Author: RTP/MJ

But the Lord replied, “Is it right for you to be angry?” – Jonah 4:4

In the mid-1990s, I organized a deep-sea fishing trip for a group of guys who loved to fish. Prior to this, I had only fished once, and the most memorable part of that experience was the trauma of putting my hand in a bait bucket full of crickets. Some friends found my discomfort hilarious and began calling me “Cricket.”

We hired a boat and a captain in Charleston harbor and set out on our journey. (Queue the theme from Gilligan’s Island.) It was a beautiful day, but the seas were far too rough for my liking. Thirty minutes into the all-day trip, Cricket began tossing everything in his stomach overboard—repeatedly.

The poor guy never truly recovered until his feet were back on solid ground. It was a long, grueling day. However, the rest of the crew managed to catch plenty of fish.

Rereading the Book of Jonah recently brought back memories of that once-unpleasant experience. Unlike Jonah, I didn’t get thrown overboard, but being stuck on that boat and enduring seasickness all day was tough. I imagine living three days inside a fish wasn’t much fun either.

But this recent study of Jonah has made me see that fish differently.

The fish was mercy.

Jonah received God’s mercy when he was rescued and restored, long before he fully understood what God was doing. Nineveh received mercy twice: first through the warning finally delivered by Jonah, and then when God relented from destroying them.

And the mercy didn’t stop there.

God gave Jonah a shade plant. Then came a worm, a scorching wind, and that uncomfortable question: “Is it right for you to be angry?”

Even those were mercy.

God wasn’t simply trying to make Jonah comfortable. He was trying to make Jonah more like Himself.

That realization has become increasingly important to me as I grow older. One of the hard lessons for seasoned citizens is the almost daily acclimation to loss. Our bodies begin breaking down. Friends and family relocate, and some leave this earth altogether. Change seems to accelerate at an uncomfortable pace.

Like Jonah beneath his shade plant, I’m discovering how easily familiar comforts can become expectations, and expectations can quietly become entitlements.

When that happens, we can miss the mercy right in front of us. We can even become bitter when yesterday’s gift isn’t included in today’s package.

Job had the right mindset when he said:

“Naked I came from my mother’s womb,
and naked I will depart.
The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away;
may the name of the Lord be praised.” (Job 1:21)

Maybe part of growing in Christ is learning the spiritual practice of catch and release.

Catch the gifts. Enjoy them. Celebrate them. Give thanks for them.

But release the expectation that God is obligated to let us keep them.

Sometimes mercy looks like a shade tree. Sometimes it looks like a fish. Sometimes it looks like a worm. And sometimes it looks like God lovingly asking us a question we would rather not answer.

God’s mercy meets us where we are, but it never intends to leave us there.

Run the play. Catch the mercy. Release the entitlement. And keep looking for the goodness of God in places you never expected to find it.

Finding Our Place in the Story

What comfort, expectation, or season might God be inviting you to release so you can better recognize the mercy He is giving you today?

“Light is sweet, and it pleases the eyes to see the sun.” —Ecclesiastes 11:7

It’s been a hot summer around here. No one likes extreme heat or cold, and we are all pretty good at complaining about both.

But lately, I’ve been complaining less and noticing more.

I’m reminded of life’s predictable rhythms and how seasons come and go. There are so many dependable cycles in life that it would be easy to overlook them and miss the miracle that they are.

For example, the Earth is spinning on its axis at around 1,000 miles per hour, giving us the rhythm of day and night. At the same time, it is moving around the sun, held in place by God’s mysterious and faithful design. We are flying through space at a staggering 67,000 miles per hour.

Yet most mornings, we simply pour the coffee, watch the sun come up, and call it Wednesday.

The predictability of light and darkness, morning and evening, seasons and years reminds us that life is fragile but not random. We may not understand all of God’s work, but we can receive the light He gives us today with gratitude.

The evidence uncovered by science does not weaken my faith in God; it deepens my wonder at the God of science. Every new scientific discovery unveils a new and deeper awe of His unparalleled creativity and power.

The heavens aren’t the only place where God’s design inspires wonder. The human body is pretty remarkable too, although some of my original parts have recently begun lodging formal complaints.

People often ask me about my hip since my recent replacement surgery. It’s the wrong question. My hip is brand new, and it still has that new-car smell we all love. 🤣

A better question would be about all the soon-to-be 71-year-old original parts. 🎂🎉🎈

As wonderful as the new hip is, it won’t last anywhere near as long as the original. Of course, it won’t have to.

Beware: We OGs love to host “organ recitals,” where we spend the first 20 minutes listing everything that hurts, has been replaced, or isn’t working properly in our bodies.

Our Creator cannot be outdone, but I suspect it pleases Him when we use the creativity He gave us to repair what has been broken.

On the evening of that day, the first day of the week, the doors being locked where the disciples were for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said to them, “Peace be with you.” —John 20:19

I can’t wait to receive my new resurrected body in the kingdom to come. Jesus got the first one, and He appeared among His disciples even though the doors were locked.

Sign me up for that option.

Everything may be temporary now, but that does not make it any less extraordinary. In fact, like the changing seasons, its temporary nature makes it more precious.

Creation is not only something to enjoy; it is an invitation to know the One who created it and who has promised to make all things new.

Run the play: The next time we’re tempted to complain about the weather, our aging bodies, or the season we find ourselves in, let’s pause long enough to notice the miracle, thank the Creator, and remember the forecast:

Renewal is coming.

Finding Our Place in the Story

What are you tempted to complain about that could become an invitation to notice God’s faithfulness and thank Him for the renewal He has promised?

Then the word of the Lord came to Jonah a second time.
Jonah 3:1

Earlier this year, a shy young man in his late teens asked to meet with me. He is preparing to leave home for his freshman year at college, and it took courage to ask if we could meet each week before he leaves.

During our time together, I have discerned an unstated undercurrent beneath many of our conversations: Good relationships don’t come easily or naturally for everyone.

That got me thinking. What makes a person lovable? What makes you or me worthy of being loved? What must we do or change before we become lovable?

We have been reading the Book of Jonah recently. Most of us know the story of Jonah being swallowed by the great fish. Even Jesus referred to it.

But what stands out to me now is how gracious God was in giving Jonah a second chance he had done nothing to earn or deserve.

The word of the Lord came to Jonah “a second time.”

God did not wait for Jonah to become a different person before calling him again. He pursued him, rescued him, and gave him another opportunity to say yes.

And Jonah had not merely made an innocent mistake.

He ran from God, resisted His direction, and endangered the lives of others. Even after he obeyed, resentment and self-righteousness were still lurking inside him.

There is a lot of Jonah in all of us.

We hide. We run. We compare ourselves with others. We protect the parts of ourselves we are afraid to reveal. Beneath it all is the fear that if God, or anyone else, knew the whole truth about us, they might turn away.

Many of us believe we must fix ourselves before we can approach God or return to Him. That is one of religion’s bitter fruits: the belief that God will not accept us until we have made ourselves “good enough.”

But Jonah was already fully known.

And he was still pursued.

That is the gospel.

Pastor Tim Keller described the deepest longing of the human heart as being fully known and truly loved. Being known without being loved is one of our greatest fears.

Much of the sin and brokenness around us grows from that insecurity.

We hide our failures. We defend ourselves. We blame others. We struggle to ask for forgiveness because admitting we were wrong feels like presenting evidence that we are unworthy of love.

My young friend and I have been discovering that we long to be fully known and loved, not only by God, but by others too.

Relationships can be frightening because we risk allowing someone to know us, knowing they may not love what they discover. Rejection hurts. Unconditional love can be difficult to find among imperfect people.

The good news is that we are not loved because we have finally proved ourselves worthy. We are loved because God is love, and in Jesus He came looking for us.

Secure in that love, we are free to admit when we are wrong, ask for forgiveness, and love others without requiring them to audition for it.

Run the play.

You are loved by God just the way you are, not because you finally got everything right.

You are free to live rightly because you are already loved.

Finding Our Place in the Story

What might change if you stopped trying to prove you are lovable and received the love God has already given you in Jesus?

“Whoever can be trusted with very little can also be trusted with much.” – Luke 16:10

It’s funny how a simple household chore can evoke such pleasant memories.

Without fail, whenever I buy and dismantle a rotisserie chicken from the grocery store, I can hear my mother’s voice saying, “Save the bones for Grandpa.”

She wasn’t being mean. 😂 Gramps loved cleaning every last bit of meat from the bones. Apparently, I inherited the gene because every time I attack a rotisserie chicken, I enjoy doing the same thing.

Growing up, we didn’t waste much of anything. I remember one Thanksgiving when a close relative watched in horror as his wife threw away the turkey bones. “My mother could have fed us for a week from those bones!” he exclaimed. He wasn’t wrong.

Beyond the pleasant memories and nostalgia, there is something deeply satisfying about recognizing and capturing the remaining value in the “bones” of our lives. 

Mom and Grandpa taught me to look twice at what everyone else thought was finished. Jesus is teaching me to do the same with the ordinary moments of my life. Sometimes, while standing at the kitchen counter picking through the remains of a rotisserie chicken, I sense the Lord’s presence and pleasure in a surprisingly profound way.

These are chicken bones! Who cares?

Apparently, God does.

As apprentices of Jesus, we are learning how to steward everything entrusted to us. There are no responsibilities too small, no moments too ordinary, and no acts of faithfulness too insignificant to escape His notice.

“His master replied, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master’s happiness!’” –  Matthew 25:21

Perhaps faithfulness usually looks less dramatic than we imagine.

It may be found in a promise kept, a dish washed, a dollar managed wisely, an encouraging word offered, or a chicken picked clean before the bones are discarded.

These ordinary responsibilities become part of our everyday apprenticeship to Jesus. Nothing offered to Him in love is wasted.

We are being trained to carry His goodness faithfully, both now and in the coming Kingdom. The reward is not merely greater responsibility someday. The reward begins now as we learn to share in the Master’s joy.

Each day gives us another opportunity to establish a pattern of trustworthiness in the activities of daily living.

It is more than a test. It is an invitation to learn from the best and experience the quiet joy of a job well done, a responsibility faithfully handled, or a day well lived.

Each day brings us a collection of ordinary responsibilities, unnoticed opportunities, and seemingly insignificant moments.

They may not look like much.

Sometimes they look like chicken bones.

But Grandpa understood something I am still learning: there may be more goodness left than we think.

Jesus is teaching us to look again, waste less, love well, and discover the joy of faithfulness in the smallest things.

Run the play: Be faithful with the bones. There may be more Kingdom in them than you think.

Finding Our Place in the Story

What ordinary responsibility or overlooked “scrap” in your life might God be inviting you to see differently and steward more faithfully?

“I have come that they may have life, and that they may have it more abundantly.”
John 10:10

We recently had a close encounter with a sixteen-year-old E.T.
Extraordinary Teenager.

Lucy and her dad, Rury, stayed with us for a whole week. We haven’t shared a roof with a teenage girl in more than thirty years, so we were a little rusty and not quite prepared. The last time we saw Lucy, she was only six.

Make no mistake: this was an invasion. We were pleasantly conquered and happily surrendered, wanting to absorb it all.

Lucy is a whirlwind of fun, enthusiasm, and curiosity. When you are around her, it’s easy to get swept up into her happy orbit.

Now they have moved on, and we miss them. It’s eerily quiet. Gone are the noise, giggling, laughter, and all the talking.

Lots of talking. Lots!

For that week, it was fun to be Uncle Mike and Auntie Sharon to a teenager again.

Their visit feels like a gift.

And gifts are meant to be enjoyed and shared. We did both. Lucy joined in our pickleball fun and charmed us all. There was a house church visit, Paco’s Tacos with family, and a considerable expansion of our vocabulary. We now attach new meaning to words like “unlucky,” “nutmeg,” “fire,” and “calculated.”

Their visit taught us something too.

We caught a glimpse of the abundant life Jesus promised in John 10. We were reminded that abundance is closely connected to presence. When we are fully present, available, and less distracted, we can breathe in more of the goodness God has placed right in front of us.

We were blessed by it all and didn’t waste a drop.

One of the blessings of our approach to retirement is the freedom to connect intentionally with friends and family. To be truly present.

Engaged.
Focused.
Available.

We know love is spelled T I M E.

Our time with Lucy and Rury was the very essence of abundant life.

Then the experience got me thinking and counting. We know quite a few E.T.s.

In our small church family of just fifteen households, I counted no fewer than thirty-three extraordinary teenagers. Most were children, not teenagers, when our church began twelve years ago.

Their parents have spent years loving, guiding, correcting, encouraging, and trusting God with the growth. The world doesn’t hand out trophies for faithful parenting, but if it did, these moms and dads would need a much larger shelf.

These young people are part of our church family’s legacy and its gift to a needy and broken world.

Lucy and these other extraordinary teens carry gifts the world desperately needs. I can’t wait to see where the Lord leads them and how their stories unfold.

Run the play.

Encourage an E.T. in your orbit today. Give them your attention, your curiosity, and your time.

You may discover that the abundant life Jesus promised has just entered the room.

Finding Our Place in the Story

Which extraordinary teenager in your orbit might experience God’s love through your full presence and encouragement this week?

Which parent in your orbit could use a word of encouragement for the faithful work they are doing, much of it unseen?

The last living relative of my parents’ generation died last month. Aunt Lil was 101. That milestone struck a nerve. My generation is firmly in the OG camp now. Time marches on.

Time travel has been a popular fascination of fiction writing, movies, and television. Who hasn’t daydreamed about traveling back or forward in time? Lately, time travel has been an unwelcome daily occurrence for me.

Something happens during the night, and when I wake up each morning, the guy in my mind is 35, until he starts to move around or looks in the mirror. Who is that? Or, how did this happen?

It’s a bit of an unwelcome adjustment, but the alternative is worse: the guy in the mirror is the same guy in my mind. 😂

I used to think time travel meant going back to visit the past. Lately, I’m realizing the real shock is waking up in the future and discovering that I am now one of the people I used to think of as old.

Then Croatia gave that strange feeling a place to stand.

On our recent trip, we were blessed to tour the very church where my grandparents were married about 120 years ago. It is a beautiful country church high on a hill overlooking the village of Zakanje. As nice as that scene was, nothing could have prepared us for the beauty on the inside. The beauty had the power to transport us in our imagination to a different time.

Translation: “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to people of good will!”

Here we were, standing in a place where our future began decades before we existed. Our grandparents made vows there 120 years ago, and somehow, by the grace of God, we were standing there, carrying their story forward.

That is not just “back to the past.”

That is back to the future.

Standing in that church, I realized we were not just visiting the past. We were standing in the future our grandparents could not see, carrying a story they helped begin.

That is what time does. It moves the generations along. Aunt Lil’s passing reminded me that the baton has moved again. We are not simply the children and grandchildren anymore. We are becoming the elders, the witnesses, the stewards of the story.

And yet, for followers of Jesus, aging is not only subtraction. Paul says, “Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day.”

The mirror tells one truth. The Spirit tells another. Both are real, but only one gets the final word.

Run the play: receive the story with gratitude, carry it with faithfulness, and pass on the only name that can carry every generation home.

Jesus.

Finding Our Place in the Story

1. Where have you recently become more aware that time is moving you into a new season of responsibility or influence?
2. Who helped carry the story of faith before you, and how can you honor their investment by carrying it forward?
3. What is one way you can intentionally pass Jesus to the next generation this week?

I applied my mind to study and to explore by wisdom all that is done under the heavens. What a heavy burden God has laid on mankind!
— Ecclesiastes 1:13

Many years ago, when I read M. Scott Peck’s The Road Less Traveled, I was hooked by the very first sentence:

“Life is difficult.”

Wait…what? 😅

It was strangely refreshing. Finally—honesty. Until then I assumed other people had discovered some secret path that made life easier than what I was experiencing. That single sentence popped the bubble.

Life is hard…for all of us.
But hard can also mean good.

I’ve heard countless couples say, “Marriage is hard work.” Sharon and I—forty-two years strong—prefer to say, “Marriage is good work.” Partnering to build a life together is a privilege. Every day feels like a gift.

Our culture keeps engineering a friction-free existence:

• Faster lanes
• Shorter lines
• Easier routes
• Less inconvenience

Meanwhile, Jesus keeps guiding people onto slower roads—roads where formation actually happens.

John Mark Comer, in Practicing the Way, notes:

“Spiritual formation is the slowest of all human movements…
The human soul doesn’t grow at digital speed.”

Maybe the “heavy burden” Ecclesiastes mentions isn’t punishment but reality. We were never meant to find ultimate fulfillment in temporary things. Something in us aches for more because we were made for more.

This is not our forever home.

Each of us is on a long journey toward wholeness. Deep inside, we long for shalom—peace, restoration, and life with God as it was meant to be.

“He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart…”
— Ecclesiastes 3:11

The road to wholeness isn’t fast, easy, or crowded.
But it is good.
Run the play—run down the road less traveled.

Finding Our Place in the Story

What if the difficult parts of your life are not interruptions to your spiritual growth, but the very place where God is forming you most deeply?

“The sleep of a laborer is sweet, whether they eat little or much, but as for the rich, their abundance permits them no sleep.”
Ecclesiastes 5:12

While flying home from Germany recently, I watched a few movies. One of the more unusual ones was A Big Bold Beautiful Journey. I found it while scrolling through the available titles and was intrigued. It had good actors, an interesting storyline, and I had eight hours to spare.

So I tuned in.

It’s a fantasy about two strangers who meet at a wedding and are given the chance to revisit important moments from their past, moments that helped shape who they became and where their lives were headed. Like you and me, they were flawed people carrying regrets, wounds, and longings they didn’t always know what to do with.

I’ve been spending a lot of time in Ecclesiastes these days, and one of the film’s messages sounded a lot like the Teacher’s warning about the burden of wealth: the elusive and never-ending pursuit of more.

In this case, though, the movie wasn’t really about money or possessions. It was about the pursuit of happiness.

The two main characters, David and Sarah, were doing pretty well by most ordinary measures. They were functioning, achieving, surviving, even “crushing it” in ways the world tends to applaud.

But they weren’t at peace. They weren’t happy. At least, not for long.

Each time they reached for what they thought would finally satisfy them, it slipped through their fingers. The moment passed. The feeling faded. The hunger returned. Whatever they captured couldn’t hold the weight of their deepest longing.

That’s the trouble with chasing happiness as the goal. Happiness is a wonderful gift, but it makes a terrible god.

The magic of the movie allowed David and Sarah to become both actors and observers of their own lives. They were able to step back and see the stories they had been living in, including the moments when they gave in to fear, disappointment, pain, and desire.

In one of the movie’s best scenes, Sarah looks back on her 12-year-old self and hears her mother say:

“Choose to be content first and enjoy the moment of happiness that comes from that.”

That line stayed with me.

Movies have a way of holding up a mirror to our own lives. A Big Bold Beautiful Journey succeeds in the same way It’s a Wonderful Life does. Both films use make-believe to sharpen something deeply true:

Contentment is not the consolation prize.

Contentment is the doorway.

The apostle Paul plays this same contentment chord in his letter to the Philippians, but he adds something the movie could only hint at:

“I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want.”

The secret?

“I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength.”

Paul’s contentment wasn’t rooted in personality, circumstances, comfort, income, health, applause, or control. It wasn’t rooted in getting the life he always wanted.

It was rooted in Christ.

That’s why Jesus’ words in John 6 are so stunning:

“I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never go hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.”

Jesus was not offering a religious hobby, a little spiritual encouragement, or a motivational quote for the refrigerator.

He was offering Himself.

He was proclaiming that every longing of the human spirit eventually finds its true home in Him. Not because our circumstances always change. Not because life becomes easy. Not because every wound disappears overnight.

But because He is enough. Everything else eventually asks for more.

Jesus gives Himself.

In this big, bold, beautiful journey we are all taking, the only all-consuming pursuit that satisfies without fail is Jesus: to be with Him, to become like Him, and to do as He did.

Run the play: Choose contentment

Align your life with the One who created you, knows you, and loves you.

Finding Our Place in the Story 💡

Where do you feel the tension between pursuing happiness and learning contentment?

For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.
– Matthew 6:21

In just three more days, America turns 250!

A few weeks ago, we had the privilege of spending time in Croatia, exploring the places where my maternal grandparents were born, and the church where they were married. They emigrated to America in the early 1900s. As we walked in the places where they had walked before us, we tried to imagine the problems, challenges, and risks they faced that led them to leave their home and make a new life in America.

My grandparents’ faith and courage continue to inspire me. They came to the USA for an opportunity, a chance for a better life, and they found one here. The decisions they made more than 100 years ago made it possible for my brothers and me to be born in America. World War II created the events that would eventually enable our parents to meet, and then fall in love.

Somehow, profound hardship and tragedy became part of the story that allowed my brothers and me, and so many others, to live in this country during an extraordinary time in history. I am still amazed by it, and grateful beyond words.

I love this country, but for followers of Jesus, America is not our home. I guess you could say we have dual citizenship. I have a temporary USA Passport, but my permanent citizenship is of the Kingdom of God.

At this time in America’s history, followers of Jesus:

• Can be grateful for America without confusing America with the Kingdom of God.

• Can honor freedom without worshiping independence.

• Can celebrate citizenship while remembering that our deepest citizenship is in heaven.

Some 2,500 years ago, the prophet Jeremiah wrote this to the Jewish exiles in Babylon:

“Seek the peace and prosperity of the city to which I have carried you into exile. Pray to the LORD for it, because if it prospers, you too will prosper.”

God, through Jeremiah, wanted the people to influence and disciple the culture. They were His representatives, His chosen people, even in exile.

They were chosen to represent God to the world.

In the same way, we love our country best when we love it as apprentices of Jesus. Jesus told His disciples that where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. We are uniquely capable of living above the daily squabbles and power struggles of the two prevailing political parties in America because our treasure and future is secure.

We are not free because we have no concerns. We are free because our deepest hope is not held hostage by the fight.

Our King is on the throne, and the Kingdom of God goes where we go. I wonder if my grandparents shared that perspective when they left Croatia. Did they know where their treasure resided?

Apprentices of Jesus know where the deepest healing begins. Political and legal solutions matter, and we should seek justice and wisdom in public life. But they cannot heal the deepest sickness beneath our brokenness. Only Jesus can do that.

This may not be our permanent home, but it is still a place we have been called to love. So we pray for its peace. We seek its good. We refuse to make an idol of it, and we refuse to give up on it.

Run the play. Let’s celebrate a country we love, and love one another well this Fourth of July.

Finding Our Place in the Story

What would it look like for you to celebrate America with gratitude, pray for her with humility, and live as a citizen of heaven?

No one remembers the former generations, and even those yet to come will not be remembered by those who follow them. – Ecclesiastes 1:11

“Wheaties, Wheaties, Wheaties, that’s all we get, bloody Wheaties.”

I don’t remember what I had for breakfast yesterday, but I remember Red Fox complaining about Wheaties 52 years ago. Tom, his real name, was from London, had flaming red hair, and a temper to match.

This is a fun memory from summer camp in 1974, my first time as a camp counselor. I had no prior experience or qualifications, but I was eager to prove myself and am grateful for the experience and the memories.

Recently, a young friend asked for a reference to help acquire his first summer camp counselor position, and ever since, he has stoked my own camp memories like a well-placed poke to a campfire.

What is it about first times that makes them so special? We remember first camp, first car, first apartment, first child, first real taste of responsibility. We are not just remembering the event. We are remembering the moment we felt the world get bigger.

I have no idea why those memories stuck. I can forget why I walked into the kitchen, but I can still hear Red Fox protesting the cereal situation like he had been personally betrayed by the Kellogg’s Corporation.

Memory is funny that way.

It does not preserve life evenly. It saves fragments. A smell. A song. A nickname. A cabin, Seminole. A campfire. A first taste of responsibility. A moment when we were young, and the world still felt wide enough to surprise us.

We remember those moments because something in us was waking up.

In 1974, my camp name was East Wind. At the time, it was part of the camp tradition and ceremony. I’m sure I liked the drama of it all. Who wouldn’t want a name that sounded like it came with a canoe, a campfire, and at least one horsefly the size of Manhattan?I even made a wooden name tag in arts and crafts with East Wind burned into it, strung with twine so I could wear it around my neck like official camp royalty.

But all these years later, I wonder if there was something more going on.

The East Wind was connected to the rising sun. A new day. A beginning. A first light.

And maybe that is what our best memories do. They do not make us permanent, but they awaken us to the reality that we were made for something eternal.

Ecclesiastes tells us we will not be remembered forever. Scripture tells us to remember anyway.

That is not a contradiction. That is an invitation.

We do not remember because memories can hold us forever. We remember because they help us recognize the One who can.

The camp songs fade. The cabins change. The cereal improves. Hopefully.

But the East Wind of God still blows.

Sometimes it comes through Scripture. Sometimes through worship. Sometimes through a conversation. Sometimes through a memory we did not know we still needed.

And sometimes, by the grace of God, it comes through a red-haired counselor from London complaining about bloody Wheaties.

Run the play: Replay the memories, and listen for the voice of the One who is calling you home.

Finding Our Place in the Story

What memory from your life still feels strangely alive, and how might God be using it to remind you that you were made for more than what fades?