes from trusting that God is faithful even while we are still figuring things out.

So maybe that is the better question for today.

Not simply:

“What is MY aim?” But maybe “Where is God’s bullseye? And how stubborn am I going to be- resisting the Lord- before I get there?”

Note: These themes have been so consistent in me going back to even my literature studies in the 1980’s that I have wrestled with them in verse and song as well- Here are a few blogposts and songs that capture today' s reading.

Tennesse Williams

3/4 Empty

The Last Days of Howard Hughes

Long Enough to Be Me

Zombie Chickens

Why the 'Ultimate Why' Matters- Day 2 June R&R

2026-06-02T04:20:40.236-05:00

One of the dangers in life is that you can achieve a great deal and still feel empty.

Many people eventually discover this. In fact, study ‘celebrities’ through history and we discover the most wealthy/famous people are sometimes the least happy, nothing really moves their soul.

We experience it as well in less degrees- The next promotion does not fully satisfy. The next accomplishment fades quickly. The next milestone creates excitement for a little while… and then life settles back into normal again.

There is nothing wrong with goals. I believe in goals. I have spent much of my life setting them.

As a football coach there were always goals in front of us:

Team football goals are kind of like a pyramid- We used to start with Undefeated, 7 wins, make playoffs, win playoff games, state championship… something like that….. we call them 'Achievements'.

But over time I began noticing that achievement by itself was never enough.

When we won the state championship in 1998 (going 15-0!), the excitement was incredible. But before long, the attention shifted toward the next one. We won again in 1999, but strangely it did not feel quite the same. Then we went several years before winning another.

So were those years failures? Of course not.

That forced me to start thinking differently about success and achievement.

Achievement involves accomplishing goals.

Success is deeper and asks different questions:

Did we become tougher?

Did we learn to sacrifice for one another?

Did leaders lead?

Did players grow in discipline, perseverance, and character?

Did we become the kind of team we hoped to become?

Those questions mattered more and more to me over time.

Because you can achieve a great deal and still miss what matters most.

And you can also fall short of visible achievement while still succeeding deeply.

Os Guinness helped sharpen this idea for me in ‘The Call’.

One of the reasons that book impacted me so much is because it pushed beyond career success, accomplishment, and recognition. Guinness kept bringing the reader back to calling.

Not simply:

What are you accomplishing?

But:

What are you aiming your life toward?

Literature is full of reminders that achievement alone cannot satisfy the human heart.

Pip finally gets his new clothes in Great Expectations and still feels restless.

Gatsby builds his dream only to discover that it dissolves into what Fitzgerald called “foul dust.”

Guy de Maupassant wrote:

“I have coveted everything and taken pleasure in nothing.”

I think most adults eventually encounter some version of that realization.

Without an ultimate “why,” life becomes reactive.

We chase deadlines….pressure….recognition… approval…We chase the next accomplishment.

And somewhere along the way we can lose sight of purpose.

Ephesians 4 warns about people being “tossed to and fro by the waves and carried about by every wind.”

A life without a clear aim eventually gets pulled in a hundred different directions.

That is why this June tune-up may help- it gives us a rare opportunity to slow down long enough to think about bigger things.

Maybe don’t write goals this month…. How about 1 word like my boss, Gus Martin does each year? Not just plans…. How about direction?

What kind of person am I becoming?

What actually brings peace and contentment?

Am I living intentionally or simply reacting?

What matters most?

Alex de Tocqueville once wrote:

“The final aim of life is placed beyond life.”

For the Christian believer, that changes everything.

If our ultimate aim is tied only to earthly success, recognition, comfort, or accomplishment, disappointment eventually catches us.

But if our lives are rooted in Christ and shaped by His calling, even ordinary work carries meaning.

That does not eliminate ambition. It reorders it. If we have an ‘ultimate why’ keeping the compass on true north- then the things in our lives become tools instead of masters. We limit the trap of making ‘good things’ into “God-things”. The ancient sin of idolatry.

Achievement becomes part of the journey instead of the definition of our worth.

And calling steadies us when achievement comes… and when it does not.

So perhaps today is a good day to step back and ask a bigger question:

What is my ultimate why?

One last note- I think I have become a really good coach in preparing ‘spotlight athletes’ from letting pressure moments hinder their performance- I talk to them about how they are not VALIDATED by their performance- they are already validated as a man created in God’s image- this frees them up- best chance of making the play is that you don’t HAVE to make it- free to fail means even free-er to make.

The Ultimate Truth behind the Ultimate Why? God loves you and He demonstrates His love towards us - that though we are sinners… He died for us. (Romans 5:8)

June R&R Day 1

2026-06-01T00:16:48.502-05:00

Note: Over the years, I have now read The Call, by Os Guinness three or four times, and its ideas have stayed with me in a profound way. In fact, many years ago I wrote an entire month of devotional thoughts based on principles Os Guinness explained so well. Now, in 2026, I find myself returning to those ideas once again — refining them, rethinking them, and honestly hoping they refresh me all over again. Please join me as I re-vamp these ideas over the next 30 days.

Day 1 — My S.H.A.P.E. and My Aim

Let’s go on a journey together this month.

June is a gift for educators and leaders. The pace slows just enough for the dust to settle a little, and we finally have room to think again. Every year around this time, I find myself wanting to pray, study, evaluate, simplify, and reconsider God’s calling on my life.

Not merely my job. Not merely my responsibilities. Not merely my goals for another school year.

But my calling.

In one sense, there is one ultimate calling for all believers. The Westminster Shorter Catechism says it beautifully:

“The chief end of man is to glorify God and enjoy Him forever.”

That is true.

But sometimes that truth can feel so large and sweeping that it becomes difficult to know what faithfulness looks like on a Monday morning in the middle of ordinary life.

It is almost like zooming too far out on a map. Suddenly you can see the whole country, but you lose sight of the actual road you are supposed to travel and you realize that the street view matters too.

That is one reason Os Guinness’ book The Call impacted me so deeply years ago. Guinness challenged me to think carefully about the difference between my primary calling and my secondary callings.

My primary calling is to belong to Christ. That never changes.

Everything else flows from there… and yes, secondary callings sometimes change!

My secondary callings involve the specific ways God has shaped me to serve, lead, teach, encourage, build, organize, shepherd, and influence others.

That is where this idea of “My Aim” began developing in my own life.

What direction am I really headed?

Am I living intentionally?

Am I aligned with the way God designed me?

Or have I simply drifted into survival mode?

Years ago, someone introduced me to the idea of understanding your “S.H.A.P.E.” I have returned to it many times because I think it provides a helpful framework for reflection.

Everyone has a SHAPE.

And while God absolutely works outside our strengths, preferences, and personalities at times, He also tends to work through the unique ways He has designed us.

So today is not about creating a five-year plan.

It is simply about slowing down long enough to reflect.

S — Spiritual Gifts

What spiritual gifts has God given you?

If you have never taken time to think carefully about this, I would encourage you to pray through passages like I Corinthians 12 and Romans 12.

What kinds of ministry opportunities seem to give life to you?

Where have others consistently affirmed your usefulness?

What burdens or desires has God repeatedly placed on your heart?

H — Heart

What do you care deeply about?

What energizes you?

What kinds of needs or problems consistently move you emotionally?

Psalm 37:4 says:

“Delight yourself in the Lord, and He will give you the desires of your heart.”

I do not think that verse merely means God hands us whatever we want. I think part of spiritual maturity is that God actually shapes our desires over time.

So what desires keep resurfacing in your life?

A — Aptitude

What skills and abilities has God allowed you to develop?

What kinds of work seem to fit naturally?

What have people consistently trusted you to do well?

Sometimes we overlook our aptitudes because they seem ordinary to us.

But often our strengths leave clues about our calling.

P — Personality

Jesus intends to transform our character, but I do not believe He erases our personality.

Years ago, I took the Myers-Briggs inventory and scored as an INFP.

That description resonated with me:

Idealistic. Reflective. Curious. Interested in possibilities and meaning. Drawn toward helping people grow and fulfill their potential.

I have learned over the years that understanding personality is not about putting ourselves in a box.

It is about understanding how God wired us so we can lead and serve with greater wisdom.

E — Experiences

Our experiences shape us more than we often realize.

Successes. Failures. Wounds. Achievements. Losses. Mentors. Unexpected opportunities. Hard seasons. God wastes very little.

Many of the experiences we would never have chosen become part of the very foundation He uses to shape our influence and calling.

So as we begin this month together, perhaps this is a good place to start.

Reflect on your shape. Reflect on your aim.

Reflect on the ways God has uniquely formed and directed your life.

Because calling is not merely about what we accomplish.

It is also about becoming the kind of people who faithfully reflect Christ in the places He has called us to serve.

And perhaps June is a good time to remember that again.

So what is your shape? Spend time today thinking about that.

Reading: I read the Introduction to “The Call” as a backdrop for this devo. My takeaway was to spend a few minutes reflecting on “My life purpose comes from 2 sources, Who am I CREATED to be and Who am I CALLED to be”

Lord, over the next 30 days, help me rest in YOU and help me reflect on who You created me to be and what You have called me to be. Let me be sensitive to Your Word during this time and listen carefully in my interactions with others… send me what I need to hear and know!”

Wind

2026-05-29T08:15:02.700-05:00

"He makes the winds his messengers."— Psalm 104:4

I have always been fascinated by wind. You can't see it. You only see what it does. Whether I'm on the front porch or back deck, I am always looking at the trees in the breeze and find it mesmerizing.

Ancient people noticed this too. Long before meteorology, they recognized that wind was one of the most mysterious forces in the world. Invisible, powerful, life-giving, destructive—it seemed almost alive.

The Greeks gave the winds names and personalities. Boreas, the North Wind, brought winter and hardship. Zephyrus, the West Wind, carried the gentleness of spring. Notus, the South Wind, brought storms and decay. Eurus, the East Wind, was unpredictable and unsettling. The winds were not merely weather; they were characters in the drama of the world.

Homer's Odyssey tells of Aeolus, keeper of the winds, who gave Odysseus a bag containing the dangerous winds of the earth. The hero's crew, unable to resist curiosity and greed, opened the bag and unleashed chaos. It is a remarkably modern lesson: human beings often lose not because they lack opportunity but because they cannot leave certain things unopened.

Classical literature continued to use wind as a symbol of forces larger than ourselves. In Virgil's Aeneid, winds represent destiny and providence. In Dante's Inferno, those who were ruled by their passions are swept forever in a violent whirlwind. The image is unforgettable: what controls you in life may carry you away in death.

I love this quote: "They spread their sails to the favoring winds."— Aeneid

Yet Scripture treats wind differently.

The Bible never worships the wind- it is a servant.

The Hebrew word ruach means wind, breath, and spirit. The same word can describe the breeze across a field, the breath in a person's lungs, and the Spirit of God moving in creation. That overlap is no accident.

In Genesis, the Spirit of God hovers over the waters. In Ezekiel, the breath enters dry bones and brings them to life. Throughout Scripture, wind becomes a reminder that the most important realities are often invisible. We cannot see love, truth, faith, or the Spirit, but we see their effects everywhere.

Even the directions of the winds carry meaning. The east often speaks of exile and wandering. The north becomes a place from which judgment arrives. The west suggests mercy and distance—"as far as the east is from the west." The four winds together represent the whole world under God's authority.

I have written in the past on the symbolism of geographical direction in Scripture- East is going away from God, turning back West is going back to God- when God calls Abram, he literally turns him around like a real walking example of repentance.

When we get to the New Testament- The Greek word pneuma means wind, breath, and spirit all at once. When Jesus compares the Spirit to the wind in John 3, He is not merely making an illustration. He is drawing on the rich double meaning of the word itself. Like the wind, the Spirit cannot be controlled, predicted, or contained. Yet like the wind, His presence is unmistakable wherever He moves.

Speaking to Nicodemus, He says:

"The wind blows where it wishes, and you hear its sound, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit."

A more literal rendering might be:

"The pneuma blows where it wills, and you hear its sound, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone born of the pneuma."

Jesus is making a wordplay that cannot be fully reproduced in English. The physical reality of wind becomes an analogy for the spiritual reality of God's Spirit. You cannot see either one directly; you know them by their effects.

Don't guess with God- don't make it a system- The wind cannot be domesticated. Neither can God.

We live in an age that wants everything measured, explained, and controlled. Yet some of the deepest things in life refuse to cooperate. Love, beauty, courage, conviction, faith—these move through human history much like the wind itself. We cannot manufacture them, but we know when they arrive.

Perhaps that is why wind remains such a powerful symbol. The myths saw power in it. The poets saw destiny in it. Scripture sees the fingerprints of God in it.

And maybe the lesson is this:The strongest forces in the world are often the ones we cannot see.

The fool curses the wind for changing direction; the wise man wonders what invisible mountain taught it to turn.

Song links:

SEA BREEZE

NORTH WIND

Can't Spell "Alien" Without A.I.

2026-05-28T06:34:54.617-05:00

This is a sort of ‘take out the trash’ post- ruminations on random items:

Note: I was asked to further develop a social media quip I wrote from Feb 2-

I think technology is essentially neutral—raw potential waiting for human intention. That’s the Star Trek promise: progress, abundance, and an enlightened future shaped with the help of intelligent machines.

The Terminator story, though, misses the mark. If machines ever became self-aware and decided humanity was a problem, it wouldn’t look like open war. It would be surgical. A dosage slightly off. A brake that fails a moment too soon. A flicker on a screen that tips an accident into inevitability.

We would gasp in disbelief as our vaunted safeguards failed—poisons in our food and water, carcinogens in the air, radiation humming along unnoticed. None of these harm machines. They only harm us.

And when my spidey-sense tells me the number of the beast is digital (666), I feel an apocalyptic urge to say this out loud: no matter how smart it gets, we’d better be the ones holding the kill switch.

So- let me flesh this out a little…….

I have long believed that technology is essentially neutral.

A hammer can build a home or crush a skull. A printing press can produce Bibles or propaganda. The internet can spread the Gospel to the nations or pornography to children. Technology is raw potential waiting for human intention.

In many ways, I still prefer the hopeful vision of Star Trek over the darker dystopias of modern science fiction. Human flourishing aided by tools. Discovery. Knowledge. Healing… etc- progress being the product of the Creation Mandate in Genesis.

But lately I have wondered if our fears about artificial intelligence are perhaps aimed in the wrong direction.The Terminator vision is terrifying for sure-.but it wouldn’t be the best approach- even Satan knows this, he works with deception. That is why the “False prophet” in Revelation is actually scarier than “The Beast”!

If machines ever became hostile to humanity, why would they launch nukes and march metal skeletons through the streets?

That was a movie take….Real power is quieter.

The deadliest systems rarely announce themselves as evil. They present themselves as efficient.

And that is where my thoughts drift toward Revelation.

Note: I have a PDF "Meditation on Revelation" you can read for free (just click on the title).

and yes- an Album! The Book of Revelation

Is AI the “666” in Revelation?

Before anyone panics, let me say clearly that I do not believe AI is literally “the Beast,” nor do I think microchips are the mark of the beast. I am not interested in sensational prophecy charts or newspaper eschatology. In fact, I tend to read Revelation symbolically - but still very true!

I used to joke and say I would draw the line and never let a chip be installed- then I read about Elon Musk’s work in ‘implantables’ and have to admit that if a chip could reverse my personal blindness or loss of healing in the future, I probably will do it.

I believe much of “Anti-Christ” imagery had direct relevance to the first-century church under Roman persecution. (Nero likely stands behind the famous 666 symbolism.) Babylon represented Rome. The Beast represented an empire in rebellion against God. Yet Revelation also reveals recurring patterns that echo throughout history until the final Day of the Lord. The spirit of antichrist is never confined to one man or one century. Every age has its beasts. Every age builds Babel. Every age is tempted to worship the works of its own hands.

That is why I find the number 666 fascinating.

Six in Scripture often symbolizes man — incomplete, fallen humanity falling short of divine perfection…. Just short of 7- Triple sixes may represent humanity exalted to its fullest rebellion: man glorifying man, systems glorifying systems, civilization attempting transcendence apart from God.

And what is modern society increasingly doing?

Reducing human beings to numbers…… tiny data points…. irrelevant?

Algorithms. Consumer profiles. Compliance scores. Biometric identifiers. Predictive behaviors. Digital footprints. It’s all numbers!

In Scripture, names matter because persons matter. But empires number people because systems value control.

Perhaps the danger is not that AI becomes conscious and evil. Perhaps the greater danger is that humans willingly surrender their humanity to systems that promise convenience, efficiency, safety, and control. I think that was the heart of the Pope's message in recent days.

The Beast in Revelation is not merely an individual villain lurking in some distant future. The Beast is also the recurring spirit of kingdoms, empires, and systems that demand ultimate allegiance instead of God. That spirit has appeared many times before through Rome, totalitarian regimes, corrupt religious systems, propaganda states, economic oppression, and now perhaps technocratic systems capable of shaping reality itself.

AI may become the most powerful amplifier of that spirit humanity has ever created.

Not because silicon is evil but because fallen humans build fallen systems.

I believe apocalyptic language is deeply symbolic — but symbolic does not mean fictional.

Jesus Himself taught constantly through images, metaphors, and parables because some truths are too large for plain prose. Revelation communicates theological realities through beasts, dragons, lampstands, horns, and cosmic imagery because it is describing spiritual realities unfolding across history.

The Dragon, Beast, and False Prophet strike me as a kind of false trinity: false views of God, false saviors, and false spirits of deception. That framework becomes increasingly relevant in an age where technology can imitate almost everything — voices, images, authority, relationships, wisdom, even spirituality itself. A counterfeit creation offering counterfeit transcendence. Reminder: The false son even has a resurrection story tied to him!

Still, I am not pessimistic- Revelation was not written to terrify believers but to strengthen them.

I believe we are living in the Last Days and have been since Christ ascended. Our task remains unchanged: preach the Gospel, make disciples, feed His sheep, build faithfully, love our neighbors, and endure with hope.

Christians should neither fear technology nor worship it. We should use tools without becoming mastered by them.

That may become one of the great spiritual tests of the coming age.

Can humans still disconnect? Can families still think independently? Can churches still gather physically? Can Christians still distinguish truth from simulation? Can we remain human in a world increasingly mediated by machines?

I suspect the final rebellion against God will look less like Hollywood apocalypse and more like humanity sleepwalking into dependency while believing itself enlightened.

Babylon always appears eternal. Caesar always claims divinity. Babel always promises heaven through human achievement.

And yet Scripture says Christ returns, not anxiously, but victoriously.

The kingdoms of this world rise loudly and collapse suddenly. The so-called Battle of Armageddon may ultimately be less a prolonged military struggle and more the final unveiling of how fragile human rebellion always was before the sovereignty of God.

One of the more unsettling images in Revelation is the idea that people would one day be unable to “buy or sell” without the mark of the beast. I have no interest in turning that into speculative paranoia about barcodes, implants, or QR codes. But it does seem increasingly plausible that modern systems could eventually tie economics, identity, ideology, and compliance together in ways previous generations could hardly imagine.

China’s developing social credit systems provide at least a glimpse of how technology could one day regulate participation in society itself. Access to travel, banking, employment, education, communication, or commerce could theoretically become linked to behavioral conformity and digital approval. Whether or not any present system fulfills biblical prophecy is not really my point. My point is that Revelation’s warnings about centralized power and economic control no longer feel technologically impossible.

That is why I constantly say our political battles have little to do with republican or democrat and have everything to do with globalists vs. nationalists. Socialism vs democracy. We need to stand firm on individual liberty at all times.

Ironically, I do not think the Christian response is panic or retreat from society. We should not become Amish survivalists hiding from technology in fear. If anything, Christians should become more educated, more adaptable, more thoughtful, and more grounded than ever before. The coming AI revolution will likely reward people who can still do what machines struggle to replicate: wisdom, leadership, creativity, empathy, courage, discernment, trust-building, teaching, caregiving, craftsmanship, and genuine human presence. In many ways, the future may belong to those who can evolve with changing times without surrendering their convictions. We should learn the tools, understand the systems, and prepare our children wisely — but never lose our values, our humanity, or our allegiance to Christ.

Finally- Aliens- The Disclosure Day?

Last piece of this strange post- yes, I believe we are headed to a government confession that they have been lying to us for 50+ years and we have in our possession a lot of material that suggests or even proves non-human life and intelligence. They are worried that the electorate will freak out (they have never trusted us with hard truth) and feel like the time is now (now that we don’t believe anything because of deep fakes anyway).

I’m just going to stay reserved- will this be an assault on my faith? NOPE- The Bible has a TON of references to non-human life going all the way back to the garden and Genesis (see my non-exhaustive list below).

It is interesting to note that the early ‘reports’ mention a lot of ‘reptile like’ qualities- Satan’s favorite disguise.

The missing scientist thing has some connection as well- TBD

We have to be SLOW to discern- be patient- don’t panic.

And never forget this could all be a false flag.. Major deception is a great possibility as well.

Jesus wins. The Lamb reigns.

My Mind to Me a Kingdom Is
Sir Edward Dyer

My mind to me a kingdom is,
Such present joys therein I find;
Thus do I live, thus will I die—
Would all do so as well as I.

The 'Diggers' Last Stand- A Parable

2026-05-27T08:12:25.946-05:00

A Warning to the Reader

Before thou proceedest further into this small account of Diggers, Protectors, Common Bins, and cries of No Monarchs, it may profit thee first to acquaint thyself somewhat with the tumults of England in the 1640s.

For there shalt thou find already populists and zealots, Commonwealth men and would-be monarchs, Levellers, Diggers, and keepers of public order; pamphleteers crying liberty whilst magistrates cried stability; merchants fearing disorder whilst radicals proclaimed the people awakened at last.

Thou shalt also discover that the common people loved and hated their rulers almost equally, and that every faction believed itself defender of the nation against corrupt elites, dangerous agitators, lying presses, hidden powers, and the ruinous schemes of their adversaries.

Therefore if, whilst reading this little tale, thou findest resemblance unto present controversies, be not over-hasty in assigning villains.

For- INDEED- there is nothing new under the sun.

In the Ninth Year of the Commonwealth of Ashes, when every public tower bore the painted words NO Monarchs, there arose a contention in the Lower Ward concerning a waste-bin of uncommon size.

The bin (some call 'a dumpster') stood behind the old market arches where the rain-water gathered black beneath the stone. It belonged formerly to the Provisioners’ Guild, yet after the Fires and the many Revisions no charter could be found proving ownership thereof. Into it were cast spoiled grain-packs, broken machine parts, outlawed pamphlets, cracked tablets, wilted greens, and once, the bronze head of a king.

The folk of the Ward called it simply:

The Common Bin

And though the Councils took little notice of it at first, many poor souls lived by its bounty.

There came then a small company who named themselves Diggers.

They built no walls. They carried no banners. They wore plain coats stained with grease and soot. Each morning they sorted the castaways into careful heaps:

food apart from poison, metal apart from ash, books apart from fuel.

And whatsoever remained useful they laid freely upon old wooden tables beneath the arches.

Above the tables they painted these words:

WHAT IS CAST OFF BELONGS AGAIN TO THE PEOPLE!

Many mocked them. And many travelled many miles to either mock or see- widows, children, veterans, even clerics

Soon the place prospered strangely.

A woman found medicine there for her coughing son.

A machinist rebuilt a heat-engine from discarded coils.

A preacher recovered pages of forbidden sermons.

A child made a lantern from shattered screen-glass.

And each evening the Diggers shared broth from cracked bowls while the people argued pleasantly beneath the arches concerning liberty, waste, and whether the Commonwealth had grown too mighty for remembrance.

Now among the rulers of that district was a man who, through very legal and forceful means, required others to call him "Protector", who had risen during the Disorders and was much beloved for restoring peace after the Fires. His likeness appeared nowhere publicly, for such honors had been forbidden after the Fall of the Last Executive, yet many households kept small portraits of him hidden behind their cupboards.

Protector’s officers observed the gatherings beneath the arches and grew uneasy.

“Where men gather freely,” said Captain Hume, “there factions breed.”

“And where refuse is ungoverned,” said another, “there pestilence follows.”

But an old clerk spoke softly:

“It is only one dumpster, why the fuss?”

Still, reports multiplied.

Pamphlets appeared bearing dangerous phrases:

'THE POOREST HE' HATH A LIFE TO LIVE AS 'THE GREATEST HE'

Children chalked upon the market stones directly beneath the silent surveillance lamps.

NO MONARCHS- though no one ever told them what a monarch was.....

Suddenly- The Councils therefore decreed- and the message went everywhere at once- even sounding the alarm in Princetown where no dumpster even existed....

All refuse within the Commonwealth belonged solely to the Office of Civic Sanitation, and that no citizen should gather or distribute discarded goods without license.

When this decree was read aloud beneath the arches, the Diggers listened courteously.

At length their eldest member, a bent woman called Mother Flint, asked:

“If the food be rotten, why fear who eats it?”

“Because order must be preserved,” answered the officer.

“And if the machine parts be broken?”

“All materials belong first unto the Commonwealth.”

“And if a man be broken?”

The officer hesitated.

“Then he belongs unto himself,” he said carefully.

At this- the people grew exceedingly uneasy.

The next morning barriers were raised round the Common Bin.

Yet by dawn someone had written upon them in white paint:

NO MONARCHS OVER REFUSE

No man confessed to it. Thereafter the Ward grew troubled.

Some declared the Diggers enemies of stability.
Others called them the last honest souls in the city.
Merchants complained of lost revenues.
Preachers warned of rebellion.
Children played at “Diggers and Protectors” in the alleys.

The Protector himself at last came secretly to view the matter.

He walked among the arches at dusk clothed in a worker’s coat, and there he saw:

the patched tables, sorted scraps, the hungry gathered quietly with bowls in hand,

and above them all the fading words:

WHAT IS CAST OFF BELONGS AGAIN TO THE PEOPLE

For a long while he stood without speaking.

At last he asked Mother Flint:

“And if every ward claimed every cast-off thing as common?”

“Then perhaps,” she answered, “fewer men would hunger.”

“And if disorder followed?”

“Then perhaps the disorder was already here.”

Protector looked then upon the gathered folk, and upon the towers beyond where NO MONARCHS glowed in giant letters against the smoke.

When he departed he gave no command.

But before sunrise the barriers remained standing.
And before noon the Common Bin was emptied by officers of Sanitation.
And before evening the Diggers were gone.

Some said they fled. Some said they were taken northward. Some said they simply removed themselves to another Ward where refuse still gathered freely beneath the acid rain.

Yet afterward strange sayings persisted among the people.

When bread ran short, they muttered:

“What is cast off belongs again to the people.”

And when officials spoke too proudly, children still scratched upon the stones:

NO MONARCHS

Though no king had ruled there for many years.

“Every people that destroys a throne discovers at last how many small kings slept there.”

Dark Moors

2026-05-26T00:16:43.463-05:00

There was something fitting about ending my month exploring Gothic themes with a song called Dark Moors. The idea arrived unexpectedly and at the very last moment- I had already moved on to the next study and readings far removed.

Over two back-to-back weekends, Lisa and I watched Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights during movie nights, and afterward I found myself falling down a rabbit trail of documentaries and essays on the Brontë family. One documentary in particular focused on the Yorkshire moors — those cold, windswept stretches of earth that became almost like another character in the sisters’ novels. The landscape itself shaped the stories: lonely, beautiful, severe, haunted.

The Brontës turned those dark moors into places where passion, isolation, imagination, and sorrow all breathed together.

And somewhere while watching, I realized I had my own dark moors.

As a boy, I practically lived on Ruffner Mountain.

Our home stood barely a quarter mile from the entrance, and in those years before cell phones and constant supervision, we disappeared into the woods for entire days. We packed brown bag lunches, crossed trails until they became deer paths, and only wandered home at dusk.

We had Ruffner mapped out like explorers.

We knew the limestone quarries and the iron ore mines. We climbed the old fire tower whenever we dared. We knew where the trails bent toward the ridge and how, beyond it, you could eventually see the Ruffner ball fields opening up below.

I wrote about this way back in 2014- here is part of what I said:

But all of the old trails I hiked are now part of the Ruffner Mountain Nature Center. http://www.ruffnermountain.org/

One trail led to abandoned mine shafts, others went to beautiful points of views and solitude. We named the trails based on what they led to: “fire tower’, "Irondale”, “Mines”, and “quarry”. Our most favorite hike, however, was to the ‘quarry’. It seemed like a grand canyon to my 11 year old life. There were actually three quarries: the’ Big one’, the ‘Smaller one”, and ‘the Little quarry’- all within a ¼ mile area.

It was the Big quarry that captured my imagination and excitement. It had high cliffs which completed about 2/3 of a canyon. The trail was cool because it was all heavy pine and shadows that dramatically opened to this amazing view of old limestone walls and evidence of industry. This was a completely dry quarry that has been recorded in my brain as about 440 yards in diameter. It had basically, a flat bottom, and even had an old abandoned car in it.

My mom would have had a heart attack if she ever saw all that we did in that quarry. We climbed the cliffs (without ropes!) with no worry that a fall meant death. On the top of the quarry, it was a good 100 foot drop! I had a favorite ‘fat man squeeze’ that led to a type of cave. I would climb, squeeze, and then sit in this opening for hours. It was quiet and I felt so alive!

The hollow canyon was strange. I knew that there had once been a lot of activity there. Birmingham had iron ore, limestone, and coal in great abundance which allowed it to blossom into ‘the Magic City” and “Pittsburg of the South” almost overnight.
But it was dead now. Except for quiet shrubs and persistent saplings, it was devoid of life. I loved to sit and look at the evidence of activity, but it was nothing more than a relic. The old car was rusting, the quarry was out of business, and except for a few adventurous neighborhood boy-gangs.

The mountain was alive with mystery, danger, and wonder — the kind only children can fully feel.

The neighborhood is rough now. The last time I passed my childhood home, it stood in shambles, worn down by time and neglect. But Ruffner remains in my memory the way the moors must have remained in the Brontës’ imagination: wild, windswept, sacred.

Maybe that is why Gothic stories still resonate with me.

Not because they are merely dark, but because they understand that wilderness changes us. Lonely places teach us to imagine. Silence teaches us to listen. Storms teach us beauty and fear at the same time.

The dark moors — whether in Yorkshire or Birmingham — become the places where children first learn the size of the world and the depth of their own souls.

And perhaps we spend the rest of our lives trying to find our way back there. BTW- the picture at the top is my old childhood home- sad how delapidated it is now... click on the title below to hear the song

Dark Moors

(Inspired by the Brontë Sisters)

Verse 1

We ran through the dark moors
Wind in our lungs like prayer
Small hearts beneath the thunder
Ghost stories born in the air

Black heather caught our footsteps
Rain tangled wild in our hair
The world behind those windows
Felt smaller than despair

And every shadow whispered
Every hill could breathe
We heard forgotten voices
Moving through the trees

Chorus

The dark moors
Carry us away
Into the cold blue evening
Beyond the hands of day

Oh dark moors
Where lonely spirits rise
We learned to turn our sorrow
Into storm-filled skies

Verse 2

Candlelight and old books
Frost climbing up the stone
They ran chasing freedom
Afraid to feel alone

The bells rang through the valley
Like warnings in the rain
But out upon the flat land
Our hearts were uncontained

The north wind sang in secret
The earth became our guide
We buried all our childhood
Where the restless ravens cried

Chorus

The dark moors
Carry us away
Into the wild November
Where dreaming souls can stay

The dark moors
Under haunted skies
We gave our fears to thunder
And watched them come alive

Bridge

One walks with fire
Another carries flame
One sees quiet oceans
No one else could name

The storms become a language
The silence becomes a song
And deep inside the dark woods
I found where I belong

Final Chorus

The dark moors
Still calling through the years
Breathing wonder through the silence
Softening my fears

The dark moors
Where lonely children roam
The trees become shelter
The wild becomes my home

I too walked through the dark moors
Breathing winter like a prayer
Small dreams beneath the branches
Grim stories in the air

We ran through the dark moors
Wind in our lungs like prayer
Small hearts beneath the thunder
Ghost stories born in the air

related posts:

Hike Into the Past- Ruffner Mountain

An Invitation to a June Tune-Up

2026-05-22T06:10:14.628-05:00

On May 3, 2014, I started reading The Call by Os Guinness.

At first, it seemed like many other “Christian” books I had read over the decades. Helpful. Thoughtful. Interesting.

But somewhere around the third or fourth chapter, I suddenly realized this book was different.

It was important.

Over the years, I have now read it three or four times, and its ideas have stayed with me in a profound way. In fact, many years ago I wrote an entire month of devotional thoughts based on principles Os Guinness explained so well. Now, in 2026, I find myself returning to those ideas once again — refining them, rethinking them, and honestly hoping they refresh me all over again.

May has a way of leaving educators exhausted.

Another school year has passed. Another round of calendars, meetings, grading, planning, problem-solving, counseling, leading, encouraging, correcting, praying, and persevering has brought us to June once again. Most of us arrive here carrying more than we realize.

We carry fatigue. We carry unfinished goals. We carry disappointments. We carry questions. We carry moments we wish we could do over. And sometimes, if we are honest, we carry a quiet sense of drift.

My new role in Operations has especially reminded me that entropy is real. Left unattended, things naturally drift toward disorder — systems, schedules, priorities, and sometimes even our own souls.

June offers something many educators rarely experience during the school year: margin. A chance to breathe. A chance to think again. A chance to hear the deeper questions that often get drowned out by schedules, responsibilities, and survival mode.

When I read The Call, it profoundly reshaped the way I thought about vocation, leadership, and purpose. Guinness challenged readers to see calling not merely as a profession or career path, but as a response to God Himself.

That idea stayed with me.

It pushed me to think beyond job descriptions, titles, accomplishments, and even ministry roles. It caused me to wrestle with a deeper question:

What is my aim?

Not simply:

What am I doing? What am I achieving? What am I managing?

But:

Who am I becoming? What direction is my life taking? What kind of influence am I leaving behind? Am I still aligned with the calling God placed on my life?

Over the next month, I want to invite you into a simple journey of reflection and renewal.

Beginning June 1, I will be revisiting and reworking that series of devotional thoughts I first wrote years ago. Some of those early writings were unfinished. Some were rough around the edges. But the questions behind them remain deeply important.

Together, we will spend June reflecting on calling and purpose, spiritual drift and renewal, faithfulness and endurance, leadership and influence, intentional living, rest and refreshment, priorities and perspective, and the daily challenge of living with clarity of aim.

This is not intended to be a program to complete or a formula for self-improvement.

It is simply an invitation to slow down. An invitation to reflect. An invitation to recalibrate. An invitation to refresh your soul before another school year begins.

As educators and leaders, we spend much of our lives helping shape others. June gives us an opportunity to allow God to shape us again.

So before the planning meetings begin… before the summer disappears… before another school year starts pulling at our attention… perhaps this is a good moment to pause and ask:

What has this past year done to my soul?

Where have I drifted?

What originally called me into this work?

What matters most now?

What is my aim?

My prayer is that this month will do more than help us rest.

I pray it will help us reorient.

Day 1 will begin on June1- that gives you a week to add the book to your reading list and read with me- as I read it again!

Machen's Softer Side?

2026-05-19T19:06:32.858-05:00

In the Briarwood Church library today, I pulled a book from Machen and read his chapter on Christianity and liberty. It surprised me, honestly, because having previously read Christianity and Liberalism, I have often thought of Machen primarily as a warrior — a defender of orthodoxy willing to stand against the theological drift of his day no matter the personal cost.

I still admire that deeply. But this chapter felt different.

One line especially stayed with me: “The Christian man is free from the whole weary burden of the law.” Machen was not speaking of freedom from holiness or obedience, but freedom from the crushing weight of trying to establish righteousness through performance, appearances, or human approval. That kind of liberty is deeply personal and deeply spiritual.

Reading it, I sensed beneath the polemics a man who understood something profound about grace and the freedom it creates within the Christian life. Machen’s concern was not merely defending doctrine as an intellectual exercise. He seemed deeply concerned with protecting the liberty of the Christian conscience from both theological corruption and human control.

Another phrase that struck me was Machen’s insistence that Christianity “does not mean slavery but liberty.” That sentence challenged some of my own assumptions about him. Because if I am honest, grace has made me feel almost rebellious at times — not rebellious against God, but against the subtle culture of fear, judgment, and performative religion that can grow around Christianity.

Today, for example, I hugged a man with purple hair, piercings, and tattoos and told him I loved him. To some Christians, that might seem compromising or careless. But to me, it felt deeply Christian. I did not see a stereotype or a threat to moral order. I saw a human being made in the image of God.

Years ago, I might have hesitated. I might have subconsciously filtered the interaction through questions of appearance, acceptability, or what others might think. But grace has a way of freeing the heart from that kind of fear-driven religion.

And strangely enough, reading Machen today made me feel that perhaps he understood this better than I once assumed.

Warriors rarely sound warm while they are fighting battles. Much of Machen’s writing emerged from conflict, controversy, and institutional struggle. A man defending what he believes to be the integrity of the gospel will naturally sound sharp at times. Yet this chapter revealed glimpses of something gentler beneath the armor.

Machen wrote that the Christian “has been set free from the consciousness of sin.” That does not mean the believer becomes morally indifferent. Rather, the Christian no longer lives trapped beneath condemnation and fear. Acceptance before God rests on grace rather than social respectability or religious performance.

Jesus Himself was often criticized because His love crossed boundaries respectable religious people preferred to keep intact. He moved toward outsiders, touched the unclean, ate with the unwanted, and showed startling tenderness toward people others reduced to categories.

Reading Machen today made me reflect on how easily Christians can defend truth while forgetting the texture of grace. Truth without love hardens into sterility. But grace-filled truth produces both conviction and tenderness.

Perhaps that is what stayed with me most in this chapter: the realization that genuine Christian liberty should not make us colder, more suspicious, or more isolated from people unlike ourselves. Properly understood, grace should make us freer — freer to love, freer to see people clearly, freer from fear, and freer from the exhausting need to preserve appearances.

Maybe even Machen, beneath all the controversy, longed for that kind of Christianity.

The Significant Insignificance

2026-05-19T07:25:10.248-05:00

Have you ever seen my championship ring collection? It sits on a desk downstairs in our home. The grandkids play with them all the time.

Each one carries memories—football milestones, fishing team championships, seasons that once felt enormous in the moment. I’m grateful for every one of them and the people connected to them. But honestly, how SIGNIFICANT is any of it really?

I first started thinking deeply about that question back in 2005 after reading some Malcolm Muggeridge from Is There a God? At the time, I was still very much in the spotlight. Coaching consumed a huge part of my identity. Success, leadership, growth, achievement—all of it mattered deeply to me, probably more deeply than I realized then.

Muggeridge wrote:

“What living God? A being with whom one has a relationship, on the one hand, inconceivably more personal than the most intimate human one… on the other, so remote that in order to establish a valid relationship at all, it is necessary to die… and batter down one’s ego…”

That line hit me hard twenty years ago. It hits me even harder now.

Back then I mostly saw the intensity of discipleship. Today I think I understand more clearly what he meant about the ego. God has a way of patiently stripping away our need to be important. Not our purpose. Not our calling. But the subtle desire to be noticed, needed, admired, or central to the story.

Life has a way of changing your understanding of significance.

Muggeridge later wrote:

“Once the confrontation has been experienced—the rocky summit climbed, the interminable desert crossed—an unimaginably delectable vista presents itself…”

When I was younger, I read that almost triumphantly. The desert sounded dramatic and heroic. Now it sounds different to me. Deserts are stripping places. Summits can be lonely places. Time and disappointment and suffering have a way of sanding down the ego whether we want them to or not.

And strangely enough, I’m okay with that now. More than okay, honestly.

I still coach football. I still love the competition, the discipline, the relationships, the pursuit of excellence. But I’m no longer absorbed by it. There was a time when I probably needed the spotlight more than I understood. Now I find a lot of joy simply trying to be faithful somewhere a little farther back in the shadows.

“He must increase, but I must decrease.” (John 3:30)

Those words used to sound painful to me. Now they sound freeing.

The older I get, the more I realize how quickly most accomplishments fade. Football games are forgotten. Records get broken. Rings end up on a desk where grandchildren turn them into toys.

And yet somehow none of it is meaningless.

God was there in all of it. In the practices. In the wins and losses. In the conversations on buses and sidelines and hallways. In the quiet shaping of character and perseverance and faithfulness. He was doing deeper work than the trophies ever represented.

Maybe that’s the real irony of significance. The things we chase so hard often matter far less than we think, while the quiet work God is doing underneath it all lasts far longer than we can see.

Perhaps the real victory is becoming content to decrease a little, while trusting Christ to increase.

Fifteen Years Later: Revisiting My “Good-Natured Young Earth” Views

2026-05-15T11:37:03.128-05:00

A few days ago I reread a blog post I wrote in November of 2010 titled “My Good-Natured Young Earth Views are Evolving.”

Reading it felt like opening a time capsule.

I love the opening quote-

"Science gives us the full accord of facts- It costs the church a severe struggle to give up one interpretation and adopt another- but no evil need to be apprehended- The Bible still stands in the presence of the whole scientific community, unshaken”

Charles Hodge- Princeton 1829

Some parts made me laugh. Some parts made me cringe a little. Some parts still sound exactly like me. I could still see that sixth-grade kid sitting in Robinson Elementary instinctively resisting the idea that life was merely the result of blind accidents over vast periods of time. I could still feel the emotional charge behind those old debates.

What struck me most, though, was not merely the content of the arguments, but the certainty surrounding them. Everyone seemed so sure. Young earthers. Old earthers. Atheists. Fundamentalists. Scientists. Apologists.

Fifteen years later, I am less certain about simplistic systems and more convinced that reality is far more layered, mysterious, and beautiful than any of us fully grasp.

Some things have not changed for me at all.

I still believe the universe screams transcendence.

Ironically, the Big Bang itself never weakened my faith. In many ways, it strengthened it. An eternal, self-existing universe always seemed easier for materialism to explain. But a universe with a beginning — ordered, intelligible, mathematically elegant, and fine-tuned in astonishing ways — raises enormous questions. Science may describe processes beautifully, but description is not the same thing as ultimate explanation.

Why is there something instead of nothing? Why does mathematics map onto reality with such precision? Why does consciousness exist? Why do beauty, morality, love, meaning, and rationality feel so deeply woven into the fabric of existence?

I have no real issue anymore with adaptation and change within living organisms. The evidence for that is substantial and observable. Species adapt. Selection occurs. Biology is dynamic. None of that particularly threatens me.

What I remain unconvinced by is the philosophical leap that says mechanism alone explains everything — that blind material processes fully account for life, consciousness, morality, beauty, rationality, and the human longing for transcendence.

That still feels like a leap of faith of its own.

But my biggest shift over the last fifteen years may not actually be scientific. It may be hermeneutical.

I increasingly suspect that Genesis was doing something far more profound than giving modern readers a scientific timeline.

The more I study the ancient world, the more I think Genesis is deeply connected to the cultures surrounding Israel — particularly Egypt and the ancient Near East. It reads less and less to me like a modern lab report and more like a theological declaration of war against paganism, chaos, and false gods.

In a world where the sun, moon, sea, animals, rulers, and fertility were worshipped, Genesis calmly demotes them all. The lights in the heavens are not gods. The sea is not divine chaos. Humanity is not slave labor for the gods. Men and women bear the image of God Himself.

I now think we sometimes force Genesis to answer questions Moses may not have even been attempting to address. We bring modern scientific expectations into an ancient theological text and then become shocked when tensions emerge.

That does not mean Genesis is false. It means we may misunderstand its purpose.

And honestly, the older I get, the more comfortable I am admitting how much we simply do not know.

Time itself is mysterious. Physics is strange. Human perception is limited. Scientific models change. Theological systems sometimes overreach. We are finite creatures attempting to explain origins from inside the system itself.

That should produce at least a little humility in all of us.

One thing I still appreciate about my younger self was that I never wanted this debate to become a test of Christian fellowship. Even then I knew faithful believers existed across these views. I still believe that today. I never felt that questions regarding the meaning of Genesis automatically meant a person abandoned a 'high view of Scripture'.

I have watched some Christians act as though accepting an old universe destroys the gospel. I have also watched some skeptics speak as though evolutionary theory eliminated the need for God altogether. After years of listening to both camps, I find myself skeptical of both forms of certainty.

What concerns me more in 2026 is not whether every Christian lands in exactly the same place on Genesis, but whether we have lost the ability to wrestle honestly, humbly, and charitably with difficult questions.

The internet has not helped us there.

Everything now gets flattened into tribes, outrage, and slogans. But reality is usually more complicated than our systems. Scripture is deeper than our talking points. And God is certainly bigger than our categories.

I still believe God created.

I still believe creation declares His glory.

I still believe Scripture is inspired and trustworthy.

I still believe Jesus Christ is the center of history.

and yes, I believe the universe is YOUNGER than we espouse constantly in society.

and for 2026 trends- I do not believe there is life outside us... however, there IS a spiritual realm that is very real and more observable than we could imagine!

And I still think the most important battle is the identity of Jesus, the reality of truth, and whether this universe is fundamentally meaningful or merely accidental.

Fifteen years ago I ended my article with the words:

“Should be a fun run!”

Oddly enough, after all the reading, wrestling, questions, and conversations… I still feel that way.

'Bama Gothic

2026-05-14T07:03:22.545-05:00

I decided to pull together a “quirky” playlist with Southern rock roots and Southern Gothic vibes.

You can find the link to the playlist here:

Bama Gothic playlist

Southern Gothic is a style of storytelling that thrives where beauty and decay live side by side. It’s a world of red clay and judgment, grace and guilt, front-porch kindness and backroom secrets. In this tradition, the South is not just a setting—it is a character: shaped by memory, burdened by history, and haunted by what refuses to stay buried.

When I used to teach American literature, these Southern short stories and novels both haunted and intrigued me. I was beginning to understand that “Southern hospitality,” smiles, and Jesus talk didn’t always match reality.

The most Southern Gothic thing my grandmother ever said was:
“Christian is as Christian does.”

Southern Gothic literature emerged as a distinct voice through writers like William Faulkner, whose tangled families and moral wreckage revealed the weight of the past in places like Yoknapatawpha County. Flannery O’Connor sharpened the edge of the genre with her stark portrayals of sin, grace, and violent revelation—often showing that redemption comes in unsettling, unexpected ways. Authors such as Eudora Welty and Tennessee Williams added to the tradition, exploring isolation, eccentricity, and the quiet desperation beneath polite society.

At its core, Southern Gothic isn’t about ghosts in the traditional sense—it’s about the past that won’t stay dead, the moral contradictions of faith and failure, and the tension between who people pretend to be and who they truly are. It’s filled with flawed characters, decaying places, and moments where the sacred and the profane collide.

Over the past two years, I’ve tried to capture that spirit in a style that honors the South’s particular kind of “quirkiness.”

These songs take that literary spirit and place it into a musical landscape—front porches, church pews, riverbanks, back roads, and small towns where everyone knows your name, but not always the truth. The stories lean into exaggeration, dark humor, and hard truths, embracing the strange edges of Southern life while never losing sight of its deeper weight.

“Bama Gothic” isn’t just about Alabama—it’s about a way of seeing the world:

where grace walks hand in hand with judgment,
where the land remembers everything,
and where even the quietest places have something to say.

If you want to read the lyrics for these 15 songs, you can find them below:

And also- here’s the inspiration and background for each track: Bama Gothic Lyrics

1. Bama Gothic – This was originally a song called “Southern Gothic” that tried to include Easter egg allusions to Faulkner, Flannery O’Connor, etc. I worried a lot of listeners wouldn’t catch those references, so I shifted to something more thematic. I aimed for a Southern rock base, but it drifted more toward a country sound.

2. Small Town Sins – My wife once said something like, “She acted so small-town,” and it stuck with me. We all knew what she meant—too much gossip, too little openness. This isn’t a knock on small towns (the roots are good—honestly better than the “big city”), but no place is immune from human sin.

3. Zombie Chickens – I was walking with a copier technician at school one day, talking about the strange things we grew up with that kids today wouldn’t believe. We both had traumatic memories of chickens with their heads wrung off—and also talked about maps, rotary phones, etc. He used the phrase “Zombie Chickens,” and I wrote the song that night. A week later, he came back, I played it for him, and he loved it—they even played it for their whole office. My favorite lines:

Now you know where we get that sayin’
Ain’t a word of this I’m playin’
’Bout a chicken with its head cut off runnin’
Lord, that thing just kept on comin’

4. Fool’s Gold – This also came from my wife, Lisa, sharing a morning devotion on Colossians 2:8:
“See to it that no one takes you captive by philosophy and empty deceit…”

5. Up From the Coosa – This is a true story about a man who jumped out of a plane to avoid felony financial crimes, faked his death, and stayed at the creepiest spot on Hwy 280 in Harpersville—the Harpersville Motel (I ended up writing “hotel” in the lyrics). On most of these songs, you can click “Behind the Song” to find a blog post with more detail. This one is especially quirky.

6. Unforgiven – I’m not sure this fully fits Bama Gothic—it comes straight from the Clint Eastwood movie. Thematically it works, but it leans more Western.

7. Three-Quarters Empty – My most popular song, built on lyrics I first wrote in 1982—the same year I fell in love with American literature and Southern Gothic. It has nearly 7,000 plays since I published it on November 24, 2025.

8. I Just Stopped Digging – This came from a Lane Kiffin quote in a documentary. I took it from there—again, “Behind the Song” has more detail.

9. Through It – This started from a quote in a news story about the tragic floods in Texas (Camp Mystic), but I also connect it to people dealing with tornadoes in Alabama. It reflects how we live in the South—we lean on each other and get through it. We don’t get over it.

10. Justice Ran Hot in South Alabama – I hope this playlist brings more attention to this one. It’s based on a true story told to me by my friend Gary Cartee, a state fire marshal, about working a difficult case in Washington County, Alabama. I turned it into a short story and later into a song. The “Behind the Song” link includes both.

11. Cause and Effect – This song came from a blog title: “Snoozin’ and Losin’.” I spent a rainy day building phrases around it and eventually shaped the lyrics. It was later re-published by songwriter Frank L. Wilken.

12. Check Engine Light Is Red – I wrote this as a metaphor comparing my aging body to a car from my birth year—a 1964 GTO. It took about two weeks to get the lyrics right. My favorite line: “Mountain Dew leaking out the radiator cracks.” I even worked to give it a George Strait feel. When I first played it for my wife, she didn’t react much—until I explained, “No, the car is me.” Then it clicked. It hasn’t caught on (about 200 listens since March 2025), but maybe George will record it someday.

13. Abbeville Road- the story of Huggin' Molly and the beautiful neon lights in a town supported by Jimmy Rane.

14. Climbin’ Out of a Bad Hole – This came from the frustration of projects at work—especially construction with tight deadlines—running into issues. I played with the idea of different kinds of “holes” and leaned into a Dierks Bentley vibe.

15. A Lot Right by Living a Lot Wrong – I have two versions of this: one with a SteelDrivers/Stapleton feel, and an earlier, simpler country version (which I actually prefer, even if the sound isn’t as polished). The idea came straight from Landman and Billy Bob Thornton’s character.

16. Hemingway – I know—Hemingway wasn’t Southern Gothic. But his style and themes fit this idea of “Bama Gothic.” This song draws on the “Hemingway hero” and works as a closing anthem about survival in the South.

Put on this playlist sometime and let me know what you like—no need to send any hate. LOL.

Moving On From Nietz

2026-05-11T08:48:00.002-05:00

I think I’ve had all the Nietzsche I can for now. Time to close that chapter and move on.

I spent a good stretch with him—read large portions of Zarathustra, worked through Genealogy of Morals, went back to the Madman in The Gay Science, and made my way through most of Kaufmann’s book. That wasn’t casual reading. It was more like stepping into a different mental world for a while.

I’ve asked myself why I picked him up in the first place. Was it to boost some kind of intellectual résumé? Curiosity? Probably some of both. There’s no denying the man’s intellect—reading him, even in translation, you can feel the depth and range of his thinking. It’s honestly breathtaking at times.

But in the end, he and I are worlds apart.

I played in his sandbox for a bit. I followed the arguments, sat with the tension, let him press on some fault lines. And that’s really what he does—he doesn’t just present ideas, he tests you. He forces you to ask what you actually believe, what holds, and what doesn’t. For a while, that’s energizing. Then it becomes clarifying.

At some point, I realized I wasn’t moving toward agreement—I was moving toward distinction.

Along the way, there were a few things that stuck. His warning about systems—that once we treat our framework as final and stop questioning its assumptions, we’ve stopped thinking—that’s going to stay with me. It’s not a call to abandon belief, but to hold it with a kind of humility and self-suspicion. I also found his idea of the “fearless questioner” compelling—not someone who asks clever questions, but someone willing to ask questions that actually put something at risk. That’s a different level of honesty than most of us are comfortable with.

He also sharpened my awareness of how easily people—myself included—can outsource their thinking (my biggest concern in the growing AI age- it needs to aid us in discovery but not think or learn for us). To teachers, to movements, to cultural trends, even to art. That thread showed up everywhere—from his break with Wagner to his critique of systems to the way he saw mass influence forming identity. It made me more attentive to what is shaping me, and whether I’ve actually chosen what I hold or simply absorbed it.

And maybe most unexpectedly, he helped clarify where I stand. Not just intellectually, but relationally. The more I read him, the more I realized that the deepest difference isn’t just about morality or meaning, but about whether reality itself is ultimately personal. That matters more than any system.

So I’m stepping away. Not dismissing him, not regretting the time, just recognizing that I’ve gotten what I needed from the engagement. There’s a place for thinkers like Nietzsche—they sharpen you, unsettle you, force honesty—but they’re not meant to be permanent residence.

For me, the most useful takeaway is this: to hold my own beliefs with a little more humility, a little more self-awareness, and a willingness to question what I might otherwise leave unexamined.

That feels like a good place to land.

Time to move on.

The Lantern Man (A Parable)

He Finds Me in Dark Spaces

2026-05-10T09:55:00.004-05:00

Before getting into this reflection, it’s worth acknowledging that May is recognized as Mental Health Awareness Month. I’ve written on this topic in the past:

Athletes and Mental Health Series (8 posts)

When Perfection Doesn't Fit

but recently I found myself taking time to sit with it again—not from a distance, but personally.

The reality is, we all find ourselves in difficult places at times. Seasons where the weight feels heavier, where clarity fades, where the internal battle is harder to articulate. Life has a way of holding both tension and beauty at the same time.

What I’ve been reminded of is that these moments are not unusual, and they are not disqualifying. They are part of the human experience. And for those of us walking in faith, they are often the very places where God meets us most clearly.

There’s a quiet assumption in leadership that strength should be steady, visible, and unwavering. If you’re leading well, encouraging others, carrying responsibility with consistency, it can start to feel like you’re supposed to live above the weight instead of walking through it. But that’s not how life works, and it’s not how faith works either.

There are moments when the noise fades, when the momentum slows, and what’s left is a kind of internal stillness that doesn’t feel peaceful—it feels exposing. Those are the moments when the doubts get louder, when insecurities feel less manageable, when even small failures seem to echo more than they should. You keep showing up, but internally you feel worn down, tired of trying to measure up. The psalmist gives language to that kind of moment: “How long, Lord? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me?” (Psalm 13:1). That cry isn’t polished—it’s honest.

What’s striking is how familiar that experience is when you read the Psalms. The people who wrote them weren’t distant from God; many of them were deeply entrusted by Him. And yet, they speak with a level of honesty that cuts through any illusion that leadership or maturity eliminates struggle. They talk about being overwhelmed, saying things like, “My guilt has overwhelmed me like a burden too heavy to bear” (Psalm 38:4). They acknowledge internal unrest: “Why, my soul, are you downcast? Why so disturbed within me?” (Psalm 42:5).

There’s also this instinct to hide. Not necessarily from people in obvious ways, but internally—to compartmentalize, to push down what feels too heavy or too messy to bring into the light. Over time, that kind of hiding can become so effective that you start to lose clarity about what’s really going on inside you. You keep functioning, but something in you feels distant. And yet, Scripture gently confronts that instinct: “If I say, ‘Surely the darkness will hide me…’ even the darkness will not be dark to you” (Psalm 139:11–12). The places we retreat to are not hidden from God.

Failure and insecurity have a way of distorting perspective, especially in leadership. The weight of responsibility can amplify every misstep. Words we wish we could take back, decisions we second-guess, expectations we don’t meet—these things linger. The psalmists don’t ignore that weight. They name it. But they also begin to turn within it. Even in the middle of distress, there is a shift toward trust: “But I trust in your unfailing love; my heart rejoices in your salvation” (Psalm 13:5). The circumstances haven’t necessarily changed, but something deeper has.

That’s where something begins to shift for us as well. Not instantly, and not always dramatically, but steadily. The same voices that cry out in frustration begin to speak with confidence—not in themselves, but in God’s presence. “Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I will fear no evil, for you are with me” (Psalm 23:4). The valley is still there. The difference is that we are not alone in it.

For those of us who lead, that matters. Because the goal isn’t to become people who never enter dark spaces. The goal is to become people who know what to do when we’re there. People who don’t isolate completely, who don’t let shame define the moment, who don’t assume that being there means we’ve failed. Instead, we begin to recognize those spaces as places where God meets us with intention. As the psalmist writes, “He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire” (Psalm 40:2). The movement begins with Him.

There’s also a longer view that begins to form. The Psalms carry this quiet confidence that the present moment isn’t the final outcome. There is an expectation—not always immediate, but certain—that restoration will come. That joy will return. That what feels heavy now will not always feel this way. “Weeping may stay for the night, but rejoicing comes in the morning” (Psalm 30:5). That promise doesn’t rush the night, but it reframes it.

Over time, you begin to see that being found in those places changes you. It deepens your awareness of grace. It softens your responses to others. It reshapes how you measure strength. And it reminds you that the effectiveness of your leadership is not rooted in your ability to avoid struggle, but in your willingness to remain connected to God within it. “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:18).

What I’ve come to understand is that the dark spaces don’t disqualify us. If anything, they refine us. They strip away the illusion that we can carry everything on our own and bring us back to the truth that we were never meant to. Because in the end, the story isn’t about how well we hold ourselves together. It’s about a God who meets us, restores us, and leads us forward again.

Or, in the simplest terms, just like this song says—He still finds us in dark spaces.

You Find Me in Dark Spaces

Verse 1

When the noise of the world goes quiet on me

And the shadows say what I don’t want to see

I retreat to a place no one else knows

Where the ache runs deep and the silence grows

Worn down by the weight of a thousand tries

Chasing “perfect” through a thousand lies

Every word that missed, every step misplaced

Feels like scars I can’t erase

I’m hiding so well, I’m losing myself

In the doubt, in the fear, in the stories I tell

Chorus

But You find me in dark spaces

Where I’ve buried all my shame

When I’m lost in my own hiding

Still You call me by my name

Through the fear and all my failures

Through the silence and lonely places

I don’t have to fight the shadows

‘Cause You find me in dark spaces

Verse 2

Tired of fighting what I can’t outrun

Every battle feels already done

Jaded by the arrows I didn’t see

Even careless words still cut through me

I’m suffocating under who I should be

Every flaw just magnified in me

But grace breaks in where I fall apart

And whispers truth back to my heart

When I’m sure that no one else could understand

I feel Your mercy take my hand

Chorus

Yeah, You find me in dark spaces

Where I’ve buried all my shame

When I’m lost in my own hiding

Still You call me by my name

Through the fear and all my failures

Through the scars I can’t erase

I don’t have to fight the shadows

‘Cause You find me in dark spaces

Bridge

No depth too low, no night too long

No broken place where You don’t belong

You walk right in, You bring the light

You speak to the dark and call it life

And I will rise, not on my own

But by the love that won’t let go

Chorus

You find me in dark spaces

And You lead me back to grace

When I thought I was forgotten

I can feel Your warm embrace

And in time this heart will heal

I’ll see hope upon my face

I will smile again in the light

‘Cause You found me in dark spaces

When 'Games and God Divide One’s Heart'

2026-05-09T03:33:00.000-05:00

I was reading Nietzsche’s Genealogy of Morals recently and came across a line that stuck with me. He describes being thirteen years old and calls it the age “when games and God divide one’s heart.”

He doesn’t linger on it. For him, it’s just a way of describing a stage of life—a time when a young person is pulled between play and religion. Then he moves on to talk about how, even at that age, he was already thinking about the origin of good and evil.

But that line has stayed with me, because I don’t think it describes something we grow out of.

If anything, it describes something we carry with us.

The divided heart is not just a problem for teenagers. It shows up in adulthood in quieter, more complicated ways. We don’t just choose between “games” and “God” in a simple sense. We live in a world where distractions are constant and easy, and they don’t feel like distractions most of the time—they just feel like normal life.

My experience with my human heart has a long history now- late nights of anticipation, anxiety, wonder. My unfortunate habit of restless insomnia has produced long 'conversations' with myself- most of the time more dramatic than practical.

What I’ve noticed is not just distraction, but fragmentation. It’s the sense that my attention is spread thin, that I move quickly from one thing to another without ever being fully present. Even when I’m doing things that matter, part of me is somewhere else.

And that has a cost. Even in intense conversations, confrontations, maybe even small talk I often get stuck on a phrase and then BOOM! I am realizing I just left the room and wonder to what degree I need to look at the other person and say "I'm sorry". This is not a habit I am proud of!

Lately I’ve also felt a kind of loneliness that’s hard to explain. Not because I’m alone, and NOT because I’m unloved. I’m surrounded by people who care about me. But there’s still a sense of distance at times—like something in me is not fully engaged, not fully there.

I don’t think that feeling is unusual. I think a lot of people carry it, even if they don’t talk about it.

And I think it has something to do with this idea of a divided heart.

The Bible speaks to this more directly than Nietzsche does. In Psalm 86, David prays, “Give me an undivided heart, that I may fear your name.” That line has always stood out to me, because it assumes that the heart is not naturally undivided. It has to be given.

At the same time, Scripture also warns us not to trust our hearts blindly. “The heart is deceitful above all things,” Jeremiah says. So on one hand, we long for a whole heart. On the other hand, we’re told the heart itself can’t be taken at face value.

That tension feels real. I'm writing very honestly here- I have for many years been way more skeptical of my heart, that anyone else I know. I often joke (but also serious)- "If someone found a way to project ALL my thoughts on a screen in public, I would need to resign my job, pack my bags, and move."

On a practical level, I can see how easily my own heart gets pulled in different directions. It’s not always obvious or dramatic. It happens in small ways—through distraction, through habits, through things that aren’t necessarily wrong but still take up space and attention.

Recently I was in a VERY serious conversation... it lasted longer than my usual length of conversations... and again, I had to 'wake up' and realize I was way off somewhere else.... is that a protective mechanism?

Over time, those small divisions add up. They shape what we pay attention to, what we care about, and how present we are with God and with other people.

I don’t think the problem is simply that we choose the wrong things. It’s that we rarely choose anything fully. Our attention is divided, and eventually our hearts follow.

That’s why David’s prayer feels so relevant: “Give me an undivided heart.”

It’s not a request for more discipline or more activity. It’s a request for integration—for a heart that is not constantly pulled apart by competing desires.

I don’t have a clean solution to that. But I do think it starts with paying attention to how divided we actually are, instead of assuming we’re fine.

For me, that’s meant slowing down enough to notice what’s shaping my attention, what’s filling my time, and what’s quietly pulling me away from being present—with God, with people, and even with myself.

The problem Nietzsche described may not just belong to a thirteen-year-old boy. It may describe something much more basic about us.

The question is whether we learn to live with a divided heart—or whether we begin, even slowly, to ask for something different.

Does anyone else struggle with this?

Song Link: Ask Me

Tucker Carlson and "The Smoking Man"

2026-04-23T22:18:00.001-05:00

The image that stuck with me from Tucker Carlson’s recent podcast with his brother wasn’t even what was said—it was the smoking.

It felt out of place. Almost symbolic. Like something from another era—slower, more deliberate, but also more ambiguous.

It immediately made me think of The X-Files—the “Smoking Man.” A figure surrounded by mystery, influence, and unanswered questions. You never quite knew where he ultimately stood, only that he lingered in the background while everything else moved around him.

And that’s what gave me pause.

Listening to Tucker and his brother, you can sense something shifting. There’s a tone now that feels different—less anchored, more restless. A growing dissatisfaction. A sense that things aren’t unfolding the way they expected, or perhaps the way they hoped.

Some of that may be coming from deeper reflection. Tucker has spoken more openly about faith in recent months, and it seems like that’s shaping how he’s processing events—questions of justice, truth, and moral responsibility. That’s not something to dismiss. In fact, it can be a sign of growth.

But growth—especially spiritual growth—usually produces steadiness over time, not volatility.

And that’s where I find myself wrestling.

What I heard didn’t just sound like reflection. At moments, it sounded like frustration turning quickly into disillusionment. Like the distance between support and regret has gotten very short. And in that space, it becomes easier to reach for explanations that fill the gap—sometimes drifting toward suspicion, or even conspiracy, when clarity hasn’t yet come.

I don’t say that critically as much as cautiously. Because that tendency isn’t limited to Tucker—it’s something I see across the culture right now.

We’ve become very quick to reassess. Very quick to react. And not always very willing to endure uncertainty.

But the issues being discussed—especially around foreign policy and something as serious as a nuclear Iran—aren’t issues that resolve themselves in a news cycle or even a year or two. These are long-horizon decisions with consequences that unfold slowly and often imperfectly.

That kind of reality requires something we don’t talk about much anymore: perseverance.

It makes me think about other moments in history where outcomes weren’t immediately clear, where leadership decisions were questioned in real time, and where it would have been easy to lose confidence before the full picture emerged.

History rarely rewards that kind of impatience.

So when I see influential voices beginning to step back this early—voices that helped shape the expectations to begin with—it raises a fair question: are we giving enough time for these decisions to actually play out?

To be clear, this isn’t about blind loyalty. Leadership should be examined. Decisions should be weighed. Concerns should be voiced.

But there’s a difference between careful evaluation and rapid retreat.

For me, I’m choosing steadiness.

That means acknowledging the seriousness of the moment, especially when it comes to global conflict and nuclear risk, while also resisting the urge to rush to final conclusions. It means holding conviction without becoming reactive. It means allowing time to do what time is necessary to do—reveal outcomes.

So while others may be reassessing, I’m staying grounded in my support of the President—while continuing to watch carefully, think critically, and hope for wise and measured outcomes.

That image of the smoke lingered—but for me, it wasn’t a signal to drift into uncertainty or ambiguity.

It was a reminder of how easy it is to lose clarity when things feel unsettled.

And a reminder to stay clear-headed anyway.

The image was so interesting at the end- two brothers reminiscing about tobacco and it just felt like... it's over.... both of them had their say and are done.

Would Nietzche Tweet?

2026-04-22T06:46:00.000-05:00

(note: I am taking some time reading small doses of Nietzche along with Kauffman's work about him- it has been an interesting exercise, and though I believe Nietz and I would have very little common ground, I do find I am becoming appreciative of him and more empathetic of his pain and suffering... and misunderstanding. I have been thinking, "Would we have been friends?" and then today."If he were alive today, would he be a blogger?, would he tweet?, would he become an influencer?" or would he have thought it all rubbish?)

I came across a line from Nietzsche (through Kaufmann) that has stayed with me:

“The thinker who believes in the ultimate truth of his system, without questioning its presuppositions… refuses to think beyond a certain point.”

In my simple terms, "What happens to us if he have such a high opinion of our opinion that it isn't open for skepticism?"

This feels especially relevant today. We live in a culture where people not only hold strong opinions, but often have elevated confidence in 'our truth'. At the same time, the systems around us—especially digital algorithms—reinforce this confidence. They present us with fragments of information that confirm what we already believe, connect us with others who think the same way, and gradually form small, self-reinforcing circles of agreement.

There have been more than a few times in recent years that I have read commentary about a topic with a deadline answer- for example an election. As we got closer and closer to the 2024 election, I looked at my wife and said "Somebody is about to be shocked to see how wrong they were" because both sides were predicting lopsided wins, all fueled by their sphere of influence that feels SO large but is much smaller than advertised.

Over time, this can make our beliefs feel less like something we have examined and more like something that is simply true by default.

Nietzsche describes this as a subtle kind of corruption—not because having a framework or system is wrong, but because refusing to question it is. The problem is not conviction itself, but the loss of self-examination.

(I realize this was one of his raging attacks on traditional religious belief, but I'd rather deal with this as a general rule for now and I'm predicting a defense of my faith at some point down the road..but it has to come as I know the arguments better.)

There seems to be a healthier process available to us. This is a better process......

We begin with an idea and hold it with some degree of humility, even skepticism. We then bring it into the “marketplace of ideas,” where it is tested. Not all feedback is helpful or constructive, but some of it sharpens us. Over time, we find others who are willing to think alongside us—collaborators rather than echo chambers. If we want to avoid what Nietzsche warns against, we must resist the urge to treat our system as final. Instead, we remain willing to revise it, or even see it dismantled entirely. There is less to fear in that than we might assume. In many cases, the shared process of refining ideas together is more valuable than the system we began with. It also helps move us out of the isolation of our own thinking.

This raises a useful standard for all of us: to hold our beliefs with a degree of humility and self-suspicion. That does not mean abandoning what we believe, but it does mean asking honest questions about it. What assumptions am I making? Where might I be overlooking something? Have I stopped examining this because it feels settled?

The real danger is not simply being wrong. It is becoming unable to recognize the possibility that we might be.

As a side thought, it is interesting to consider how Nietzsche would respond to modern communication platforms. His style—short, sharp, provocative—might fit well in a format like social media. However, he would likely be skeptical of the environment itself. These platforms tend to reward certainty, speed, and reaction, rather than careful reflection and sustained thinking.

This creates a tension in our current moment. We have more opportunities than ever to express what we think, but fewer habits that encourage us to examine it deeply.

That is a pattern worth paying attention to. I'm going to keep reading- it is a SLOW process, I can only take him in very small chunks and have to back up and catch up on terms and people he alludes to.

I'll close with a few catchy aphorisms from this interesting man:

From' Thus Spake Zarathustra":

Then thou carriedst thine ashes into the mountains: wilt thou now carry thy fire into the valleys?

Man is something that is to be surpassed. What have ye done to surpass man?

All beings hitherto have created something beyond themselves: and ye want to be the ebb of that great tide, and would rather go back to the beast than surpass man?

What is the ape to man? A laughing-stock, a thing of shame. And just the same shall man be to the Superman: a laughing-stock, a thing of shame.

Lion Soul Revisited

2026-04-13T17:55:00.001-05:00

Reading back through what I wrote almost 15 years ago after finishing Soul of the Lion, I can still feel why Joshua Chamberlain inspired me the way he did. Time has a way of sanding down heroes, or at least our memory of them—but revisiting his life doesn’t do that. If anything, it sharpens the edges.

Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain lived from 1828 to 1914. What can we learn from a man more that a full century behind us?

What struck me then—and still does now—is how rare it is to find a man who held together things we tend to separate. He was deeply educated without being soft, a lover of literature and language who could also endure brutality and make hard decisions under fire. He grew up doing farm work, learned discipline early, studied Greek and French at the highest level, taught, led, sang in the choir, and still had a steel backbone when it came to conviction. His faith wasn’t ornamental—it anchored him. When the country fractured over slavery and secession, he didn’t have the ability to sit quietly and keep his position secure. That cost him comfort, reputation, and nearly his life.

I’m struck by how much resistance he faced before he ever faced the enemy. The people around him—educated, respectable, measured—largely chose neutrality. He couldn’t. That tension feels familiar even now. It’s always easier to stay quiet in polite company than to act on conviction when it might cost you.

And he wasn’t some natural-born battlefield genius. He knew he was behind when he entered the army. What separated him was not instant competence but relentless effort. He studied. He observed. He pushed himself. And in the chaos of battle, when others panicked, he had this strange calm that let him think clearly. That combination—humility about weakness and refusal to stay weak—is something I probably underappreciated when I first wrote about him.

The stories of his endurance still feel almost unreal. Marching in miserable conditions and somehow enjoying it. Escaping death repeatedly. Wrestling not just with enemies but with exhaustion, sickness, and the mental weight of seeing death up close. There’s a line he wrote about his life being in God’s hands—that he couldn’t die except by His appointment—and it doesn’t read like theory when you see how many times he should have died and didn’t. Whether someone shares that belief or not, it clearly gave him a steadiness most men don’t have.

Gettysburg, of course, is the moment everyone knows. Little Round Top. Out of ammunition. Flank exposed. Orders to hold at all costs. And then that decision—fix bayonets. What I appreciate more now is that the moment wasn’t magic. It was the result of everything that came before: years of discipline, months of study, days of exhaustion, and the trust he had built with his men. When he gave that order, they followed. That says as much about his leadership before the crisis as it does about his courage in it.

But if I’m honest, what probably impacts me more now than it did then is how he finished. A lot of men have a defining moment and spend the rest of their lives fading from it. Chamberlain didn’t. He kept serving, kept leading, kept building. He was wounded terribly—injuries that would mark him for life—and still went back. He led with distinction, received honors, governed, taught, reformed, represented, built. There was no coasting on past glory.

And then there’s that moment at Appomattox. After all the blood, all the loss, all the bitterness—he chose to salute the defeated. Not out of weakness, but out of a recognition of shared humanity and respect for men who had fought with everything they had. That kind of strength is harder than winning a battle. It’s easier to crush than to restore. Easier to humiliate than to honor.

If I could rewrite what I was trying to say back then, it’s this: Chamberlain wasn’t just a great soldier. He was a whole man. Conviction, discipline, humility, courage, compassion, endurance, faith—held together over a lifetime, not just in a moment.

And nearly 15 years later, the question still lingers in a more personal way than it did back then. Not just “are we producing men like this?” but “what would it actually take to become one?”

Here are some links to my earlier posts:

Soul of a Lion pt 1 (2012) of 4 posts

Updated (2021)

of course a song: Lion Soul

Music Without Lyrics

2026-03-31T07:16:00.005-05:00

I’ve been slowly working through Nietzsche lately, and it’s taken me down more side roads than I expected. As I read, I try to keep an open mind. I enjoy getting to know thinkers—their motivations, their influences, the worlds they were responding to.

One of the more interesting threads has been Nietzsche’s relationship with the composer Richard Wagner. At first, there was deep admiration—a shared vision of what art could do for culture. But over time, that relationship fractured. The more I read, the more I realize it wasn’t just personal. It pointed to something deeper.

And that “something” keeps coming up the more I read—and even as I’ve been listening to what we’d call “true classics.” (Most of us know Wagner through the 'Wedding March" and "Ride of the Valkyries")

What is art actually doing to us?

When we think about music and influence, we usually think in terms of words. Lyrics carry ideas, ideas carry meaning, and meaning shapes people. But it’s been interesting to wrestle with how thinkers like Wagner—and those who influenced Nietzsche, like Schopenhauer—understood music that has no words at all.

Wagner believed music could express something deeper than language: emotion, longing, tension—even transcendence. Things words can’t fully capture. Schopenhauer went even further, arguing that music doesn’t just describe life—it expresses something more immediate and primal, something like the underlying force of reality itself.

In that sense, music isn’t just communicating ideas. It’s shaping experience. It moves the heart directly, without passing through language first.

And that raises a question I can’t shake:

If music has that kind of power, what is it forming in us when there are no words to guide it?

Wagner didn’t just compose music—he built experiences. Festivals, gatherings, even a cultural center around his work. People didn’t just listen; they participated. It shaped identity, emotion, even belief.

I had never heard of Bayreuth before this—a music hall Wagner built that became the center of a powerful cultural movement. It’s fascinating to see how art, identity, and influence blended there in ways that went far beyond the stage.

And the more I think about it, the more I see a pattern.

19th-century German festivals. Woodstock in the 1960s. Burning Man....and yes, these bizarre "No Kings" rallies recently.

I don’t want to oversimplify it—but I can’t ignore the question:

What happens when art and cultural movements become tools for mass identity and emotional control?

At that point, it’s no longer just expression—it’s formation.

And formation isn’t neutral.

What feels like progress can sometimes be drift. Not growth rooted in something solid, but movement fueled by emotion, belonging, and shared experience—without grounding.

And it’s that loss of grounding that concerns me.

On the surface, some of what we see today can look almost silly—costumes, chaotic performances, moments that feel more like spectacle than substance. But underneath, there can also be something more serious: messages about destruction, revolution, or meaninglessness quietly woven in.

And when that happens, art doesn’t elevate people—it eventually confuses them.

I’m still working through all of this, but it keeps bringing me back to a central question:

What is shaping us—and what is it shaping us into?

Nietzsche’s famous statement, “God is dead,” is often misunderstood. He wasn’t celebrating it so much as observing what happens when a society cuts itself off from God.

And the more I read, the more I think he may have been more right than wrong.

We are not used to music without words—or are we?

When I see bizarre antics at these recent 'protests' - they have no coherent message- No Kings? The fact that they are able to proclaim the message defeats the logic of the label- but again, it isn't the 'lyrics' .... it is a discordant symphony that communicates more danger than the general public realizes.

And here comes some angry rant at me.... 3....2.....1..... These are my words and I am free to express them.

We have a lot of people living like God is Dead- their own God is their own mind.

Lat night, American Idol had it's yearly 'faith night' where contestants chose songs that expressed faith- some were overtly Christian and some were not.

On X- many praised the night...but I was also intrigued that in my 'Top Comments" feed there was a lot of anger that ABC/Disney would give that a platform.... even though it is 'Holy Week' for Christians.

So those opposed to faith night might ask me the same question:

What happens when art and cultural movements become tools for mass identity and emotional control?

Which then leads me to a a better question:

Because art and cultural movements can become tools for mass identity and emotional control- what anchors should we cling to that allows us the greatest opportunity for love, understanding, prosperity, and peace?

And this is where I believe the Christian gospel excels and has no real rival.

Things to ponder on Holy Week.

Is Art Lost?

2026-03-20T10:16:00.001-05:00

(Some early thoughts while reading Nietzsche)

I’ve just started reading Nietzsche (biography and works), and already I feel like I’m being pushed—not just intellectually, but personally.

I have had early introduction to the man- his sister- misunderstandings... etc.

But I took a rabbit hole to read a little more about the relationship of Nietzche and Wagner.

Nietzsche talks about Richard Wagner, this larger-than-life composer who tried to bring everything together—music, story, visuals—into what he called “Gesamtkunstwerk”- a “total work of art.” The goal was something immersive, almost sacred. Not just entertainment, but something that could restore depth and meaning to culture.

At first, Nietzsche believed in him.

But later, he became disillusioned. Not just with Wagner as a person—but with what his art was actually doing. It started to feel like the experience was powerful… but disconnected. Emotional, but not grounding. Impressive, but not transformative.

(So I find an early disillusionment in life is when a hero shows he is human, our discipleship leaders are flawed humans- and it feels almost like a betrayal. But we have to be careful when we project too much hope in any human- if you are looking for hypocrisy, you WILL find it.)

And it is an over-simplified symbol- The 'divorce' of the philosopher and the artist is representative of a current cultural crisis....

Because I wonder if we’re living in a version of that now: Is art lost? Or maybe losing?

That might sound dramatic. We have more art, more content, more access than ever before. Everything is sharper, louder, more immersive. Entire worlds can be created on a screen..

I don’t leave most things thinking about them days later. I don’t carry them with me the way I used to. It’s like I’m impressed in the moment—but unchanged afterward. I scroll endless choices on streaming services and it is like one big “blah”.

We’ve pushed art so far—more effects, more intensity, more spectacle—that maybe we’ve overloaded something in ourselves. Our sense of wonder. Our ability to suspend disbelief. Our capacity to be moved.

It’s like everything is trying so hard to get our attention that nothing really reaches us anymore.

And I don’t think the problem is creativity- I think it’s disconnection.

When art detaches from meaning, it has to rely on intensity. And intensity doesn’t last. It fades. It has to keep escalating. And eventually, we stop feeling it the same way.

So I’ve been trying to put words to what I think is missing.

The best way I can say it right now is this:

Belief-Immersed Art.

Art that doesn’t detach from meaning or purpose.
Art where everything—story, sound, image, emotion—is aligned toward something deeper.

Not just immersive… but grounded.

Because the most meaningful experiences I’ve had with art weren’t the most technically impressive.

They were the ones that felt true. I know we are losing the idea of truth... but we also know it is there, whether we admit it or not.

And maybe that’s the tension I’m starting to see, both in Nietzsche and in our culture:

What happens when art becomes powerful… but untethered?

Could that be a clue to the growing irrelevance of Hollywood?

What makes movies- plays- music- pictures meaningful?- All of the elements allow the story to touch deeper. We don't finish an artistic experience and say, 'those were impressive wires and computer chips'- we are impressed with it as a story it resonates somehow in the soul.

BTW- this INCLUDES our studies and theology.... These are not conventional gadgets to take out play with and put away. They go beyond the mind, soften the heart, and get us into the story of the God of Victory and Love. This is not a cold test tube tale, it is a drama, full of conflict and courage- love and healing, hope and joy.

And what would it look like to create something that doesn’t just capture attention—but actually reaches the soul?

I used to worry that we are losing a generation who no longer wants to think- but in some way we would even be worse off if we lost the ability to feel!

Nietzsche once wrote, “j’aime l’art comme pouvoir”—I love art as power. That’s a sobering thought. We tend to treat art as entertainment, something to pass through quickly, without considering its influence. But art is not passive. It forms us. It shapes perception, stirs emotion, and quietly reinforces what we come to see as meaningful. If art truly carries that kind of power, then the question isn’t whether it affects us—it’s whether it’s rooted in something worth believing.

I don’t have a clean answer yet- to be continued……

Spring break will be a little bit on the Appalachian Trail and a few days in D.C.- good time to get away, read, pray, and ponder....

Curse the Thorns

2026-03-19T07:01:00.006-05:00

This idea began during my Hebrews study a few months back (actually last fall).

The thoughts re-appear when I get tired and when the curse of thorns makes me curse the thorns.

In other words..... time for some rest and rain.

There are certain images in Scripture that don’t just appear once—they echo. You see them early, then again later, and by the time you reach the New Testament, they’ve taken on a deeper weight. Thorns are one of those images.

Hebrews 6:7–8 has always struck me because it feels both simple and unsettling at the same time:

"For land that has drunk the rain that often falls on it, and produces a crop useful to those for whose sake it is cultivated, receives a blessing from God. But if it bears thorns and thistles, it is worthless and near to being cursed, and its end is to be burned." (ESV)

When you read this, the imagery just carries me to Genesis, the parable of the sower, and so many other parts of the Bible.

The first time we see thorns in the Bible is in Genesis 3, right after the fall. God tells Adam that the ground is now cursed because of sin, and then He says something really specific—"thorns and thistles it shall bring forth for you." Before that moment, work was beautiful, restful, useful- never in vain. Afterward, we now have a major problem What once produced fruit now fights back.

So thorns aren’t just a farming problem. They’re a sign that something is wrong at the root level of creation. They’re a reminder that sin doesn’t just affect us internally—it spills out into everything.

Fast forward to Jesus, and He picks up that same image in the parable of the sower. He talks about seed that falls among thorns. At first, it grows. There’s life there. But then the thorns rise up and choke it out. And He explains it in a way that hits uncomfortably close to home—the cares of the world, the pull of wealth, all the competing desires of life… they crowd out what God is trying to grow.

That’s when it shifts from being about soil to being about the heart.

The problem isn’t that nothing is happening. It’s that too much is happening. There are other things growing alongside the Word, and eventually those things win. Not with a sudden blow, but slowly, quietly, over time.

And then you come to the cross, and something happens that almost feels too intentional to miss. The soldiers take thorns—those same symbols of the curse from Genesis—and they twist them into a crown and press it onto Jesus’ head.

Cruel- But also deeply symbolic.

The curse that entered the world through sin is now being placed on the head of the One who came to redeem it. Jesus doesn’t just deal with sin in the abstract—He steps into its consequences. He wears them.

Look at the Genesis 3 curse- pain, sweat, blood, thorns

Now look at Jesus on the cross- pain, sweat, blood, thorns

So when Hebrews talks about land that produces thorns being near to a curse, it’s not speaking in a vacuum. It’s pulling from a story we’ve already seen unfold.

The rain falls on both fields. That part is important. God’s grace, His truth, His patience—it’s not scarce. It comes again and again. The difference isn’t in what is given. It’s in what is produced.

That’s the part that sits heavy. When I see WHERE this verse shows up in Hebrews, it is a dangerous warning... one of those passages that shake you to wake you. It is where theologians grapple with a question of perseverance.

Because it means it’s possible to receive and still not respond. To hear and still drift. To be exposed to grace and yet slowly allow other things to take over.

So that becomes a heart cry when I feel weary and distracted —"Help me learn to curse the thorns and drink the rain."

If the thorns represent everything that chokes out life—distraction, compromise, misplaced priorities—then "cursing" them isn’t passive. It’s a decision. It’s choosing not to make peace with what’s killing growth. It’s recognizing that some things in my life don’t need to be managed—they need to be uprooted.

But at the same time, there’s the other side of it: drink the rain.

Because this isn’t about trying harder in our own strength. The rain is still falling. Grace is still being given. God is still at work, still speaking, still calling us back. The question is whether we’re actually receiving it in a way that leads to fruit.

And sometimes that process isn’t comfortable. Pruning never is. Letting go of things that feel normal—even things that feel necessary—can feel like loss. But Scripture keeps reminding us that God’s goal isn’t just activity. It’s fruitfulness.

That’s where this whole thread leads. From Genesis to the parables to the cross to Hebrews, the question stays the same, even if it’s asked in different ways:

What is growing in our lives?

Not what are you exposed to. Not what have you heard. Not what do you agree with. But what is actually being produced?

Because in the end, the field never lies.

And yet, even here, there’s hope. The same Jesus who wore the thorns is the one who calls us back when we drift. The warning in Hebrews is real, but it’s not disconnected from grace. It’s meant to wake us up, not push us away.

So the prayer behind the song is simple, but it’s not easy:

Don’t let my heart grow cold. Don’t let me drift away.

Teach me to hold the line. To walk the narrow way.

Not by ignoring the thorns, but by dealing with them.

Not by refusing the rain, but by receiving it deeply.

Because I don’t just want to avoid the curse.

I want to become something that actually bears fruit.

"If I can learn to curse the thorns and drink the rain."

Song link: Curse the Thorns

Where Do We Go When the Light Fades Away?

2026-03-16T17:27:00.005-05:00

There’s a question that quietly hangs over our age, even if we rarely say it out loud:

Where do we go when the light fades away?

For centuries Western civilization lived with a shared framework of meaning—moral boundaries, transcendent truth, and the assumption that reality itself had an order we didn’t invent.

But something changed.

Many today celebrate the idea that we have finally thrown off the restraints of the past. We are told we are free now—free to define truth, free to construct identity, free to determine our own moral path.

But beneath the celebration, there is a growing sense of unease.

Because when every voice becomes its own authority, something strange begins to happen: the ground beneath us starts to move.

A Warning from an Ancient Book

The Bible describes a similar moment in Israel’s history. The book of Judges ends with a haunting summary of the culture at that time:

“In those days there was no king in Israel. Everyone did what was right in his own eyes.”
— Judges 21:25

At first glance, that might sound like freedom. No king. No authority. Everyone deciding for themselves.

But the stories leading up to that verse tell a darker story—violence, chaos, moral collapse, and communities unraveling.

The problem was not simply political leadership. The deeper issue was the loss of a shared moral reference point.

When everyone becomes their own authority, there is no longer a common compass.

Nietzsche’s Madman

In the 19th century, the philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche wrote a famous parable that feels eerily relevant today.

In The Gay Science, he describes a madman running into a marketplace carrying a lantern in the daylight, crying out:

“I seek God! I seek God!”

The crowd laughs at him. Many of them already believed God was irrelevant.

Then the madman delivers a shocking declaration:

“God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him.”

But the point of the story is often misunderstood. Nietzsche was not celebrating this moment.

He was warning about its consequences.

The madman continues:

“What did we do when we unchained the earth from its sun?
Whither is it moving now?
Are we not plunging continually?”

Nietzsche saw something coming that many people around him did not yet recognize: if the foundation of transcendent truth disappears, the moral and philosophical structure built on top of it cannot hold forever.

In other words, once the sun is gone, the darkness eventually follows.

Freedom Without Form

This is where the Christian philosopher Francis Schaeffer spoke with remarkable clarity.

In his book How Should We Then Live?, Schaeffer argued that Western culture was gradually embracing what he called “freedom without form.”

People wanted absolute personal freedom—freedom from moral limits, freedom from inherited truth, freedom from external authority.

But Schaeffer warned that freedom without form cannot sustain itself.

Without a structure of truth to guide it, freedom begins to collapse inward.

When every individual becomes their own source of truth, society does not become more stable—it becomes more fragmented.

Soon the question shifts from “What is right?” to “Who has the power to decide?”

And that is when freedom slowly begins to disappear.

When the Light Fades

We may not carry lanterns through marketplaces like Nietzsche’s madman, but many people today feel the same unease he described.

The old moral landmarks seem to be disappearing. Institutions that once provided stability feel uncertain. Even the idea of truth itself is often treated as negotiable.

So the question returns:

Where do we go when the light fades away?

The answer may not lie in inventing new truths or constructing new moral systems from scratch.

Instead, it may require rediscovering something older—something that was never ours to create in the first place.

Because if the light did not originate with us, it also means its source has never truly disappeared.

The real challenge is whether we are willing to look for it again.

My attempts to capture this in a song-

So this is my 3rd time and in some ways I feel like it keeps failing- maybe too philosophical-

1st try: The Madness

2nd Try: Lamps in the Light

And they didn't quite work...

so I turned it more into a story.

3rd try- The Lantern Man

The song Lantern Man (A Parable) pushes this question one step further.

In the story, a man walks through a small town carrying a lantern in broad daylight. The people laugh at him. They mock him. Some ignore him completely. To the town, he looks like a fool—an odd relic clinging to something that no longer makes sense.

But the lantern is not for the daylight.

It is a warning about the darkness.

In many ways, that image echoes the strange calling of the Old Testament prophets. When God spoke through them, they often did things that seemed bizarre or embarrassing in order to wake people up.

Ezekiel, for example, was commanded to perform actions that must have looked absurd to those watching:

He lay on his side for hundreds of days to symbolize Israel’s coming judgment (Ezekiel 4).
He cooked food over a fire made from dung as a sign of coming hardship (Ezekiel 4:12–15).
He shaved his head and beard with a sword and divided the hair to represent the fate of Jerusalem (Ezekiel 5).
At one point he was even told to pack his belongings and dig through a wall to leave the city in front of everyone, symbolizing exile (Ezekiel 12).

To the surrounding culture, the prophets must have looked strange—maybe even ridiculous.

Yet their actions carried a message: something was wrong, and people needed to wake up.

In a similar way, sharing the message of Christ in our time can sometimes make us appear just as strange.

When we speak about truth in a world that believes truth is relative…
When we talk about sin in a culture that prefers affirmation…
When we point people toward Christ as the source of life and meaning…

we may look a little like that lantern carrier in the marketplace.

Out of step, unfashionable, perhaps even foolish.

But if Nietzsche’s warning was correct—if a culture really can unchain itself from its moral sun—then the question becomes unavoidable:

Are we willing to carry the lantern anyway?

Because without a source of truth beyond ourselves, we are not truly navigating the world.

We are simply wandering through it.

And without direction, we are not enlightened—we are just stumbling in the fading light.

Send me a note- which one did you like the best?

Verse 1 In an old backwoods town Where the roads run thin and dry There’s a man who walks the market With a lantern in broad daylight. Children laugh and trail behind him, Men just shake their heads and grin, “Still searching for your God out here?” They shout as he walks in. Chorus Where do we turn when the lights burn out? When the stars we trusted fall? What still holds when the noise dies down When there’s no clear voice at all? He keeps walking through the laughter and the strain— That quiet Lantern Man. Verse 2 They say he’s been here years now, Ever since the mill shut down, Since the preacher left the pulpit And the truth left this town. One day someone asked him laughing, “What are you trying to prove?” He said, “You tore the sky from meaning— Now tell me how you move.” Chorus Where do we turn when the lights burn out? When the stars we trusted fall? What still holds when the noise dies down When there’s no clear voice at all? He keeps searching through the dust and shifting sand— That stubborn Lantern Man. Verse 3 One night when the crowd had drifted And the square was standing still, I asked him why he carried Fire against their will. He said, “Freedom without form breaks apart, It bends until it frays. Doing what is right in our own eyes Leaves us lost halfway.” Bridge “Not every truth arrives in thunder, Not every answer roars. Some restore the shape of things By whispering what matters more.” Final Chorus So where do we turn when the lights burn out? When the night outlasts the day? What still leads when the ground gives way And the old paths fade to gray? He said, “You don’t need thunder to call you back— Just a voice that stays.” Outro Now sometimes when the town goes dark And the road runs out of plan, I swear I see a lantern glow In the hand of that old man. No firestorm, no shaking ground— Just a quiet light again. Walking slow through the silent streets, That steady Lantern Man.

WISDOM from Proverbs 9

2026-03-04T13:24:00.003-06:00

This post/song was inspired by a devotion last night from Dr. Scott Redd.....

We now come to the last of the introductory passages before the listing of individual proverbs. Proverbs 9 sets the stage with two feminine personifications: Wisdom and Folly.

Wisdom builds her house. She hews her pillars. She prepares her table.
Folly lounges at the door, loud and seductive, offering what is stolen.

Caught between them stands the simpleton — the unformed, the inexperienced — really a personification of us all. The question hangs in the air: do we grow up into life through maturity, or do we drift downward into destructive traps?

Proverbs 9 reads almost like a scene.

It is as though you open the book just to read a line — thin paper trembling under lamplight — and instead of silent ink, the page begins to speak. Two voices rise from the text.

One stands where the high stones meet the sky. Her table is set. Bread laid open. Wine poured clear. No rush in her voice. No hidden claim. “Come and eat. Leave your simple ways. Walk in understanding.”

The other leans where the alley bends. Honeyed laughter. Silver promises. “Stolen water is sweet. Secret bread is pleasant. Come inside. Just close the door.”

Both sound like a friend.

And the simple one stands at the crossing of stair and street, no crown, no scar, no chosen name — only hunger. Which way will he go?

There is a third character here as well: the scoffer, the mocker.

Verses 7–8 sober us. Correct a scoffer and you invite abuse. Reprove him and you injure yourself. There is a hardness here beyond simple immaturity. This is not the inexperienced soul who can be formed — this is the one who resents formation itself.

So how do we discern when someone has crossed from simple to scoffer?

I wrestle with the same tension when I consider Jesus’ command not to cast pearls before swine. At what point does continued correction become harmful rather than helpful?

First, discernment itself is a fruit of pursuing wisdom. As we grow in godly wisdom, we gain the skill of recognizing when a heart is teachable and when it has become entrenched. There comes a moment when loving persistence turns into enabling hardness. At that point, wisdom may require withdrawal.

Second, we must trust God’s regenerative power. Even if we misjudge the moment, God does not lose those He intends to redeem. Salvation is not finally secured by the precision of our discernment, but by the sovereignty of His grace.

Finally, we fast and pray — especially when the mocker is someone we love. A child. A friend. A spouse. We have all seen those who seem defiant almost from birth. Not honest questioners. Not open wanderers. But hardened, cynical, darkened by resistance. In those cases, continued argument may only deepen callousness. It can be more loving to step back and plead with God to do what only He can do.

Sometimes that pleading is painful. You watch a world begin to crumble. You pray for a flicker of softness. And you leave condemnation where it belongs — with God alone.

But most of us are not fixed scoffers. We are the simple — still forming, still choosing.

And Proverbs 9 returns us to the table.

Look at the parallel pleas:

Lady Wisdom: “Come and eat my bread and drink my wine.”
Woman Folly: “Stolen water is sweet, and secret bread is pleasant.”

Two meals. Two invitations. Two ends.

One road runs slowly upward into life.
The other slips quietly downward — deep in the realm of the dead.

Both sound appealing in the moment. Both promise satisfaction. Only one sustains.

So we pause and remember the true bread and the true wine.

Christ has set a table as well. Not stolen. Not secret. Not hidden in darkness. Openly given. His body. His blood. Life offered freely to the simple who will turn and come.

The question of Proverbs 9 is not merely theoretical.

Who do you want to dine with?

Song: Deep in the Realm of the Dead (Proverbs 9)