Today, as I was preparing lunch for the elderly couple with whom I live, a couple of the grandchildren stopped in. Being delightfully inquisitive little people with quick minds, they all congregated in the kitchen to supervise as I worked and share tidbits about their aspirations for the future. There are three children: Marissa is 11, Caleb is 8, and Isabelle is 4.

Isabelle, who is a charming little girl with big brown eyes and soft brown ringlets (which she finds keenly annoying due to the fact that they insist on falling into her eyes) was animatedly telling me about where she and her siblings are going to live "when they all grow up."

“Yes,” she said, nodding enthusiastically, “we’re going to have a big mansion, because Caleb and Marissa are going to make lots of money. Because they’re not going to get married. They’re just going to make money.”

Marissa nodded. My curiosity was piqued.

“So you’re the only one that’s going to get married, Isabelle?” I asked absently, dropping diced potatoes into a pot on the stove.

“Yes,” she said emphatically, “and you know why? It’s because Caleb and Marissa don’t like kissing on the lips.”

I had to try really hard not to laugh.

“Oh,” I said, “they don’t like kissing on the lips?”

“Yeah!” Isabelle’s face was oh-so-serious.

“What if they just didn’t kiss on the lips? They could get married then, right?”

Isabelle’s lips pursed as she pondered this. Finally, her face brightened, and I could see that her keen little mind had hit on something brilliant.

“Oh!” she said energetically, “I know! They could just kiss on the cheek! Or maybe the forehead. Or just the head.”

“Or they could blow kisses,” I said, shrugging, still trying really hard not to laugh.

“Yeah!” Isabelle was getting more and more excited.

“Plus,” I said thoughtfully, “Marissa might change her mind about kissing once she gets to be about 18 or 19.”

“No,” Isabelle shook her head decidedly. She was quite sure this would never happen. Marissa didn’t say anything.

“So you’re all going to live in the same house?” I asked.

“Yeah…and you…you can live with us too! We’re going to have a big house, with a huge, huge deck—bigger than Annie and Mark’s deck.” I nodded knowingly, although I have no idea who Annie and Mark are, nor how big their deck is.

“And we’ll have a pool!” Isabelle continued, “And a room for the boys, and a room for the girls. And I’m going to have lots of kids.”

“So you and Marissa and all of the girls are going to stay in one room, and your husband and Caleb and all of your boys will stay in the other room?”

She nodded.

“And we can build a separate room for you!” she squealed excitedly.

My goodness! What a tempting offer. I may have to seriously consider this option...in about 20 years.

I sometimes wish that life were simpler...but in my saner moments, I'm incredibly grateful for the fact that it's not, because honestly, how does one learn to surf in an ocean without waves?

Ran across this quote by C.S. Lewis in a book that I was reading this morning, and it challenged me--challenged me because sometimes, in moments of selfishness, I feel like the easy way out is to withdraw, to love people less, to be more guarded, to care on the surface level instead of seeing the hurt under the surface...when in fact, that's a coward's response that refuses to confront the real issues.

"To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket- safe, dark, motionless, airless--it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable." --C.S. Lewis

There is a frustrating inconsistency in the way we, as Christians, view the history of our faith…one which I see often, and have experienced myself on several occasions.

You see, I have lost count of the number of times that I’ve heard a reference made in conversation to all of the “horrible things” that have been done “in the name of Christianity.”
Sometimes it’s verbalized by a Christian, who hangs his head slightly, and mumbles with a touch of embarrassment as he concedes that such is indeed the case. Other times, it’s an atheist or agnostic friend, who points somewhat self-righteously to the fact that religion clearly is not an answer if it is capable of being so atrociously perverted and utilized for such unjust ends.

I will not deny that atrocious things have been done in the name—or under the auspices—of Christianity. The Crusades are perhaps the most well known of the abuses perpetrated in the name of the community of faith, but for hundreds of years, Christians and non-Christians alike took part in other practices which have today been criminalized in our society, such as slavery, or the open demonstration of anti-Semitism.

Let’s be a little bit realistic, though. If things which our “modern” society now considers to be horrific have been done in the name of Christianity in the past, is this a reason to vilify the belief system itself? Are atheism or agnosticism better philosophical systems, if we base that judgment strictly on the effect which each system has upon mankind?

What legacy –what lasting imprint on the face of humanity—has been left by atheism?

While this is a question we may not often ask, it is a sobering one to answer, because in truth, atheism has left a bigger trail of human carnage in its wake than Christianity ever has or ever will.

There are the scars left by Hitler’s Third Reich…the legacy of the Nazis…the silent horror of the millions of men, women, and children who lived and died in the hells of Auschwitz, Dachau, Belzec, Chelmno, Majdanek, Sobibor, and Treblinka.

There is the ghastly reality of Russia’s Red Army…the anguish in the tears shed by the tens of thousands of innocent Russian citizens starved to death and brutalized under Stalin’s merciless political regime.

There is the legacy of Mao Zedong, the revolutionary under whose leadership 40 to 70 million Chinese men, women, and children were slaughtered.

There is the brutality of the genocides committed in nations like Burundi, Rwanda, Pakistan, and others…mass murders which have claimed unimaginable numbers of human lives, and left millions more homeless, destitute, maimed, and broken.

Have awful things been done in the name of Christianity? Sadly, yes. And worse things have been done in the name of atheism.

But this is not evidence for the defectiveness of Christianity as a belief system. It is rather a testimony to the brokenness of the human soul and the darkness of the human mind. I grieve for the fact that humanity is so badly broken. But I do not apologize for God...and I am not ashamed to call myself a Christian simply because, in the past, broken humanity has done tragic things in the name of a faith it did not understand.

Counting the Costs

It is seemingly a cruel stroke of fate and one of the incongruous realities of existence that it is those whom we most love that we are, in fact, most capable of hurting deeply.

I have thought on this long and regretfully during the past year…and again during the past week. Sometimes I marvel sadly over the fact that we can wound someone more profoundly than we know through something as simple as a careless word, a thoughtless action, or a disrespectful attitude. How is it that, knowing all that I know, I still haven’t learned not to damage those around me? How is it that I still inflict wounds on my fellow man? Still mar those who have been—like me—made in the Divine image?

How we view others is perhaps largely a function of how we view God…and how we view ourselves.

Today I hurt someone that I love…because I lost sight of who God is, and I allowed my focus to shift to myself, my needs, my feelings, my insecurities…my rights. And according to the rules of my myopic, self-focused little world, I was justified in my impatience, in my lack of compassion, in my judgmental attitudes…in my lack of love.

What I so often fail to realize is that in my myopic, self-focused world, there is no room for others…and there is no room for a loving, compassionate, forgiving, and gracious God. There is room only for one flawed, sinful, broken individual…and there is no healing and no hope.

I wish sometimes that I could turn back the clock…that I could undo the thoughtless deed, the hasty word, or the judgmental glance, and replace it with something Christ-like. But the reality of it is that we can’t…that what is once done can never be completely undone, and what is once uttered can never be unspoken.

And so it is with humility and a keen sense of my own inadequacy that I echo the words of David tonight when he says in Psalm 19:14, “Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in Your sight, O LORD, my strength and my Redeemer.”

After all, it is our words which expose us for who we truly are…as Christ says Himself, “A good man out of the good treasure of his heart brings forth good; and an evil man out of the evil treasure of his heart brings forth evil. For out of the abundance of the heart his mouth speaks.”

May our words and our actions consistently bear testimony to the treasure which is within our hearts…and may we have the humility to admit when we are wrong, the grace to ask for forgiveness, and the persistence to seek reconciliation of damaged relationships...

The evolution of human development throughout the life cycle is nowhere demonstrated so clearly as in our conversations. I was musing on this the past week as I observed a number of subjects, all of them at different points in the age spectrum.


At one point, it was a couple of toddlers squawking exuberantly at each other, waving their pudgy arms emphatically, and stamping their little legs to add meaning and emotion to their incoherent babblings. Both children were completely unaware of the fact that this sophisticated process was communicating approximately nothing to their audience.


Then there were the groups of giddy, giggling teenage girls. For this particular age group, every conversation must apparently be punctuated by laughter, whispering, or shouting, or it is much less meaningful to them, and naturally, much less fun as well.


Finally, it was the group of old men sitting in the corner at Hardees. They were very seriously discussing something of great interest, such as whether cows would ever have the capability of producing purple milk…but every sentence on the part of one member was followed by puzzled looks and several loud “Huh? What was that now?” comments from the other members of the group as they all reached up to adjust their hearing aids again.


Ah, humanity! What on earth would we do if men were truly islands? Failed attempts at communication are the spice of life.