For months the closest thing I could muster to a prayer was “God, I still believe in you.” It is important for me to keep remembering that, just because I’m in a dark place, it does not mean I don’t have faith.
In truth, tolerance is another form of indifference. We practice closing ourselves off from any potential religious clash in the same way we ignore all the facts we know about sex-trafficking and homelessness in our own country.
Perhaps we need exercise caution when crossing gender boundaries, but God’s call to love also means following his Spirit and serving people the way they need even if that risks misunderstanding and disapproval from others.
God wired us for sex, but our decision to remain celibate until marriage—and God’s apparent lack of movement in the spouse department—gets in the way.
It’s easier for me to give my own struggles to God than for me to trust him with the people I love.
Other mornings, I offer my quiet time to God as if I were bartering off a chicken in exchange for his blessing.
When I thought about the church’s fascination with tithing, it struck me that Jesus never taught about it.
There are questions worth asking in life. Did I put deodorant on? Did I forget to pay my credit card bill? Should I eat the re-fried beans considering I’m on a date? These are helpful questions.
Whether we pump gas in Toronto, teach at the University of Illinois, or run an orphanage in Sudan, our work can worship God. But, how?
The brokenness never ends. It can leave us asking whether God is worth following and why, for heaven’s sake, he isn’t fixing things.