Fierce Love & The Road (& Tsunamis)

On Saturday, I watched The Road, the adaption of Cormac McCarthy’s Pulitzer-Prize winning novel about a father and son traversing the ravaged remnants of a dying earth following a world wide cataclysm. What struck me most about this story was the devotion that the father has for his son. Cannibals roam the highways, and he guards his son with a rusting revolver with two shells remaining. As he slowly grows feebler and more ill, one gets the sense that his every breath is not his own, but rather breath exhausted for the sake of his son.

“All I know is the child is my warrant, and if he is not the word of God, then God never spoke.” – The Man

He lives for his son. He scavenges for his son. He keeps his son warm, bathes him when possible, cuts his hair, reads to him, protects him, and kills for him. He tells his son, “I will kill anyone who touches you. Because it’s my job.” It is a stark, harrowing portrait of the depths of love that a man can plumb to provide for those he loves.

And so as I was watching this, and later reflecting on it, I began to understand love a little better. Not just the love a father has for a child, although it certainly reinforced my already strong desire to be a father, but the love that we are called to for one another. I wouldn’t suggest killing for a loved one anytime soon, but I’m starting to truly understand that we do not love fiercely enough.

Fierce: [adj.] 1. Having a savage and violent nature, 2. Extremely severe or violent; terrible, 3. Extremely intense or ardent, 4. Strenuously active or resolute.

I’m coming to believe that love is meant to be such a force that it can scare someone, not out of fear, but out of how powerful it is. I believe this because God demands awe out of us, again, not out of fear, not reverence emerging from a worship-or-die fork in the road, but because he asks us to look and understand just how all-encompassing he is. His love is so overwhelming that its volume demands shock.

Love this fierce is startling because we’ve lost the true value of it, the true weight. Love has become a trite ninety nine cent greeting card, a text message signature, an emoticon. Attempting to quantify real, honest to goodness love with “<3” is like handing someone a glass of water and telling them that this is what a tsunami looks like. It’s implausible; it’s actually ludicrous, yet we have done it so long, so many times each and every day that we have forgotten what it was meant to be.

The fourth definition of “fierce” is interesting, specifically the first two words. “Strenuously active.” Love cannot be considered a static thing. Love is not static. If, in The Road, the father had said to his son, “I love you. Now, I’m going to take a nap. You go out there and rustle us up some good eats,” I’d have to doubt his love just slightly. As a matter of fact, if memory serves the father never actually tells his son that he loves him. Looking past this unfortunate verbal omission, it becomes clear as the movie progresses that these words by themselves would severely pale in the face of the man’s actions. His love is anything BUT static; with his every step, every motion, every breath, he paints an unyielding portrait of just how deeply he does love his son. He is strenuously active.

In one of The Road’s most affecting scenes, the father dispatches of a man who attempts to kidnap his son. The shot barely misses his son on its way to killing the assailant, and leaves the boy momentarily traumatized and his face covered in blood. The father puts his son on his back and runs, staying just barely ahead of the kidnapper’s associates, until he finally reaches safety near a river and takes the time to tenderly clean his son’s face and do his best to comfort him. As the boy sobs out of shock, I began to realize that this is a pure definition of love, at least to me: to be able to defend the one you love by whatever means necessary, and then exhibit nothing but tenderness and compassion for that person after the moment passes. Yes, this is love: to war for the one you love, while delivering nothing but love to the person you fight for.

While writing this, I was suddenly struck by the thought that this is a rather untraditional movie to pull visions of love out of. If you go into Blockbuster and ask the clerk for suggestions on a good love movie, chances are he’ll direct you to the latest ensemble romantic comedy; romcoms are a dime a dozen, and have been for the last decade or so. They’re full of famous faces and tired storylines; the man falls in love with the woman, probably under some wacky circumstances, they fall apart, and then they return to each other in the closing minutes while cheesy music plays in the background. This is what Hollywood wants you to view love as: beautiful faces having crazy adventures and sucking face to John Mayer.

Make no mistake: love is full of ridiculous stories that you will tell for years, and sucking face too. But these movies barely scrape over the tip of the iceberg when it comes to describing love. They do not describe a fierce love. Love could be better described in the images of The Road: a gaunt, dying man wearing shoes with more holes than leather, pushing a shopping cart across gutted roads, carrying his child on his shoulders, giving him the last of what food they have.

Love is fiercer than romcom.

Romcoms are that glass of water. A fierce love develops out of complete selflessness and sacrifice, the ability to breathe like your breaths are not your own. Your breaths are ragged because you war for the one you love. Can you imagine a love so ardent that the whole of your resources are going directly to another, except for the bare minimum required to keep you alive, if only so you can keep giving that person more? It’s hard for us. We don’t give or receive this kind of love anymore.

I would end this with a challenge to love fiercely, but the truth is, I’m not entirely sure how to love like this much of the time. This wasn’t taught to us in school; it wasn’t shown to us in our domesticated, comfortable worlds. You and I were brought into a world where if love existed, it was a safe, tame love. It was filled with coffee and paying bills. I desire more for us, for the whole of us. It’s something we will need to discover on our own. Fierce love is described for us; it’s selfless, slow to anger, protective, and every good thing. How we translate it into our own lives, as a transition from static to active love, is a learning process.

Love is fierce. Love is tender. Love wars. Love makes peace.

Most of all, love never fails.

“Three things will last forever – faith, hope, and love – and the greatest of these is love.” – 1 Corinthians 13:13 (NLT)

my lover’s beauty.

my lover’s beauty:
it knows not a fated gravity
no mortal coil to unwind
no earthly shackles to imprison

cast off the mooring lines
to her helium soul
take her heaven-ward, and
may i stow along

when she dances,
it is like the dew catching light
in the birthing of the dawn
everything afire, and

everything right
sunk deep in her eyes like wells
pull it all up hand over hand
in buckets with frayed lines

then shall i cup my hands
a vessel for her splendor
an offering to her majesty
a surrender to her grace

let her beauty overflow
many waters breaching a dam
there is no end to it
hallelujah:

there is no end to it.

lit up like a rose

as the tide takes the shore
like an overpowering army
assaulting the walls of an enemy,
laying siege to the heart

so she has broken in
in the middle of the night
slipped past the ventricles deep
into the inner chambers

so she has stolen away his thoughts
a bandit of the soul
an unconscious brigand
that ravaged without knowledge

lit up like a rose in the sun
like the moon in her eyes
the faith of a child
timber seared by fire

a dam breaking loose
the last vapors of breath
the gods coming undone
and falling from heaven

each glance
heavy as the newborn cry and
every word
light as rain.

Materialism and Eternity

Every person you will ever meet is, or has been, at one point or another, desperate to find fulfillment.  Ultimately, we are faced with the stunning realization that we are, indeed, mortal, and will, indeed, die someday soon.  The idea that we might die without having truly realized our full potential, might pass away without reshaping the world into a better place, might come to the end of our breath alone and unloved, is a motivator that has pushed men throughout history to conquer continents, take to space and the depths of the ocean, and give away their fortunes.  Unfortunately, far too often the dusk fills our eyes before we can satisfy our need to feel important, loved, or at peace with our accomplishments.  Night settles like a final blanket around your head and the twinkle in your eye becomes a ragged firefly fascinated by the final unravel of your mortal coil.  In the end, nothing matters but what we do in anticipation of the next life.

I have met many people in my lifetime that have been seeking a purpose through the pursuit of finite things.  Warren Buffett recently made international headlines when he announced that he would be giving away the majority of his vast wealth to charities.  This is most certainly to be applauded, and the world would be a much better place if those blessed with such opulence would take Buffett’s path instead of attempting to build a family dynasty by bestowing it upon their children, who generally spend it foolishly and quickly.  However, despite the generosity and altruism of Buffett’s gift, to me it is little more than an old man’s attempt to be remembered well.  History may well record Warren Buffett as one of the century’s most generous men, alongside Bill Gates.  But what history records is of no eternal value.  Rome wasn’t built in a day, but the men who labored years to create the greatest empire the world has ever seen will not be judged in a fairer light because of their work.  The men who destroyed Rome for its self-indulgence and tyrannical hold on the world will not be pitied for the lives they took.  Much of what we do on this earth will stay here.

In this life, or at least the American life, our slogan is clearly, “He who dies with the most toys, wins.”  My mother had a magnet on our fridge for a long time that returned, “He who dies with the most toys, still dies.”  Whether we win or lose eternally has nothing to do with bling.  In the classic movie Schindler’s List, Schindler is a wealthy German businessman in the midst of WWII who begins to buy Jews out of the hands of the Nazis, and at the end of the movie, he is overcome with grief and shame as he looks at all his material possessions and realizes how many more Jewish lives he could’ve saved instead of buying his toys.  What Rolls Royce should be worth more than even one single life?  That is why,  in the Bible, God urged, “Don’t bother with material things, because they rust and rot, and thieves break in and steal them.  Rather, concentrate on the next life.  Because, where your desires are, that is where your heart lies as well.”  Rolls Royces need premium gas and routine maintenance, and eventually they rust and fall apart.  Today, even our very identities are at risk from thieves looking for Social Security and credit card numbers.

I should rephrase that: our identities as mortals are at risk.  Mortal thieves can only pilfer mortal information.  Instead, worry about who you are as an immortal.  Popular singer-songwriter Jack Johnson sings in “Gone”: “Look at all those fancy clothes, but these could keep us warm just like those, and what about your soul is it cold?  Is it straight from the mold and ready to be sold?  Cars and phones and diamond rings…bling bling…those are only removeable things, and what about your mind, does it shine?  Or are there things that concern you more than your time?”  Despite how easy it is to focus solely on this life, it is beyond imperative that we keep our gaze slightly ahead of the day we die.  The recent movie Syriana had a tragically beautiful ending; following the deaths of a CIA operative and a young Muslim, the Muslim’s compatriots watch a video of his burial wishes, where the dead man speaks: “Everyone should mention that I died pure of heart…and that the next world is the true life…the next world is the true life.”  Can we all say that we are living so that we will die pure of heart?

I know some of you might not completely understand what that entails.  When we die, we die, right?  Not entirely.  Our whole lives are, really, nothing more than preparation for death.  We are living our pre-burial ceremony today as we speak.  It sounds macabre, but it’s true.  As we go about our daily lives, we are determining how others will look back on us and how God will judge us.  Going back to the donations by Warren Buffett…I know it has to be a great feeling to give away virtually all of a fortune to good causes, but, in all honesty, I would rather be remembered as a good, trustworthy, God-following man than a man who got rich and gave it away.  Magnanimity truly only goes so far.  I want to die at peace with my family and friends, with no grudges against others and none against me, but most importantly, at peace with my eternal security.

How do you want to be remembered?  Because once you decide on that, you need to start making it happen.  Some of you may be saying, “Now wait a minute, if the afterlife is all that matters, why should we care if people say good things at the funeral?”  Good question, and God anticipated it several thousand years in advance, and this is what he said: “Make sure that you are blameless in the sight of those around you, not just in my eyes, but in the eyes of your fellow man, that they may bless you and praise the one you serve in heaven.”  It is vital that we keep eternity at our forefront, but at the same time, we must also lead here on earth and set the example so that others may indeed observe the differences between believers and unbelievers.  It breaks my heart when unbelievers come up to me and say that one of the biggest reasons they stay away from Christianity is the hypocrisy, and that many of their fellow unbelievers are far better people than some Christians they know.  And that, my friends, is the honest, horrible truth.  And we need to change it.

So…in conclusion, we as Christians need to strive to get rid of our materialistic mindset and, at the same time, be Jesus to this world.  Don’t, however, get your impression of who Jesus is from the televangelists and the Bible-swinging, tract-dispensing picketer who has alienated everyone in your city.  Go straight to the source.  And remember…

…the next world is the true life.

The Valley

There are certain perceptions and opinions of believers today, I believe, formed by both Christians and agnostics alike. One of these beliefs is that Christians are expected to perpetually sustain a never-ending spiritual high. Every day, we wake up with brightly polished pianos in our smiling mouths, songs in our hearts, melodic words on our tongues – never ending praise to our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Our day goes fantastic, we praise Jesus, we save a few people from eternal damnation, help an old lady cross the street, and come home on this unexplainable Jesus buzz. We never get depressed, never sad, we don’t get angry when the unexplainable happens. We don’t lust for our neighbor’s wife, don’t stare at his new car. Our children are models of cherubic innocence and our bank account runneth over with the financial benefits of following Christ.

Wrong. It’s all wrong.

The way of Jesus is not for the weak or the faint of heart. The followers have Christ have been fed to lions for sport, burned at stakes, jailed for possessing Bibles, tortured for starting churches, had senseless attacks of all sorts carried out against them. Judas Iscariot, the man who would eventually betray Jesus, is generally thought of as the man responsible for providing the Jewish public with his image of the coming Messiah: the military, political Jesus. And even though Jesus was a man of peace, it proves what was going through the heads of the Jews at this point in time. They were looking for a general to rally under, someone to give them a flag to wave high. Why? Because they were sick and tired of being stepped on. Because the world hated them. Everyone’s had the Chinese minister visit their church and talk about his fingernails being yanked out with pliers because people sang songs of worship in the basement of his house. If anything, becoming a Christian will only invite more pain and suffering than the people around you.

And because of that, every Christian spends his or her share of time in the valley. A valley where it seems like no one is there, every single friend and confidant has left, betrayed, or ignored. Job felt that way, and quite rightly, after all his children were slain, he lost his financial fortune and future when his livestock died, and he was afflicted with ghastly sores. His friends came to him and said, “curse God, because he’s the one who did this to you. Curse God, and maybe he’ll kill you and you can just be done with it all.” Curse God. If you’re lucky, he’ll kill you. Instead, Job rebuked them and returned with, “I came from dust. When I was born, I was nothing; I was dust. This is how I will die. God gives and God takes away. Bless his name.” Bless his name. Horatio Spafford was a very wealthy businessman who lived about a century ago. He had financial fortune, a wonderful wife, four beautiful daughters, a devoted son. Spafford lived in Chicago. Tragedy struck its first blow when his son died in a freak accident. While the family was still mourning, a cow knocked over a chair that knocked over a kerosene lamp, and Chicago ate itself alive. Spafford’s warehouses, and with it, all that he had, were consumed. Still in shock, Horatio Spafford received a telegram from a friend in England, inviting his family to attend D.L. Moody speak. Horatio sent his family before him while he stayed behind an extra few days to finish up business matters. The ocean liner that Horatio Spafford’s family was on got about halfway across the ocean when it was struck by a merchant vessel. The liner went down in just over twelve minutes. Hundreds died…including Horatio Spafford’s four daughters. He received a telegram from his wife, short and sweet, informing him that she was the only one he had left. In indescribable grief, he took the next liner to England to reunite with his wife. As they passed the site where his daughters lay, he took out a pen, and began writing the hymn “It Is Well With My Soul.” When peace like a river attendeth my way; when sorrows like sea billows roll…whatever my lot, thou has taught me to say, “It is well; it is well with my soul.”

So why do hard times fall upon us? Is it God? Is there really a God, and if there is, is he loving? Because surely a loving God would not allow these things to happen. The answer is that God has given us free control of our lives. We do with that what we will. He couldn’t really just let some of us do what we wanted but restrain, say serial killers and rapists from the gift of free will, because then it wouldn’t be free will, would it. He would be denying us what we chose many thousands of years ago. We thought that we could run the world better than God, so he has let us try ever since. I believe that God weeps for every sin, every act of injustice that occurs in this world. It is so counter to who he is, what he stands for, that this multitude of rebellious acts must break his heart. And yet, the only time it has ever been mentioned that something done by us mortals was enough to break God so badly as to make him turn away was his son’s crucifixion. It says in the Scriptures, “and God turned his face away.” This act was so terrible, so unjust, so heinous, that even God could not watch. We did that. We broke God in a way that some would not think possible. Because he gave us free will. We bring all this upon ourselves. Many people tell me, “well, I don’t see why this is happening to me. I’ve done nothing wrong!” Every day, we sin enough to be condemned to hell a dozen times over. We should thank God more often for sparing us our deserved damnation. God has every right to let us suffer. We have betrayed him. God gives and God takes away. That is all we deserve: to have all that we know taken away.

And yet, the valley is not permanent. God will and does bring us through our trials and tribulations. In the Bible, it concentrates quite heavily in the Old Testament on the sins of Israel. Time and time again, the Israelites sinned against God, betrayed him, spat in his face. The Israelites are God’s chosen people, his ones set aside, and they crucified his one and only son. And yet God always remained faithful. He let them suffer, but never permanently. He loves us too much. These times of trial and hurt that we go through, they are only temporary. If you’re hurting today, don’t give up. Return to God, return to your knees, return to his favor.

You have led me through the sadness; I have carried this weight on a back bruised and nearly broken. I’m crying out to you. I will sing of your mercy that leads me through valleys of sorrow to rivers of joy. When death like a gypsy comes to steal what I love, I will still look to the heavens; I will still seek your face. But I fear you’re not listening, because there are no words, just the stillness and the hunger for a faith that assures. I will sing of your mercy that leads me through valleys of sorrow to rivers of joy. While we wait for our rescue, with our eyes tightly shut, face to the ground, holding our hands to cover the fatal cut. And though the pain is an ocean, tossing us around, around, around, you have calmed greater waters and higher mountains have come down. I will sing of your mercy that leads me through valleys of sorrow to rivers of joy. Hallelujah. – “The Valley Song” Jars of Clay

Godspeed.

Life + Death.

We are a world obsessed with death.  Every funeral becomes an affair to stop traffic and bring out throngs and throngs of family and friends.  We’ve even created a TV show to further exploit our fascination of death.  For all this fascination, however, we understand very little about death.  This was explained by a well-known comedian, who quipped, “We show how little we know about death by giving the deceased a pillow.  Does he really need one?”

Do we really need a pillow where we are going?

We all want to live forever; we exercise until we collapse, we count our calories and trim our fat content, some of us shell out thousands and thousands for transplants to keep on living longer and longer.  The idea of death fascinates and paralyzes.  Many of us secretly wish we could be immortal, so that we could never die, never rust or decay, never cease.  But why?

Why do we want to keep on living in this world?  Why are we so worried to die?

A swift glance at any newspaper will tell you that our world itself is dying.  Earthquakes and tsunamis kill tens of thousands.  Wildfires ravage our country.  Epidemics like AIDS slay millions.  Morally, our world has collapsed.  Abortion kills millions, while madmen and would-be gods end the lives of many more.  Nothing is sacred anymore, and every day we draw closer and perilously closer to a world that denies the very existence of God.

And yet we want to live forever in this cratered landscape?

Someone once said, “Don’t take life so seriously.  You’ll never get out of it alive anyway.”  While humorous, it’s true.  The mortality rate for human beings is exactly one hundred percent.  No one lives forever.  Honestly, I don’t want to.  So why do so many people seek immortality?  Because we have lost sight of what lies just beyond.  Just beyond our field of vision, just out of our peripheral, lies eternity.  Where we will be immortal.

And who has seen God?  Not one of us.

The idea of the unknown terrifies most of us.  It’s why we crowned the men who walked on the moon as heroes, and why we pay tribute to fallen soldiers.  They have all done things that we can never imagine, things that bring wonderment and curiosity to our eyes.  The moon is far out of our reach; Iraq is a place we would never wish to be.  It is the unknown that keeps us searching for the Fountain of Youth.  The idea that there could be an afterlife, a God that is fair and just and will judge us for our fallen natures.

Security is within our grasp, but we would rather hug what is immediate to ourselves.

To paraphrase C.S. Lewis, one of my heroes, “We are much like a child playing in a mud puddle who is offered a cruise and island vacation.  He knows nothing but his mud, and the idea of a cruise has no appeal to him because he has no concept of it.”  Instead of unencumbering ourselves of our fear and hesitation, we would rather deal with what we can grasp to some extent: death.

We must look beyond death.  To end our gaze at death is to damn ourselves to eternal shortsightedness.

Instead of endlessly making much ado about death, we must focus on the life that lies after death.  The Kingdom of Heaven is here and now and coming.  We’d love to think that we will never die.  But we will.  So live.

Live.

Individuality and Macs.

In a lot of ways, I’ve become a pretty ideal college student. I drink Starbucks and various beverages from the local coffee houses while hacking away at my latest screenplay or piece of fiction and listening to obscure bands like Animal Collective, Margot and the Nuclear So & So’s, and Bon Iver on my iPod. I don’t own a Mac, but I do have a laptop that’s plastered with “War Is Not the Answer” stickers and a post-election Obama sticker that declares “Yes We Did.” I donate money and invest my time in the “designer causes” like Blood:Water, To Write Love on Her Arms, Invisible Children, XXX Church, and Toms. Most people have never heard of my favorite movies; a recent favorite would be Charlie Kaufman’s Synecdoche, New York. I buy my clothes almost exclusively from Abercrombie, Macy’s, Buckle, Express for Men, Banana Republic, and Armani Exchange. I love debating philosophy and life more than almost anything else.

This is who I am, but I’m unable to completely shake the feeling that I was molded into these tastes. Over the last four or five years, Macs have gotten so popular that it’s almost more unique on a college campus when you *don’t* own one. In that same vein, it seems like a lot of people my age have been unconsciously shepherded into a certain mindset. There’s a very typical college stereotype: the guy that parties every weekend, constantly looking for tail, painting his chest at the football game, but there’s another stereotype that fewer people realize exist. This stereotype, as I’m starting to understand it, is the guy who really nails all those sensitive marks: leans liberal, drinks coffee, writes poetry, listens to odd music, etc. It’s a stereotype that I think a lot of people like me try to fit into without even realizing it. Yet, somehow, when we fit into this stereotype, we all come off as individual, if only to ourselves.

I believe there’s a strong identity crisis going unaddressed in my generation. It’s almost impossible to strike out on your own and not fall into a broadly-labeled clique. I’m somewhere in between prep and indie. Above is Christy and her fiance Kyle. They do a pretty good job of representing the indie clique, which has popped up as an off shoot of emo, which was itself an off shoot of goth. Indie came about because people are constantly striving for individuality. Whenever you see a well-defined scene appear, it usually means that the generation is bored with their options and is trying out something totally new.

Every time a new clique shows up, though, it’s like a bucket overflowing into another bucket. People escape to the new scene, only to find themselves as pigeonholed as before. Individuality is hard to find these days. I guess the biggest problem with this is that people start thinking like the way they believe their group should, which goes back to what I was saying earlier. My views on politics and religion are my own, but they were influenced by the people I was around. Not to say I should completely re-evaluate my stances, but there’s an inherent danger in allowing oneself to conform to anything. The Word comes right out and says that those who hang out with the wise, become wise, and the people who hang out with the foolish, in turn become foolish.

God created each and every one of us to be thoroughly unique creatures, with our own thoughts, emotions, views, and opinions. It’s an injustice to him and the originality he instilled in us. It’s tempting to want to slide into a scene that comes prepackaged with clothing, music, and political platforms, but it’s the easy way out. I’d encourage you to look at yourself, your crowd, your values, and ensure that they really are your own. There’s no cheesy cliches about “you being you” to be found here in as many words, but God only wants your genuine self.

Days With My Father

http://www.dayswithmyfather.com/#/0

This is one of the more beautiful things I have seen recently.

The Coolest Video You’ll Watch Today

wingsuit base jumping from Ali on Vimeo.

This is absolutely stunning.

Goldfish.

Goldfish have this crazy short memory; I think it’s something like fifteen seconds. So, basically, if you’re a goldfish, you could run into the side of the bowl, realize you’re in captivity, freak out for fourteen seconds, and then bump into it again and start the whole process over again. It’d be incredibly frustrating, except you never remembered anything. So, it’s probably pretty awesome being a goldfish.

I remind myself way too much of a goldfish most days. I was talking to a sick friend the other day, and it came up how when I get sick, I start wondering how I could EVER be unhappy when I’m healthy. Being sick just drains you so badly, and when you’re healthy, you’ve got all this energy; you’re not encumbered by achy joints or a stuffy head. I can remember being sick and making those promises to God: “Dear God, if you make this cold go away, I’ll NEVER take my health for granted again.” And of course, once I got healthy, I totally forgot about those promises. It’s like I was a sick goldfish.

The Israelites (in the Bible) had the same problem with their memories. Time and time again, God bailed them out of these crazy situations; sure death at the hands of their enemies, famine, plague, being lost for four decades in the middle of the desert with just bread and wild game to keep them from starving. I’m pretty sure a bunch of the Israelites made the same kind of desperation prayers I pray when I’m sick: “Dear God, if you find us some food that isn’t bird sandwiches, we’ll never sin again.” Yet, if you read the accounts, as soon as they got out of one situation, all those foxhole prayers and promises went straight out the window. Oftentimes, God appeared to get a little annoyed and would consequently throw them into another ridiculous situation.

I’m not thankful enough. God loves a thankful heart, and yet all too often I let myself get caught up in all the things I don’t have, and the things I want, and the things I used to have, rather than the things I’ve been incredibly blessed with. The Israelites had food to eat in the wilderness; that’s better than billions of people living in poverty right now. We’ve all heard the stats about poverty. If you have food on the fridge, clothes on your back, and a roof over your head, you’re richer than 75% of the world. If you have money in the bank and your wallet, and maybe some change in a dish somewhere, you’re in the richest 8% of the world. If you woke up this morning with more health than illness, you are more blessed than the one million people who will die this week.

The numbers could go on forever. The point is, I (and you too, likely) am so much more blessed than so many others, and yet, I complain. I whine about how I had to wait in line at the bank, or I didn’t get the last bagel, or my clothes don’t fit. When the hard times come, I’m suddenly so grateful, and so ready to start over with a thankful heart, if only I could have the good times back. And when they do, my goldfish memory kicks in again.

1 Thessalonians 5:18 says, “Give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.” God likes to be thanked for he provides. He doesn’t appreciate being yelled at when the good times begin to dissipate. “In all circumstances,” we are to give praise. If we can remember that, if I can get over my goldfish attention span, God will be glorified. This is how we find happiness…rejoicing in all phases of life. Be thankful for something today. It’ll make you happier.