Salty.

I’m not sorry for all the recent rants, but I do feel sorry for those around me who are trying to live normal lives and process normal things and can’t get through a simple conversation without some fire coming from me.

I’m restless you see.  As restless as this culture of ours, with its swelling waves.  If you will take a single step outside your normal spheres you will feel the water rising.  Tides are turning. and things are changing.  This world is restless, and so am I.

My terrifying treasure

My computer battery has 13% as I start to write this blog post.

Reason says to wait until it is charged.  Logic says that I have a folder of drafts that I could share with you.  My common sense says that the thought I want to share is not fleshed out enough, not polished enough to share in this brief moment, (not when only 10% remains now.)

But I can’t breathe in and out right now without a catch in my breath at the glory of the Gospel.

This truth we call the Gospel – guys – it is insane. Offensive. Confusing. Terrifying.

Cows are cool but not God

While we’re on the subject of Jeroboam, let’s talk about this golden calf situation.

So the king took counsel and made two calves of gold. And he said to the people, “You have gone up to Jerusalem long enough. Behold your gods, O Israel, who brought you up out of the land of Egypt.” (1 Kings 12:28 ESV)

And let’s talk about how this isn’t a new story.

Rewind to when the people were actually brought out of Egypt, they were a little confused by why they were in a wilderness, and while Moses was up chatting with God, they got frustrated and as a result Aaron took the lead:

Too many posts

There are too many posts I want to write today.

I want to write a post about how today proves how wrong we can be about the story. We can feel like it’s all over.  Every sense and all our logic can conspire to convince us that Satan has won.  We can look around and seemingly see evidence that failure has overcome fight and darkness has dissolved the light and despair has cannibalized hope. And we can be wrong. What looks and feels like the end might actually be the beginning. The days that are darkest might prove in time to be the days of greatest light.

Swinging swords at shadows

Let me tell you something about me: I hate shame.

I don’t just hate it intellectually, I hate it experientially.  The cells that store memory in my brain can well testify that I have felt its paralyzing power.

The insidious power of shame over past sin is that it keeps you fighting ghosts.  It distracts. It keeps you swinging at shadows, seeking to slaughter sins long dead.

It’s goal: keep you from seeking to slay shame itself.