You didn’t know that when you clicked on this blog, you would be entering a confessional.

But here you are, about to take my confession.

Here it is: I often feel an urge to punish and shame people who are “out loud” with opinions I believe to be wrong.

I fight that urge so hard that it hurts.

Imagine my misery every time I scroll through social media.

Sometimes, it takes everything I have to hold back the rage I feel.

Why hold it back? Why not let my fury flag fly?

Mostly this Bible verse:

“…for your anger does not produce God’s righteousness” (James 1:20).

I can’t think of a time in my life that the free flow of my raw anger did any good for anyone else or for me. Even when my anger was justified.

One summer in college, I served as the summer youth minister for a Church of Christ congregation in Mississippi. The youth group had about 20 teenagers in it. About half were...

I woke up around 3:30 a.m. with acid reflux and an icky feeling in my middle.

I went downstairs to take some pink stuff.

I didn’t know if I was going to be sick, but I was sure that I needed some time for the acid reflux to calm down.

And the trouble with getting up at any time during the night is that my head cranks up and doesn’t want to settle down again.

So, I made some hot tea and sat down on the couch to see what would happen. I wanted distract myself from how I felt, so I started flipping from Facebook to the news to solitaire on my phone.

While those things distracted me somewhat from how bad I felt, they didn’t make me feel better.

“Doomscrolling” through Facebook posts and news headlines, I can’t get my mind off of people who died, people who are dying, people who are getting sick. Will I get sick? Will someone I love get sick?

I can’t get my mind off of the...

COVID took Bert Bryan’s life on Saturday, January 2, 2021.

You might not know Bert. As I thought about him last night, I had to admit that I didn’t know him that well either. We belonged to the same church for almost 20 years. I was in his home once or twice. Over two decades, we had at least a few conversations that lasted more than 10 minutes.

Even though we didn’t know each other that well or really spend much time together, I would still call Bert a “close friend.”

That is the best tribute I can write about him. He had a gift for making a casual acquaintance feel like the closest friendship. To meet Bert just once was to feel like you had a new best friend. My closest friends never greeted me with as much attention, excitement, interest, or warmth as Bert did on any given Sunday. Bert greeted every person he met as if he heard “Hail to the Chief” playing in his head for them. He...

Tracy and I used to watch Modern Family reruns almost every night.

In one episode, one of the main characters, Phil, has a medical scare. He spends the episode obsessing over death (to great comedic effect).

In one scene, Phil finds Walt, the octogenarian widower who lives next door.

Phil asks: “Do you ever think about death, Walt?”

Walt looks at Phil and says: “I’m 85. Death is my roommate.”

The year 2020 gave me my first taste of what it feels like to be Walt. I imagine that what I felt this year is similar to what someone in his 80s feels. Friends are dying. Death is in the neighborhood and could come knocking at my door, too. All of life seems fragile, mortal.

A few weeks ago, one of the most beloved members of our church got COVID. He is now on a ventilator, fighting for his life while the prayers of thousands try to stop the cold wave from overtaking him.

To date...

My wife, Tracy, and I moved into our new house in our new town on Saturday, September 15, 2012.

Eight days later, on Sunday, September 23, we were still not unpacked. Boxes and disassembled furniture made our bedroom look like a storage unit. We still hadn’t painted and set up what would be the baby’s room.

We went to bed that night in a place that didn’t feel like home.

At around 1 a.m. on Monday, September 24–just two hours after we turned out the light to go to sleep–Tracy shook me awake.

“It’s time to go to the hospital!”

An hour later, we were in a delivery room. Tracy labored hard for eight hours. I stood by her the entire time, doing whatever she needed me to do for her. At around 10 a.m., Dr. McBride told us the baby’s head was too big. He saw signs of stress in both baby and mother. So, about an hour later, we all met in an operating room. They hung a kind of curtain to...

I’m thankful that I made it 45 years.

I’ve known people who didn’t make it to ten, 20, 30, or 40.

I can recall the names of several people who died in their early 40s this year (some of them with COVID).

When I hear people complain about getting old, I wonder if they thought about the alternative.

Last night, on the eve of my birthday, I told my wife that I think 2020 is the year my youth ended. If I live to be very old, I will always look back on my life as “before 2020 (age 45)” and “after 2020 (age 45)”.

I’m grieving this. The other day, I admitted this to God and myself while taking a walk alone at night.

As I prayed about aging and death, I saw a light in the dark.

Christmas lights, to be sure, but also illumination for my soul.

From the place inside where Spirit speaks to me, I heard: One of the greatest gifts of aging is knowing you don’t have time.

And I said...

Charlie Brown famously asked: “Isn’t there anyone who knows what Christmas is all about?”

I don’t know if the answer is easy to hear in times of too much.

That is what Christmas does mean to many of us: Too much.

We celebrate too much food. Too much stuff. Too many people to see and too many places to go.

In our culture, Christmas is a time to indulge, to splurge, to say “yes, I’ll have another!”

Could it be that, because of our infatuation with “too much,” we do not have any room left in the inn when Spirit comes knocking?

This year is different.

We are passing through this Christmas without gathering with church, coworkers, family, or friends.

This morning as I write this, one of the most beloved and well-known leaders of our church is losing his fight against COVID. He is straddling the line between death and life. Thousands of people are begging God to have mercy on him...

The LORD is my shepherd, I lack nothing.
He makes me lie down in green pastures,
he leads me beside quiet waters,
he refreshes my soul.
He guides me along the right paths
for his name’s sake.
Even though I walk
through the valley of the shadow of death
I will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff,
they comfort me.
Psalm 23:1-4

The poet “fear[s] no evil” even in “the valley of the shadow of death,” but not just because her Shepherd has a rod and staff.

It is because her Shepherd guides her “along right paths.”

Even when the path leads through the valley of the shadow. Even then, it must be “right” because her Shepherd leads her there.

Even in the valley of the shadow of death, she trusts that her Shepherd will find green pastures and still waters to refresh her soul.

She trusts...

Some people think of winter as cold, dark, depressing, and gloomy.

I’ve never felt that way about winter.

As far back as my memory will take me, winter has always been a season of light and warmth.

The way I see it, God made a whole season in which it is natural to fatten up, gather close, and rest a lot. In winter, we build up the stores of energy that we will ignite like fireworks come summertime.

God, in wisdom, made every season for a reason. And enjoyment is one of the reasons in every season.

If God is the artist who imagined winter, then winter surely has as much joy and life in it as the warm seasons do.

Even this pandemic winter of deepest darkness and isolation.

December 21 marks the Winter Solstice. Or, as my mom called it: “The shortest day of the year.”

“This is the darkest day of the year,” she said. “But starting tomorrow, the days will start getting a little...

Since our household is “staying in” for Christmas this year, my wife asked me what really, really special thing I would like for Christmas dinner.

“Turducken!” I said. “I haven’t had it since college.”

But, alas, the price of turducken is much higher than the enjoyment we would get from eating duck inside chicken inside turkey.

So, we’re going to settle. I have a little history of coaxing the flavor and juiciness of a duck out of a mere turkey. We’ll make it work.

But what I really want for Christmas is cold turkey.

I’m not talking about leftovers. Even though I will say that Christmas dinner leftovers are better than Christmas dinner.

By “cold turkey,” I mean I wish for 2020 to be the year that I break my worst Christmas habits. The pandemic is the chance of a lifetime for me to make that wish come true.

The older I get, the more I associate Christmas with extraordinary...