The Endeavor

It’s been a few weeks since my last post — which is another way of saying, “I’ve been failing at hitting my goal of posting every week.”

To be honest, I’ve started and abandoned several posts. I’ve written and deleted paragraph after paragraph on several different topics. All of them are topics that are meaningful to me and that I’d love to discuss, which begs the question, “So why haven’t you followed through with posting?”

Great question.

The honest answer is twofold.

First (and least), I haven’t felt like any of them have reached the point where they’re fully presentable. This happens to me a lot though, and I usually patch things up hastily and just post it anyways. If I always wait for perfection before I post, I will never post. (There’s a maxim in there for most efforts in life.)

Second (and probably the real reason), is that after just about everything I’ve written I’ve gotten this feeling that it’s probably more for me than for anybody else. I’ve been in a season of introspection, of self-examination, and of trying to really think about life and what I’m doing with what I’ve been given and whether or not I’m honoring God with every part of it. It’s a great, eye-opening, challenging, sometimes depressing season to be in. It’s also made it so that, in general, my thoughts have been applied more to myself and they feel a lot less applicable in a general sense. So, they either feel so specific that I don’t think anybody else will care much to hear them, or they are so general that they feel forced and inauthentic. So, I’ve just held back.

But one thing that sharing this brings to mind, and it fits in with some of what I’ve written and deleted over the last few weeks, is that I think this process is important. The process of wrestling with who I am and what I’m doing and where I’m going and whether what I’m saying holds any value or if it’s just hot air – it’s an invaluable process. Whether anybody else get’s anything out of it is irrelevant, although I do think people will benefit from knowing, at the very least, that there’s somebody out there going through the same thing as they are. I think a lot of times we get caught up in getting “there” and end up being a person we don’t like by the time we arrive. Or we expect to reach our destination immediately and get disappointed when it takes time. This process of wrestling with yourself helps make sure you are who you want to be whether or not you ever get to where you want to be.

Whether or not I’m ever successful, I want to be loving. Whether or not I’m ever affluent, I want to have character. Whether or not I’m ever a great writer or a revered public speaker, I want to be a great husband and a respected father. To a certain extent, I don’t really care where I’m going. I just want to be a man that my wife and kids and God can smile at when I get there.

Am I more concerned with reading scripture than I am with living life with the God who breathed it?

Am I more concerned about being present in church than I am with being present in every moment with my Lord?

Am I more concerned with right words and right actions than I am about being honest and broken before the only one who can make me whole?

Is “God” my word to describe a system in my life by which I hope to attain success, or is “God” the person to whom I call out, in whom I trust, without whom I would cease to be me?

Scripture is good. Church is good. Right words and right actions are good. Even systematic theology is good (I think). But when they replace that which they are meant to reveal, there is a real problem. It’s easy to allow them to become replacements.

This is me admitting that I’m in a season where I’m taking inventory of what I’m doing and why I’m doing it. This is me encouraging you to do the same.

If you follow me on social media at all, you will have noticed that I have recently started getting into chess. I used to play a bit here and there, never very often (and never very well). A few weeks ago my daughter started asking about playing, and that sparked a resurgence in me to play again. Since then, I have played chess nearly every day. I have done chess puzzles, watched chess videos, read chess books, and played chess games online against friends and strangers, all in attempt to get better so that I can play well and so that I can teach my kids to play well.

Several years ago I had a similar experience with a different activity. Basketball. I grew up playing basketball in back yards and on playgrounds, but I was always terrible. I went to Canton City Schools and graduated from McKinley High School, where we won back to back Division I state championships. I was surrounded by great players and I knew I was never going to make a team, so I didn’t really care about playing well. However, when I started working with a group of guys who played all the time, I didn’t want to be the guy who was terrible. I’m too competitive for that. So I decided I needed to get better. Every day on my lunch break I would go shoot free-throws, play around-the-world by myself, shoot from behind the arch, and dribble. Then I tore some workouts out of Men’s Health and would work on things to increase my vertical – because I’m vertically challenged, as well as work on explosive energy, upper body strength, core strength, and speed. I was dedicated. I wanted to be better.

In both cases, it worked. I got better. I have a friend who is much better at chess than me, and he’s told me already in just the last few weeks that I’m growing as a player. The same happened in basketball. A friend of mine who had played with me before I started working on anything hadn’t seen me play in years and then watched a game I was playing in. He was actually amazed — not because of how good I was, but because I wasn’t so absolutely terrible as I used to be.

We know that when we put time into something, we can improve at it. With sports and games, with our jobs, and with all kinds of skills and hobbies, we know that if we repeatedly do it, if we practice often, and if we pursue it intentionally, we will see progress.

Repetition. Practice. Pursuit. Progress.

I was thinking about this earlier today, and it hit me: Why am I so good at enacting this principle with games and sports and hobbies, but I’m so bad at it with my family, my soul, my spirituality?

Why did I find it so easy to spend my entire lunch break shooting free-throws instead of eating, but I find it so hard to give up a lunch break to pray? Why do I find it so easy to jump online and play strangers in chess, but it’s excruciating to play my daughter in Candy Land? Why can I put in the time, do the reps, practice, read, ask questions, make myself uncomfortable, and do it maybe for a raise at work or to get recognition on the field in soccer, but I can’t put the same time in to grow in my relationship with my wife or kids or God?

We can read up on how to be a better manager at work, but when somebody tells us to read the Bible because it will help our lives, we scoff. We know that repetition brings results, but when we’re struggling with anxiety or depression and our friends tell us to pray and to read what the Word of God says about the way God loves us and to repeat it daily, it just seems unbelievable. Or, if we do try it, when we don’t immediately feel better, we give up. Sure, I can read ten leadership books this year and know it’s a process becoming a good leader, but if I can’t read one Bible verse and see my problems disappear, well, it’s just not working for me!

Working out and dieting is uncomfortable, but I know it will bring results, so I do it. (Well, hypothetically I do it. In real life, let’s go out for donuts and coffee!) But if the pastor says something uncomfortable, or if the Bible says to limit or eliminate something in my life, that’s just too far! I can live without carbs – for a while – but I can’t live like that!

The truth is, I’m as bad at this as anybody else. Probably worse than many. But I was just thinking about this this morning. Repetition, Practice, Pursuit, Progress.

Repetition, Practice, Pursuit, Progress.

It is not my life’s ambition to be a great chess player or a great athlete. It isn’t even really my life’s ambition to be a great leader. It is my life’s ambition to be a great husband, a great father, and a man who has a close, real, genuine relationship with God. So this has me thinking: What can I do to get progress in that arena? What do I need to do repeatedly to ensure a close relationship with my children? What do I need to practice on a regular basis to have an ever-growing love and adoration for my wife? What do I need to pursue to have a closeness with God that is unshakeable and undeniable? How do I make progress with my soul?

The Chronicles of Narnia has become one of my favorite series of books. I know I’ve quoted them before, and I know I’ll quote them again. Please, stick with me as I give a little bit of back story to this excerpt, and then stick with me for the rest.

The excerpt comes from Prince Caspian, a moment after a bear tries to attack Lucy. Lucy’s sister Susan and a Dwarf companion both shoot at the bear with arrows. Susan misses, but the Dwarf doesn’t. The bear is killed and Lucy is saved.

Susan is a great shot with a bow and goes on to explain that she missed because she was afraid the bear was a talking bear. In The Chronicles, talking animals are markedly different from regular animals. In the creation of Narnia, Aslan (the Jesus character) called certain animals to be talking animals, and they were set apart, noble, intelligent, and free. It would be a great travesty to kill one of these noble beasts, and that is why Susan hesitated and missed the shot. Thankfully, this was not a talking bear, but just a regular, dumb beast.

The Dwarf tells Susan, after her explanation of why she missed: “That’s the trouble of it when most of the beasts have gone enemy and gone dumb, but there are still some of the other kind left. You never know, and you daren’t wait to see.” That could be a whole post of its own. But just after this is where we pick up.

     … When they had sat down (Lucy) said: “Such a horrible idea has come into my head, Su.”

“What’s that?”

“Wouldn’t it be dreadful if some day, in our own world, at home, men started going wild inside, like the animals here, and still looked like men, so that you’d never know which were which?”

“We’ve got enough to bother about here and now in Narnia,” said the practical Susan, “without imagining things like that.”

— Prince Caspian, C. S. Lewis

This is one of those short, poignant moments that C. S. Lewis somehow breezes right by, but which evokes an awe in me as I read. You have to remember the era that Lewis writes in. Prince Caspian was first published in 1951, just a few years after World War II. His readers’ minds would be drawn immediately to the images of concentration camps, ghettos, war zones, starvation, violence, and all sorts of the depravity that engulfed the world during that time. Imagine the impact a statement like this would have made while the world was still rebuilding after one of the worst evils it had ever seen.

Lewis seems to be saying, “What we have seen is not men as they were meant to be. What we have seen is not men as they were created. What we have seen is something that looks like men but that has gone wild inside.”

I especially love that the comparison is to wild animals. We, a culture who for some reason likes to equate ourselves to animals, could use a good reminder that there is something in us that is quite different from animals, and that when we see humanity truly acting like animals, we look with horror, not admiration.

I think Susan’s reply is revealing as well. “We’ve got enough to worry about here and now.” I think that’s most of our reply to this sort of thing as well. “I’ve got enough in life to worry about, I don’t need to add the thought of going ‘wild’ inside.” But it’s worth pointing out that in The Chronicles, Lucy is always the most sensitive to Aslan. She is the first one to find Narnia. She is the most perceptive to Aslan’s feelings and mood changes when he has made a deal with the Witch. In this same story, in this very chapter, she is the first to see Aslan when nobody else can see him. We “practical” people like to busy ourselves with the here and now. But Lucy’s spiritual perceptiveness reveals that God would have us take thought about the inward life seriously.

“Am I allowing myself to go wild inside?”

What a question.

What are the things that draw us closer to each other, that draw us closer to God, that make us bigger on the inside? What are the things that isolate us, that we do for ourselves despite the cost to others, that champion the external, which inevitably fades away? And which of these sets of things do we find ourselves doing more often?

In Lewis’ time he witnessed what happens when people go wild inside. It hasn’t stopped happening since then. Are we going to be the type of people that notice and act? Are we going to be the kind of people who intentionally keep ourselves out of that camp? Or are we going to be the type of people that have no time for imagining things like that?

I was looking back through my old notebooks in Evernote and came across this. This is something I wrote in the first half of last year.

Most often when we think of prison we think of being bound involuntarily, thrown into some cage with iron bars and some external force holds the keys.

In reality, however, our prisons are slowly built up over time. We aren’t thrown in them by some malevolent power, we build them around ourselves with our own two hands. We build them by piling desire upon desire, comfort upon comfort, and before we know it the walls are high around us, but there is no thought of escape because we don’t realize we are bound.

If only we saw iron bars, then we might try to flee. But instead we see the familiar visions of sensuality or self indulgence. If only we felt the cold cement floor, then we may long for the warm embrace of our Father. But instead we feel the comfortable, worn in cushion of our favorite prejudices, prides, or whatever it is we chase after and fill ourselves with.

With our own hands we have built our prison. But with the hand of God it can be torn down. We have only to recognize ourselves for what we are – bound – and in that moment all the grace of God comes rushing in and our prison is decimated. And in the place of our prison God builds a palace. He builds a temple for Himself, and He makes himself at home in us.

This thought lines up with a scripture I’ve been thinking about lately. The scripture is Colossians 3:1-15. I won’t copy the whole verse here, because it’s a little long, but the basic gist is that we are being instructed to get rid of certain things in our lives – sexual immorality, lust, greed, anger, and lies, to list several – and to begin living a different way – full of mercy, kindness, gentleness, patience.

Something interesting to me about verses like these is that we tend to balk at them. We throw around words like “suppression.” We act like we are losing something by aligning ourselves with scripture. To be sure, it isn’t always (or even generally) pleasant to be actively foregoing something that you really desire. However, something in verse 15 stands out to me. It says, “And let the peace that comes from Christ rule in your hearts…” It stands out because of that word “peace.”

When I look at that list of things that the preceding verses tell me to get rid of in my life and I think about the consequences of those things that I’ve seen in my life or in the lives of friends and loved ones, I see a clear lack of peace. Culturally, we don’t want to be told how to live sexually. However, we have high divorce rates, little honor among families, children who don’t respect their parents, spouses who don’t love each other, and a high degree of drama in our relationships. Culturally, we champion wealth. We also see people driven to distraction by their pursuit of wealth, we see families fall apart due to the stress of the job and the neglect of everything else, we see a focus on materialism over meaningful relationships. We could go through every one of the items listed that we are told to get rid of in our lives and we can match with them an unhealthy repercussion that brings brokenness and drama to our lives.

But what does God want? He wants to bring peace to our lives. Maybe God cares less about telling us no to certain things, and he cares more about telling us yes to fulfillment. He knows that if we continue to live the way we want, we will be building a prison around ourselves, and he wants us to enjoy real freedom. He gives us a limitation now that takes the bricks and mortar out of our hands so that later we can run free in the land of peace.

Chastity now means a fulfilling marriage tomorrow, or, in the case of a single person, it means not being tied to dramatic relationships that have been forged around anything other than the other’s best interest. Guarding my eyes and thoughts against sensual images now means more enjoyment in the sight of my spouse later. Living generous now means I’m not bound by money later. Being quick to forgive takes the weight of anger and resentment away – not to mention, blood pressure, anxiety, insomnia and all kinds of other physical counterparts to holding on to anger and resentment. Telling the truth now means I can be trusted later, it means I don’t have to keep my story straight, it means I don’t have to try to save face in front of different people, it means I can walk and talk freely an unashamed.

There is a peace and a freedom to living the way God intends. It isn’t always easy, but I would contest that it is always better.

 

Isn’t it true that a thing is greater than the sum of it’s parts? Let me give you one of my favorite examples.

Chocolate chip cookies.

Chocolate chip cookies are comprised of multiple things, right? Some are good by themselves: eggs, chocolate chips, sugar, maybe even salt, if you’re into that kind of thing. Others are not so great by themselves: baking powder, vanilla extract, flour. But when they’re all together, a whole new reality is there. We don’t look at a chocolate chip cookie and think, “wow, look at that lump of eggs and flour and sugar and salt and all the rest.” The whole is greater than the sum of it’s parts.

It’s funny to me that we take such things for granted with cookies, and a great many other things, but the buck stops when it comes to us. A story is more than words. It is the emotions and the adventure. It is the characters and their plight. The words are how the story is made, but they are not what the story really is. But you and I? We are just bags of protoplasm. We are just matter, atoms bouncing around and chemical reactions and electric synapses. Love and morality and religion and pain are just the chemical reactions occurring in some way that keeps our hearts beating just a little bit longer and fulfills some inherent drive to survive. The parts most definitely do not make something bigger.

I am not the most educated person. Perhaps if I were I could think of a better analogy than a cookie or a story. But it really is amazing to me that this is a pervasive worldview in our culture right now. Sure, we experience emotion, we experience romance, we experience what we perceive as right and wrong, but those experiences are meaningless. Emotion is the way our brain interprets the synapses going on inside itself. Romance is just the playing out of our desire to experience physical pleasure and pass on our genes. Right and wrong are just words we use to encourage or discourage certain behaviors that either promote our chance at survival or put that chance at risk, and they are most certainly relative and definitively mutable. To read anymore into it is to deny science its due and to engage in mystical delusion.

I disagree. I believe that just as a story is more than the words that make it up, and just as a cookie is more than the ingredients that we bake into it, we are more than our physical components. What a thing is made of is not what that thing is.

I think Genesis brilliantly puts it that men are made of dust. Whether you believe in Genesis as a literal story of the creation of humankind, or as a kind of allegory or parable or poem that symbolizes how creation happened, I hope you can appreciate just how divine the description of man as dust really is.

We are made of this natural stuff. We are made of matter. But matter is not what we are. We have animalistic impulses. But animals are not what we are. Even as important as emotions and ethics are to the human experience, emotion and ethics are not what we are. All these things compile on each other and become something greater. And just as I believe Genesis brilliantly states that we are made of dust, I think it brilliantly makes it plain that we were not what we are now until the breath of God came into us.

I think we sell ourselves short when we settle for thinking of ourselves as just matter and impulse. I think it’s a cop out. We would rather say it’s an acceptable part of our nature to engage in sexual pleasure often and with as many people as we want as opposed to admitting that this same philosophy on sexual pleasure is a huge part of the broken state of our families, which in turn is a part of the broken state of our children, which is why we have kids unable to cope with the world who end their own lives for lack of seeing a way out of the darkness they’re experiencing. We would rather give in to impulse than realize that we are more than the sum of our parts, and that to be human means not to be animal, and that when we choose to act more like animals, we lose a part of our humanity. Sexuality isn’t the only relevant point of discussion, but I believe it’s one of the most pervasive and perverted points.

Ultimately, I believe we have a responsibility to each other. We have a responsibility to bring out the best in each other. We have a responsibility to make the world a better place for the generations coming after us. This responsibility is unmet when we belittle what we really are. We can’t teach our children to be good without teaching our children that there is such a thing as Goodness. We can’t teach our children to love without teaching them that there is such a thing as Love. We can’t teach our children to take care of their neighbors and at the same time teach them that they only need to look out for themselves. And we can’t teach the reality of these things without the understanding that we are not just animals, we are not just the pieces and parts that make us up, and that there is God-breathed spirit inside of us, and that spirit was designed to live a certain way. God breathed life into us, and that is what made us human. And in that same intimate closeness with God we find the real fulfillment of who we are and how we are meant to live.

I am a Christian. In that statement lies the claim that I model my life after the life and teachings of Jesus. Those teachings tell me that I should love my neighbor as myself, that I should care for the poor, that I should give generously of my time and my financial resources, that I should not be greedy. Yet, when my neighbors (literal, not figurative) leave their broken vodka bottles in my yard for me to run over with the lawn mower, I am not moved by compassion, I’m moved by some other emotion. When I see the beggar, I often offer sideways glances instead of money or food or anything of value. I think far more about my next material venture than I think about what kind of blessing I can be to others with my finances. So, I am a Christian, but I am a sinner.

This is the tension of the life of a Christian. There’s an old, Latin phrase that speaks to the truth of this situation. Simul justus et peculator, which means “simultaneously justified and sinner.”

I believe that all Christians feel the tension of this. They know that they ought to do one thing, and they hate that they find themselves falling short. They know the character they should have, and they feel shame for not having it. They know what God has required of us, and they know that they have not met the requirements.

While some Christians feel the tension of this and it drives them to gratitude for grace, others feel the tension of this and fall into disillusion. They begin to think that they must not really be a Christian, they must not really be “saved.” If they were, so they think, they wouldn’t have these problems! They wouldn’t fall into the same old sins!

I agree and disagree with the sentiment.

Here’s why I disagree. The term “justified” means something very specific in Christianity. To be justified means to have the guilt of your sin removed and to be made righteous through Christ’s atoning sacrifice. Jesus died for you, you have received Jesus’ grace, and so you are justified. What does that mean? That means that even though your sin is real, even though my sin is real, if we really believe that Jesus died on the cross for sinners, that means we really believe that it is through His death that we are right with God, not by our living up to the standard. We can be simul justus et pecattor because Jesus died for us knowing that we were imperfect. His salvation is ours even though we fall short. We rest in His perfection, not our own. That is why it’s called grace.

Here’s why I agree with the sentiment. If we are saved, if we have decided to follow Jesus, our lives should change. God accepts us as we are, but He doesn’t want us to stay as we are. Part of the salvation we have through Jesus isn’t just the salvation of our souls from the punishment of sin, but it’s the salvation of our whole person. God wants to restore us completely. He wants to take us from death to life, and that means that the parts of us that fall short of His standard are supposed to die, and we are supposed to be made more and more in His image.

This sounds very lofty, but it’s really not. Just ask the ex-drug-addict. Just ask the person who used to be so controlled by their anger that they couldn’t get close to anybody. Just ask the person who used to be a pathological liar. Ask a close friend who is a Christian what ways their life has changed since they started following Christ. As we begin to follow Christ, those old things do die away, and we really do begin to take on new characteristics, a new identity.

The third chapter of Colossians talks all about the new life with Christ, but I love verses 12-15 specifically:

Therefore, God’s chosen ones, holy and loved, put on heartfelt compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience, accepting one another and forgiving one another if anyone has a complaint against another. Just as the Lord has forgiven you, so you must also forgive. Above all, put on love — the perfect bond of unity. And let the peace of the Messiah, to which you were also called in one body, control your hearts. Be thankful.(sourced from Biblegateway.com)

I love these verses because I believe all those words that were used are the words we’re all seeking in our lives, and they’re the words we all seem to be missing when we’re apart from God. Compassion. Kindness. Humility. Gentleness. Patience. Acceptance. Forgiveness. Love. Unity. Peace. Thankfulness.

If you are a Christian, think about your life before. Would you describe it as peaceful, or full of drama? Would you define it as full of love, or full of bitterness? Would you describe your relationships with others as unified, or divided? How often were you thankful for the situations you found yourself in? If you are not a Christian, take an inventory of those things now. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a change?

When we come in contact with Christ and begin to follow Him, and when we submit to His word and allow Him to start changing things in us, we begin to have these things in our lives. That’s how He intended it! That’s how He wants it!

But, to bring it back around, I think we have to be sober about it. We have to realize that it is a process. Justification is not the same thing as sanctification. We stand right with God the moment we are saved. We do not live right the moment we are saved. We truly are simultaneously justified and sinner. It’s okay to recognize that. And it’s okay to live in that tension, because we really should want to change. But understand that God knows us, and he isn’t up there waiting for you to mess up so He can kick you out. He’s up there pulling for you because He believed in you so much that He sent Jesus to take the punishment for your sins.

I know this post was a little long, and a little more serious than most have been. I hope you stuck with it, and I hope you came to the end being encouraged to stick with it and encouraged to allow God to move in your life and change you. And if you’re somebody who struggles with the fact that you know you should be better, read Psalm 103. Verse 14 says that He remembers we are dust. He knows we aren’t perfect. He loves us anyways. And His Word isn’t just to tell us how wrong we are, it’s to help us to really be right.

A few weeks ago I wrote about “Starbursts, M&Ms, and the Differences That Define Us,” where I celebrated our differences. I ended the blog with this quote:

You are you, and there is nobody else like you. Rest in the fact that God designed you to be you. Step up. Step out. Be different. Love every moment of it. And love all the amazing, beautiful, different, unique people around you the same way you hope they’ll love you.

If you haven’t read that blog yet, go give it a read. I still stand by everything I said in it! However, after I wrote that I had a friend message me and start talking to me about the flip side of the coin, and I also agree with what he said, so I want to talk about it as well.

The whole point of the original “Starbursts and M&Ms” post was to celebrate the fact that our differences are what make us who we are. We have different gifts and talents, different perspectives and outlooks, different likes and dislikes, different passions and disdains, and those things are what separate us from each other and give each of us our unique flavor. Those things should be celebrated, not things to take shame in.

The flip side of the coin is this: While we do have differences that should be celebrated, we also have incredible commonalities that we should find comfort and hope in as well!

Working in a church often gets me one of two reactions from people, but both are rooted in the same thing. The first reaction is that people don’t want to open up to me because they think I “have it all together.” They think that since I work in a church, that must mean my life is perfect, I’m the epitome of moral uprightness, and I would only be appalled if they opened up to me about some of the things going on in their life or some of the thoughts rolling around in their head. The second reaction is that people do open up, and they are often ashamed of themselves — though, they may use different words.

Both of these reactions stem from the same thing: we have a tendency to glamorize the people around us and demonize ourselves. When we see somebody in a place that would normally be considered successful, we immediately assume they have things in their life prioritized and together and all the loose ends tied up. When we see somebody in church in their Sunday best, we tend to carry that image to the fullest extent, assuming that their Sunday best is their everyday normal. And when we fail to live up to the self-imposed standard, we crush ourselves. We point out every mistake, every shortcoming, every moment of weakness, and we compare our every day weaknesses to our misguided view of everybody else’s success — a success that doesn’t really exist.

That is the flip side of the coin. Yes, our differences should be celebrated, but we should also realize that we all have our humanity in common. We all deal with brokenness. We all deal with insecurities. When you look at somebody who seems to have it all together, there’s a very solid chance they don’t. They’re looking at somebody else the same exact way, wishing they could do better, just like you.

So, what does this mean? On a practical level, what can you do with this? Well, for one, stop looking at yourself as if you’re somehow inferior because you have bad days (or bad weeks, or bad months). A person’s social media image isn’t their real every day life, so stop comparing your life to their Instagram. This is real life, and those of us who live in it know that life gets hard.

That leads me to the second thing we can do, which is to be there for people when they’re in those tough seasons. When you’re in a season of doubt or insecurity or whatever kind of brokenness you may experience, what do you need in that time? you need somebody to be there for you! You need somebody to listen to you, to give you a shoulder to cry on, to urge you to keep pushing through, to give you some advice or a helping hand. Be that same person for others! Be the confidant you wish you had.

Finally, you can allow yourself to open up to others. Realize that because we all go through hardship, we can all generally relate when we have a friend going through hardship. I’m not saying you should incessantly harp on the negative and never come to a place where you’re ready to get help, get up, and move on. If you always complain and never position yourself for growth, people will stop listening pretty quickly. However, you can’t let insecurity stop you from opening up to people when you have a genuine desire to get better. Your fear of their disapproval is often just that — fear. A good friend will be able to sympathize more than you realize. Why? Because they’ve been there too. We all have.

I hope this helps somebody out. If so, let me know! I would love to hear your story. And I’d like to thank my friend Jason for prompting me to think about the flip side of the coin.

My kids love the zoo. Before they started school, their grandma would get a membership every year and take them weekly, sometimes more, while she babysat them when my wife and I were at work. Because of this, they have a sort of routine down for zoo day. They always ride the little train, go down the otter slide, go on the carousel, and they know every fun little stop and where every animal is. I remember a few years ago when my son, Asher, was three years old and he got sick while we were at the zoo. He started getting a temperature and he just wasn’t acting himself. He wouldn’t look much at the animal exhibits. When we would get to something like the otter slide, he would hop out of his stroller and go play, but there wasn’t the same zeal and fun and laughter that normally accompanies it. He wanted to have fun and do all the things he loved. His spirit was willing. But he was sick. His flesh was weak.

Doesn’t this picture hit home for many of us? We set goals that we want to accomplish. We have habits that we want to break. We have a past that we want to stay in the past and a hope that we can push through it into our future. I want to be a better father, a better husband, a more devout Christian, a better neighbor, a more generous giver, a less cynical person. The spirit is willing.

But when it comes down to it, it’s hard to carve out the extra time for working out, for reading that book, for writing that book. It’s easier to buy the cigarettes, to stop at the bar on the way home, to erase the history after the google search is done. We may hate our past, but it’s like a well-worn, albeit tattered, pair of shoes — you know you should get something new, but these are so familiar and so comfortable. Forging a new path takes a lot of work, and being comfortable is… well… comfortable. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak.

So the question is this: If the flesh is weak, how do I strengthen it? I’m willing on the inside, but it’s just so hard to get going! How do I overcome the desires of comfort and familiarity? How do I get the zeal to push forward into what I know is right and leave behind the things I know are wrong? How do I steel my resolve? How do I strengthen my flesh?

We don’t. We can’t. The answer isn’t strengthening our flesh, the answer is killing it. Galatians 5:24 says that those who belong to Christ have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires. The reason our flesh is weak is because it’s ours. The reason it’s so hard to do what we know is right is because what’s right is generally not self-serving, and we love to serve ourselves. The spirit is willing because it’s easy to recognize goodness for what it is. The flesh is weak because goodness is sacrificial.

When we kill our flesh, when we crucify its passions and desires, when we nail our greed and self-serving and sinful nature to the cross, it is a giving-over of our desires to God. When we hear this, our minds automatically think that means dashing our hopes and dreams and throwing out everything we’ve worked for in our lives. For some people, depending on what it is they have been working for, I guess that could be true. But more often than not, it really means a redemption of all the struggle and work.

God has a way of taking what’s dead and bringing it back to life in a more glorious way than it had ever been alive before. Jesus was a man, but he came back to life as much more than a man. When we crucify our flesh, our desires die in greed and self-seeking aspiration, but they come back to life in God as much more. The truth is that God created us with our strengths and weaknesses, and God created us with our gifts and talents. If you’ve been using your gifts and talents to get where you are, it isn’t God’s desire that you never use those gifts and talents again. But it is His desire that you use them for more than yourself.

As we start out a new year, it’s a time that many of us are making new goals and gearing up for what we hope is a bright future. It’s also a time that many of us are remorseful about missed opportunities or balls dropped in the past. And many are mourning brokenness and trying their hardest to not remain a victim of situations they had no control of and had no way to avoid over the last year. No matter where we are, we all have the option to stay there or to move forward. We have the option to be all about ourselves or all about the people around us. We can opt to further entrench ourselves into the unfulfilling lull of the desires we have grown to know and hate, or we can let them die and press forward into the things our souls cry out for.

The spirit is willing. Is the sacrifice worth it?