Looks can be deceptive.

People who travel to really poor areas of the world consistently report some of the same feelings in those places. They always stand out as Americans, which means they are constantly begged for money. Further, because the prices are so low, their American dollars represent a tremendous amount of wealth. This means that even when getting services like taxi rides, the inclination is to lavish fabulous tips on the natives because it would be so easy to do.

But what’s interesting is that most people familiar with these countries will tell you that it’s actually a bad idea. Whether overtipping or giving to beggars, the problem is that you disrupt the local economy and cause additional problems with such simple generosity.

In other words, they say to act like a stingy person, behavior which observed at a distance would seem almost callous and cruel. But sometimes that which looks superficially loving can be harmful and that which looks superficially mean can be the most loving.

Perhaps this is why a wealthy God doesn’t just give us everything we beg Him for, even though He wishes He could.

Compared to whom?

I have to admit that I feel pretty constantly like a failure as a parent. I’m pretty sure that I’m not alone in this. In fact, part of the reason I wanted to share this with you is that I know some of you consider me a good parent. But even good parents feel like failures.

And why wouldn’t we? There is only one good parent, and that’s God. By comparison with Him, we are all terrible, with only minute differences of terribleness between us. And the more we look at Him, the more each little interaction with our kids shows the truth about us. That’s in fact why part of the evidence that you are a good parent is that you feel so bad at it. Because it shows you’re comparing yourself to the right standard. And it’s also why the notion that if you were just a little better at it you’d feel good is such a destructive myth.

So how do we solve the problem? Simple. Although we can never fully measure up in our parenting, we know that we are made perfectly righteous in God’s sight by the gift of His Son. Thus, even in our terrible parenting, He accepts us just as we are. And if God has accepted me and my imperfect parenting, who am I to argue with Him about it?

Who does your decorating?

Is Jesus your interior decorator? What I mean to ask is whether Jesus has done some rearranging in the rooms of your life?

You see, an interior decorator comes into your somewhat shabby home and asks you what you want to do with the place. He discovers your tastes and clarifies what makes you happy. Then, with his vast expertise in fabric and paint and furniture, he assists you by extrapolating your personality into your surroundings so you feel like your house is a vibrant expression of who you are, pleasing you whenever you inhabit it.

So, has Jesus has done this for you yet?

Because although this is the way many people think Jesus works in our lives, they are eternally mistaken. You see, Jesus doesn’t show up with swatches and an attentive ear. He comes with a bulldozer and a wrecking crew.

When the real Christ comes to visit the lives we call home, He razes them to the ground in the most violent fashion imaginable. Sometimes only explosives will do the trick. And if you have never experienced the horrific joy or of seeing all you prized about your life blown apart to be reformed according to His blueprint, well, perhaps that nice chap stroking your tastes so pleasantly isn’t at all who you thought he was.

Of emailers

I receive emails from three sorts of people about my show.

The first type is the either/or. This person sometimes writes to praise me and sometimes to criticize me, often both in the same email. This is by far the largest category.

The second type is the reliable critic. This person only writes to disagree with me about something or other, rarely communicating when things are to his liking. He apparently thinks that silence is a form of praise. Although these are valuable, whenever I see this person’s name in my inbox, I sigh with a mixture of dread and disappointment.

The third type is the encouraging advocate. This person always has something positive to say, even when it’s critical, and often just wants me to know how much he appreciates me. My dad, my pastor, and a handful of others fall in this category, and I obviously delight to see their names in my inbox.

All three categories include Christians, but which of the three do you think make me want to know more about the God they say overflows with love for me?

If you can't say something well....

“The sky was red.”

“The lips of every maiden wept with jealousy for the crimson stain smeared across the clouds that night.”

To a logician, these two sentences are identical. This alone should testify to the deep imbecility of that discipline.

You see, logic cares only about truth and falsity. But in human experience, the inescapable truth about language is that truth is not the issue. Simply put, men respond to beauty, not merely to truth. This is because the distance between a falsehood and a mere truth is meaningless compared with the gulf between a truth and an eloquence.

Yet when we make our proclamations, we often think we have done enough to merely say what is true, thus satisfying the logicians. But only a logician could be stupid enough to believe that poetry can be reduced to propositions…or to believe that propositions alone have ever changed the course of history…or even a man’s heart.