The Parable I Learned From An Orchid

It was orchid watering day when I nearly beheaded one of my plants.

Every couple weeks I spend a few moments over these flowers of mine, pretending to have a green thumb, enjoying the quiet.  I love it simply because orchids have enthralled me for as long as I can remember.  In fact, as a teenager I was sadly disappointed to read in one of the Anne of Green Gables books that orchids were too exotic to strike Anne's fancy.  To me, you see, the wide open blooms are like a welcoming smile on an honest face.  The blossoms floating from the stem conveys a grace I can only marvel at...

But back to my story...on this particular watering day I was delighted to notice new buds and blossoms on each one of my orchids.  Smiling happily, I worked to stake up a few of the stems burgeoning with heavy buds.  

Suddenly, I felt a sickening snap under my fingers as I straightened one stem against a stake, and realized to my horror that I had all but entirely snapped the stem in two.  It was hanging on by only a thread, and as I held the still-beautiful stem in my hand, I could hardly believe that I had really just broken it off.  The four or five buds it held, promising beautiful, luscious flowers in just a few weeks' time, now seemed to be taunting me of what I had destroyed.  

I didn't know what to do.  Should I snap it off the rest of the way and put the stem in a vase with the slim hope I would still get to see a few blooms?  Should I leave it there and hope the stem didn't grow diseased and infect the entire plant?  Although a quick internet search encouraged me in the snapping direction, I couldn't bring myself to do the deed.  So I just left the stem hanging on for dear life and ignored my sad little orchid for the next week or so, resigned to the fact that I had probably just killed any chance of blossoms from it for awhile.

But little did I know that while I left the broken stem for dead, something very alive was happening within that broken plant.  For fragile though orchids may appear, fussy though they may seem, they are actually among the most miraculous pictures of new birth that you will find in nature.

Some weeks later when I finally brought myself to assess the damage I had done, I could hardly believe I was looking at the same plant.  Not only had the broken stem begun to grow back together and continue to send life to the buds, but a new stem had begun to sprout from the break, and another little nub of a baby stem was beginning to peek out in a different spot.

I was astounded and humbled, and as I stared at the miracle blooming before my eyes, I realized the greater miracle the Creator of this orchid was teaching me:  that God is in the business of healing "the brokenhearted and bind[ing] up their wounds." {Ps. 147:3}  

He is the master of not just repair but rebirth. {Romans 6}

My orchid was not simply "just as good as before."  It was actually better than before, and isn't the analogy to our lives breathtaking?  God takes the broken stems of my life and the barely-born buds of vision that seem doomed to die and He sends life through them, growing stems and flowers beyond what I could have imagined. 

When a friend betrayed me, He became my Friend more truly than ever before.
When I was proud and tripped over my own ego, falling flat on my face, He picked me up and taught me humility.
When I was brokenhearted, He comforted me with His great grace, and I grasped for the first time just how un-graspable the well of His grace is.

So every time I look at my broken taped-up orchid and see not one, not two, but three potential stems and all the beauty they are pregnant with, I see myself.  I see my brokenness.  I see the tape holding my life and my heart together, and I see the new things God has done in me that He never could have accomplished had I remained unbroken.  And I marvel that, just as He has done throughout history, God used a humble flower to show me these truths.  

"Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin; and yet I say to you that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these."
{Matthew 6:28b-29}

Jury Duty

I clicked on the website and scanned the text for the seventh time in the last two weeks. Eagerness filled me when I saw my group number and realized that I was being called in the next day for potential jury duty! I researched tips for getting picked for a jury (because if I was going to cancel all my music students for the day, I certainly did not want to be sent home without having served!). I laughingly picked out my outfit the next morning ("low-key with a hint of liberalism") and joined 30 others waiting in a warm room. I was grateful for Joel's suggestion to bring a book, but the hour-and-a-half of waiting dimmed my enthusiasm for the day.

It soon brightened again, however, as we were called into the courtroom, met the judge and attorneys, and began answering dozens of questions. The judge graciously explained the process to us, and he informed us that Alexander Hamilton wrote in the Federalist Paper 83: "The friends and adversaries of the plan of the [constitutional] convention, if they agree in nothing else, concur at least in the value they set upon the trial by jury; or if there is any difference between them it consists in this: the former regard it as a valuable safeguard to liberty; the latter represent it as the very palladium of free government." I needed no further convincing. As misaligned and grumbled about as jury duty is, it is still a powerful means of fulfilling the Constitution and the "radical" views of liberty and self-government upon which our country was founded.

For reasons unbeknownst to me, I was one of the chosen twelve (I'm sure it was my attire!)--the youngest on the jury of six men and six women. The trial lasted through the next morning, and shortly before noon, we convened to deliberate over a working lunch. This was the first time we'd been allowed to discuss the case together (or with anyone), so we pulled together our notes and the exhibits admitted as evidence and began to talk through what had happened.

We had a man named Patterson (the defendant) who had a shady past. Now, 30 years old and four years from his last conviction, he seems to be doing well. He has moved to our county, gotten engaged, and works odd jobs doing construction and roofing. But four months ago, he was caught on the roof of a vacant for-sale house with his hands on a window (albeit a window too small to fit in). And as he nervously gets off the roof and tells the home owner's friend that he is a roofer, a woman slinks around the house and jumps into Patterson's truck.The two quickly drive off, leaving a back door ajar, a pile of wood in disarray, and the hose unwound. 

Was Patterson an idiot or a burglar? Did his friend truly just drag him there for the view and did he truly just get on the roof to inspect it and try to land a job, as he claimed? Or was he caught in the nick of time after being pulled into his friend's scheme to burglarize a home that had sat empty for an entire year? Could we, beyond reasonable doubt, know that he was guilty of attempted burglary--of intending to burglarize the home?

These are the questions my fellow juror and I wrestled with. Along the way we confronted our ideas about responsibility, trespassing, "youth these days," and any number of preconceived notions. For the lawyers picked 12 people with opinions, minds, and pasts--and like it or not, we each brought bias to the table. We did our best, however to be impartial in deciding, and we talked for close to two hours before everyone was convinced of his guilt...except me.

They kindly listened to my concerns, shared their thoughts. We talked about the trial, we got off on tangents about animals surviving being run over. We talked some more; we thought some more. All the while, my mind raced. Could I know, beyond reasonable doubt, that this man was guilty--that he intended to burglarize the home? It soon became evident to me that I could know--and I did know. And finally satisfied that I had done my duty, I agreed to declare Patterson "guilty."

Back in the court room, as the verdict was read and Patterson's fiance rushed from the room, and his family members sat in stunned shock, and Patterson's eyes filled with tears, I too felt sorrow. The old excitement drained away and the annoyance at waiting seemed petty. Hearing from the judge later on that Patterson would likely be sentenced for four to seven years for his wrong choice was heavy, and when I got into my car that afternoon, I began to cry. I cried for Patterson and his family and prayed for their salvation. I cried because of the responsibility I felt in declaring a man "guilty." 

The home owners were vindicated that day; Patterson was called to accountability that day. And I learned a lesson that day. Jury duty is inconvenient, difficult, annoying, or emotional at times. It is also important. For as Thomas Jefferson said, "I consider trial by jury as the only anchor yet devised by man, by which a government can be held to the principles of its constitution." Someone get me an "I Served Jury Duty" sticker, because I'm proud to have been a part of the Constitutional process!

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The Real McCoy

Who Are You?

Who are you really? Are you the responsible person your employer says you are? Are you the wise person those you are discipling say you are? Are you the good-hearted person those discipling you say you are? Are you the rambunctious person those who only knew you as a child say you are? Are you the disrespectful person your critics say you are? Are you the cold-hearted person your enemies say you are? Are you the person you think you are? Are you the person others think you are? Are you some amalgamation of all of the above, such that you are both nothing and everything in one fell swoop?

Wounds and Kisses

Give full credence to these voices and you are in grave danger. Blacklist these voices immediately and you risk ignoring a God-sent "Nathan" or "Barnabas." For if you believe and act on the words of every critic, you will become a broken and manipulated person who has forgotten that he is an image-bearer and who disbelieves the praise of loved ones. If you soak in every praise, every drop of flattery, and an ocean of love and forbearance, you'll find yourself a haughty, narcissistic, dependent individual who needs the acceptance of others like a parasite needs a host. You'll turn deaf ears to the words of pleading critics trying to show you the error of your ways.

"Do you look at things according to the outward appearance? If anyone is convinced in himself that he is Christ's, let him again consider this in himself, that just as he [is] Christ's, even so we [are] Christ's." {2 Corinthians 10:7 NKJV}

There is an opinion that matters more than any voice in your ear or head. Are you Christ's? If you are a blood-bought sinner, then you are now a child of the King, known by Him completely, utterly, and perfectly. Anything good you have done is through Him; any sin you have committed is covered by Him. You are made in His image, you are His masterpiece. And so are your critics and your group of adoring fans. 

So take it to the Lord. Take the criticism and the jabs and lay it before your Father Who knows you more than you know yourself. If you truly have the character flaw of which someone spoke, then you have not been unjustly accused. If this is not a character flaw of yours, your faithfulness to continue to act with character will eventually bring fruit. And, whether we're talking of praise or criticism, if your primary concern is not how you're looking on the outside (oooh!! does that look right? how will she perceive this or that? will I be able to convince him that this is who I truly am?), but rather to be known by God and to do all for God, controlled by the love of Christ and convinced by the unity that ALL Christians have together in Christ, then you have just hit the nail on the head. God will work on your character flaw--whether perceived or real. "Vindication" may not ever come. But if you can manage to do what you do for God, and let the rest take care of itself, then you will be in a place of peace. If you do what you do to convince man of who you are (persuading people because of your fear of man, not your fear of the Lord), then you will remain erratic, running betwixt and between the whims of others.

Remember, though--there is just as much (if not more) danger in pleasing words. For doesn't Proverbs 27:6  say "Faithful [are] the wounds of a friend, But the kisses of an enemy [are] deceitful"? Take those kisses to God. Don't take advantage of them; don't act for them; don't ask for them.

Be Well Pleasing to Christ

"Therefore we make it our aim, whether present or absent, to be well pleasing to Him. For we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ, that each one may receive the things [done] in the body, according to what he has done, whether good or bad. Knowing, therefore, the terror of the Lord, we persuade men; but we are well known to God, and I also trust are well known in your consciences. For we do not commend ourselves again to you, but give you opportunity to boast on our behalf, that you may have [an answer] for those who boast in appearance and not in heart. For if we are beside ourselves, [it is] for God; or if we are of sound mind, [it is] for you. For the love of Christ compels us, because we judge thus: that if One died for all, then all died; and He died for all, that those who live should live no longer for themselves, but for Him who died for them and rose again." {2 Corinthians 5:9-15 NKJV}

 Live a life controlled by Christ and who you genuinely are will be known not only to God, but also to you.

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What Your Schedule Says About You

If you’re anything like me, then the celebration of Thanksgiving Day last week signaled the start of a season in which eight days’ worth of activities and to-do lists are crammed into seven days of time.  The season in which my head still peels off my pillow at 6:21 in the morning, but doesn't find the pillow again until too late each night.  The season in which all the usual responsibilites fill the hours in between, but all the extra doings overflow the cup. 

But Thanksgiving is a day set aside for giving thanks, not giving gripes, and on that day the quiet conviction of the Holy Spirit was beckoning me to hold off on the chaos and join Jesus for time together. 

It was a wondrous morning hour, with blue sky in my window, and beautiful silence stilling my heart, and Jesus and His Word and me.  However, I soon discovered that I wasn’t spending that morning with Him just to experience wonder and beauty, but also to be cloaked in conviction, to taste humility, and to embrace repentance. 

For as I moaned about how strong fleshly habits are in my life, little did I know that He had foreordained 1 Peter 4:1, and that He had foreordained that I should read it on Thanksgiving morning with a heart ready to listen.

“Therefore, since Christ suffered for us in the flesh, arm yourselves also with the same mind, for he who has suffered in the flesh has ceased from sin.”  {I Peter 4:1}

Arm yourselves also. 

Here I have been struggling against the current without a life preserver. 

I have been carrying water without a bucket.

I have been running the car without an engine.

Most days I do read my Bible, but that’s often all that it is.  A cursory reading rather than a timely reveling.  And the Thanksgiving revelation of I Peter 4:1 is that I can struggle against sin and the flesh all I want, but unless I am armed with the same mind as Christ, my struggle is as useless as carrying water in my fingers to a raging fire.

Not spending that time with Jesus in the morning is the ultimate act of pride.  It is the supreme choice to love sin. 

It says, “I am powerful enough to live today with food and water, but without Jesus.”

It says, “I already know what needs to get done today, and it doesn’t matter if my ideas matter for eternity.” 

 

Conversely, even five minutes of quiet with Jesus is the ultimate expression of humility.  It is the greatest step towards victory over sin. 

It says, “I need you, Jesus my Savior.  I can’t make it through this day on my own.”

It says, “Teach me, Lord, what You want this day to be about for eternity.” 

 

Don't twist this humility.  There is no glory in the act of taking this step of quiet time, no bonus crowns stored up in Heaven as points for every extra chapter you read in Scripture.  No, the step itself is not glorious, but Jesus Himself is all glorious, and He knows whether I am dismissing Him on my to-do list, or listening to Him as my Lord. 

 

And the next time I find myself stickily bound in the quagmire of sin or boarding the train of chaos headed to despair, I know the Holy Spirit will again remind me: “Did you arm yourself with the same mind of Christ today?"  If so, the exit sign for the quagmire and the chaos train is that-a-way!

Scripture taken from the New King James Version. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
Photo Credit: martinak15

The Lighthouse that Killed a Man

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The waves are so dark they are nearly black, and they tower above the rocks with their manes of foam.  They tower also above the half-submerged ship, dwarfing its captain.  The man has never before felt such a cold rush of fear as when that next big wave crashes hungrily over him.  And while fighting for his next breath, the captain doesn't know that the vague pillar he can just barely make out ahead is a lighthouse. 

 

If he could see the beacon, it would be a bulwark of hope, a promise of life, a rope to a drowning man.  But he cannot see any beacon, only the outline of the building itself, for the lighthouse light is not beaming out into the deathly waves, but is turned within.  It is spotlighting itself. 

 

Every nation in the world gazes with their last hope at the hill before them.  Brutality more cruel than they could ever imagine defeats them.  Uprisings more sinister than any yet seen divide them.  Debauchery more profane than one could even whisper of shames them.  And so they gaze at the hill, at the city on the hill, hoping for a love to beautify, hoping for a leader to unify, hoping for righteousness to purify.  But their hopes are crushed at the foot of that hill for, crane their necks as they will, they can see nothing.

 

The city, the great city upon which the eyes of the world were pinned, must still be there, but it cannot be seen.  The city is now invisible. 

 

The surgeon swipes the dripping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.  With bleary eyes, he examines his shining tools once again, laid out for the tenuous operation he is about to undertake.  He is ready, and strides across the silent cabin to sterilize his hands in the sink before he begins.  When he is finished, he turns to speak to the wife and daughter, to comfort them with what words of encouragement he can give.  But as he turns, the flickering light, the precious flame that is to be his right hand in the operation, is shadowed, and he catches sight of the daughter enclosing the candle in a sooty lantern.  “What are you doing?”  He cries, stopping just short of gripping her hand.  That candle—without it her father will die, and the surgeon is desperate. 

 

“Oh, don’t worry,” she replies calmly, shutting the lantern door.  “It is just that the light becomes more gorgeous when it glimmers from inside the lantern.  Don’t you think this light it is much more mysterious than the flame of the candle by itself?”  The surgeon narrows his eyes at her in horror.  Can she be serious?  The life-giving light is all but obliterated by the sooty lantern! 

 

The lighthouse spotlights itself.

The city set on the hill hides itself.

The candle is shrouded by its own soot. 

 

The lighthouse is so consumed by its own glory that it twists its whole purpose in being.

The city on the hill is so devoted to its own cause that it withdraws from its whole purpose in being. 

The candle in the house is so blinded by its own lack that it denies its whole purpose in being. 

 

Pride. 

 

I am a lighthouse to the men caught on the rocks of the world: but when I turn that God-given light on myself, men perish while my self-esteem is petted.

I am the city set on the hill to nations craving hope, but when I hide myself lest I be tainted by those polluted nations, men die while my ego remains elevated. 

I am the candle in the miserable, dark house of sickness, but when I deny my very identity for fear of my small flame not being enough, men bleed to death while my idol of self remains enthroned. 

 

Pride.  It's a matter of life and death. 

“Let your light so shine before men, they they may see your good works and glorify your Father in heaven.” ~Matthew 5:13-16

 


Scripture taken from the New King James Version. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
Photo Credit: Steve Wilson

The Wrestling Match

I searched for You until the darkness came.

I wrestled with You till my limbs gave up.

I threshed the wheat till the storm descended.

 

The drought of summer drained me of my life.

I desperately called to You, Oh God.

And I acknowledged my sin before You.

 

My sin, though deep and wide, is forgiven.

The consuming flood is a welcome rain

Of Your righteousness on my fallow ground.

 

The darkness calls me to follow Your eye,

The exhaustion throws me to my Savior.

The wind is assurance of Your presence.

 

The pain, though great, brings rewards much greater.

Respite tempts, but the struggle is better.

Sin nigh prevails, but my God is stronger!

 

You brought light to my search in the dark night;

You renewed the strength in my fainting limbs;

Oh the joy—You exchanged my chaff for grain!

 

Blackness, weakness, and storminess remain,

But who is like my God? I trust now, for

In man’s confusion is God’s providence.
 

 

 

Photo Credit: Navaneeth Ashok

Hackles Up!

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A teenager stands before her mother, head hanging and tongue bitten, as her mother corrects her for her recent show of foolishness with that tongue. 

 

A toddler stares her sister down as big sis tells her that she isn’t supposed to touch that, and the toddler stoutly screams in response to this information. 

 

A newlywed groom discovers his bride isn’t quite perfect, and tells her, “You could work on this….”  The bride feels like saying, “If you didn’t love me as I was, why did you marry me anyways?”

 

A girl is late for the umpteenth time, and her inconvenienced friend gently reminds her to be on time the next time.  The girl is mortified. 

 No matter how kindly meant, correction can feel like an onslaught of thumb tacks on bare skin.  It can feel like a thousand throbbing stubbed toes at once or like a bees’ nest worth of burning stings.  And taking that correction without getting your hackles up can feel like standing firm while a house-splintering tsunami wave brushes you aside. 

 

Nearly impossible.

 

I know well the posture of a person who is being criticized but is trying to take it sweetly, because I've been there too many times: clenched nails piercing into skin, jaw locked, muscles tense, speaking only in clipped words, thinking that’s better than launching into a tirade of, “You’re wrong for these one hundred reasons!”

 

It isn’t any better, though.  You might as well launch the tirade, because you’ve already lost the battle.  Pride has already mowed you down, and you’re already ignoring the people who love you the most when they tell you what they want to say the least. 

 

Remember, Correction isn’t Criticism.

I used to think I had a problem with taking criticism well, and even made it a four year goal in my journal to become a master of receiving criticism with a teachable spirit.  And then a dear lady reminded me that correction is not always criticism.  Correction is what a ship’s captain does to the wheel of a ship when it’s headed the wrong way.  It’s what white-out does to a mistake, it’s what I do when a student plays an “A” instead of a “F”, and it’s what those who love you the most care enough to do when you’ve just messed things up in a monumental way.  Even if you haven’t noticed your ship heading in the wrong direction or the huge scrawling on your paper or the wrong note, those who love you probably have.  If it’s in love, it’s not a critical attack to take personally, it’s a kind correction of direction. 

 You’re a precious, hand-painted china teacup: Be humble about it

Watchman Nee once said, “The lower we put something, the safer it is. It is safest to put a cup on the floor."  Mikaela and I once collected miniature porcelain tea sets, and they were our prized possessions.  We put them on a prominent shelf in our bedroom where the sunlight hit them just right, where guests couldn’t help but admire them as soon as they entered, and where we could lovingly fondle them when so inclined.   We soon discovered, however, that the shelf was at just the wrong level so that if you walked past at just the wrong angle, your shoulder would brush the shelf and send it crashing all the way down to the floor. 

 

A few handles were crushed off of teacups the first time that happened.  But we picked up the pieces and put our prized possessions back on the high, precarious shelf, only to have the same thing happen several more times, with even more beautiful pieces crushed to smithereens in front of our heartbroken eyes.  One particularly bad crash left us with only one complete set, and we finally realized that that shelf was not the safest place for the tea sets to be. 

 

Nor is pride a safe shelf on which to place yourself.  Be humble in the face of correction that brings you low and willingly take the low shelf, not because you are dirt, but because you are a precious child of the King of Kings.  In fact, Jeremiah 30:11 promises,

“'For I am with you,' says the LORD, 'to save you; Though I make a full end of all nations where I have scattered you, Yet I will not make a complete end of you. But I will correct you in justice, And will not let you go altogether unpunished.'”

 

As such a precious child of God, ask Him to help you loosen those clenched muscles, defeat those defensive words, humble your pride, and smile at the better direction that awaits!  I know it's something I'll be working on in the months ahead!

Scripture taken from the New King James Version. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
Photo Credit: Abdulmajeed Al.mutawee

My Pleasure

“Most of them want to come for reasons other than serving or helping, so I require something of them. Those kids have money to burn and closets full of designer clothes!” I overheard a friend talking about his ministry to the homeless in Portland, OR. Of course, my conscience contentedly patted me on the back—I had gone to help him this past fall, doling out hot breakfast, warm clothes, hygiene essentials, encouraging words, and friendly smiles for four hours in the pouring rain.

My friend, however, wasn’t done. “So, there’s a few junior-highers that still come every month. And you know what they say to me when we’re done? ‘I had fun.’ And I think, ‘I didn’t bring you out here to have fun! I didn’t want you to have fun! Tell me you were shocked or humbled or embarrassed—but don’t tell me you had fun!’” He paused a moment to consider. “Maybe these kids can’t be shocked anymore…maybe ‘I had fun’ is the only way they can express themselves.”

 

I moved on, but my thoughts stayed on this conversation. I could have just as easily been one of those flippant teenagers saying, “Thanks! Watching five year old homeless boys come out of the woodwork to get a hot meal was fun! I had a great time!” In fact, I could remember many serving opportunities I had judged by the measure of enjoyment they provided.

We insincerely say “it was my pleasure” as if our entertainment is the highest compliment we can pay to another human being, when it is often just an indicator of our sinful hearts. In this egotistical, self-centered, instant-gratification society of ours, we seek one thing above all others: amusement. The US spent $10,632,527,005[1] (yes, that’s BILLION) on movie tickets alone in 2009—and that doesn’t even begin to include the total entertainment budget. As the world becomes increasingly humanistic and men fall on their faces in awe and worship of themselves, the highest fulfillment—the greatest compliment—the most rewarding purpose has become fun. We are becoming “lovers of pleasures more than lovers of God (II Timothy 3:4).”

 

A commercial I recently saw was advertising a website with thousands of movies available for instant streaming. “In fact,” the geeky guy exclaimed as he touted his company, “It would take you an entire year to watch all of the titles we have available!” Then he got a dreamy, far-away look in his eyes (or maybe it was just a dumb, idle stupidity—I couldn’t tell). “That would be the best year of my life.” Everyday, men and women pursue the fleeting sensation of fun—and this cotton-candy-like experience claims costly, nonrefundable hours of one’s time. Time, though, is pocket change compared to what many people sell to fuel their addiction: their souls.

 

So what is a Christian to do? Shun all movies? Live like a medieval monk? Read only the Scripture? Boycott Monopoly? Ultimately, of course, we must come to terms with Hebrews 11:25: “Choosing rather to suffer affliction with the people of God, than to enjoy the pleasures of sin for a season.” John Piper offers a practical and sobering suggestion too: "think about your death. Think about your death a lot....I think about the impact of death, and what I would like to be found doing, and how I would prepare to meet him and give an account to him (see the endnote to read his excellent article in its entirety).[2]" When we have chosen to suffer with God’s people and shun sinful amusement, then we can enjoy a balanced diet of wholesome “fun.” Psalms 35:27 says, “Let them shout for joy, and be glad, that favour my righteous cause: yea, let them say continually, Let the LORD be magnified, which hath pleasure in the prosperity of his servant.”

However, may we remember in all our doings and prosperity to say first and foremost, “Thou art worthy, O Lord, to receive glory and honour and power: for thou hast created all things, and for thy pleasure they are and were created (Revelations 4:11).” Therefore, the next time you go out to brighten your corner, consider changing your typical “Oh—it was my pleasure!” to something more profound and honest. It’s not all about you, and it’s not all about fun, but it certainly is all about God.

 

This is a repost of an old favorite.  I hope it was a blessing!

[1] http://www.the-numbers.com/market/2009.php
[2] http://www.desiringgod.org/ResourceLibrary/AskPastorJohn/ByTopic/13/3907_How_can_I_break_free_from_an_addiction_to_entertainment/
Picture source: http://trappedinh4mess.files.wordpress.com/2007/09/chained.jpg