Do you ever feel like your relationship with Jesus is just sort of drifting along?

Simply put, drift is the decision you make when you don’t decide (Gretchen Rubin). It’s what happens when you ignore Lessons From The Jar.

Ever driven a long stretch of straight, deserted road? Attention fades, and suddenly you’re not focused on choosing your course. But the car doesn’t stop moving. Other forces take over, and you move gradually off course. You’re drifting.

Mostly the results of drifting aren’t positive.

Someone chooses

We forget, maybe because it’s so obvious, that someone chooses where we spend our time and energy. If we don’t consciously decide, others are happy to do it for us. We face a spiritual enemy who relishes the opportunity to encourage even a small bit of drift.

I’ve been thinking about the difference between trying and training. Maybe the danger of drift is another reason to focus on training.

Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize. Everyone who competes in the games goes into strict training. They do it to get a crown that will not last, but we do it to get a crown that will last forever. 1 Corinthians 9:24-25

Training is intensely purposeful. Every detail matters, every activity is carefully scripted, catalogued, measured, and analyzed. When discipline fades, even for a moment, you’re drifting.

An example of drift

Becky’s been struggling with an issue at work that’s become all-consuming. In eternal terms it’s an insignificant speck, but that’s not how it seems at the moment. We’ve talked a lot about how the enemy is using events to divert our focus. It’s so tempting to allow others to decide what’s important, how we need to react. We’ve both become discouraged, frustrated, and angry with people we don’t even know!

We’re not making disciplined choices about our thoughts and responses. Others, people who may not seek our best interests, gladly fill the void. We’re drifting into places we don’t want to go. By not deciding, we’re deciding.

Here’s the Bible’s antidote to this deadly emotional drift.

Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. Philippians 4:8

I’m learning that following Jesus doesn’t happen by accident or osmosis. Drifting along on the winds of the world, letting myself go with the flow, takes me on a romantic-sounding path to isolation.

Like that car on the deserted road, people and events move forward. They’ll carry me along if I choose to allow it. I’ll end up somewhere, and I’ll live with the consequences of my decision to avoid deciding.

Following Him requires will, intentionality, and disciplined training.

The cool thing is that I’m training for a life of authentic freedom, mercy, grace, and infinite love.

That’s worth a little sweat, huh?

What’s an area in which you’re drifting? What can you do to be more intentional about your course?

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Training

Does Trying Matter?

Lessons From The Jar

Note: This is the second in a Wednesday series about the Bible. You can check out the first article (The Bible Is About…) if you missed it.

Why do you read the Bible?

I suppose answers vary with individual needs and life’s seasons. At different moments we seek knowledge, inspiration, encouragement, comfort, and guidance.

When I thought through this idea (I actually do that occasionally) I wondered if there was a single, best, right answer. Since The Bible Is About God I was going to offer something profound like “…acquiring a better, more intimate knowledge of God” (thanks Clark).

It’s always comforting to have a nice, tidy answer to such a complex question, even if it’s far too simplistic.

Upon further review, I realized that I was really thinking about some uses of Scripture that seem decidedly inappropriate.

Pick-n-choosers

My friend Liz offers a wonderful word picture of folks who use Scripture as a weapon. She calls them “Bible-thumpin’ pick-n-choosers.” (I just love the image!)

Pick-n-choosers pre-determine their version of truth, search for a verse that seems to support their position, and then pound on the Bible. “It’s not me saying this—it’s the word of God!”

It reminds me of the iPhone ads that say, “Want to ____? There’s an app for that.”

For pick-n-choosers, it’s “Got an idea? There’s a verse for that.”

The pick-n-chooser rallying cry …

God’s on our side.

Hard to argue with that—it’s God’s word, right there in official King James English. And if one translation doesn’t quite work, we can look around until we find one with just the right words.

Ever meet one of these folks (nod your head)? Every discussion, every political debate, every question about truth or justice or anything else, ends with the definitive single verse that provides the right answer.

It’s especially interesting when two pick-n-choosers disagree. They throw apparently contradictory Scripture passages at each other like darts, complete with “gotcha that time!”

Who’s following whom?

I’m all for measuring our thoughts, ideas, and behaviors against the truth of Scripture. But I want to keep in mind who’s leading and who’s following.

I’d respectfully suggest that the goal ought to be to conform to my best understanding of God’s word rather than twisting Scripture to support my pre-conceived conclusions. That means two things for me.

I bring personal biases and blind spots into the discussion. If I acknowledge that human weakness, I can try to set it aside and be more aware of places where it clouds my vision.

I need to ask God for an open heart so I can hear the truth even when it contradicts deeply-held political or relational beliefs.

We’re all pick-n-chooses to some extent. It’s part of being human. I fall frequently into the trap of trying to get Jesus to follow me.

I want to move toward listening better, learning more, and making sure I’m the one who’s following.

Why do you read the Bible?

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The Bible Is About…

Life Is Not A Game: A Free Ebook

The God Of “Re”

Have you ever noticed that some things are hard to get unless you already have them?

We’re spending Christmas week on a snowy Midwestern farm. Yesterday the kids were preparing for a sledding expedition and one of the little guys realized his boots were in the car. A foot of icy, wet snow covered the ground between the back door and the car. In frustration he exclaimed, “I need my boots so I can go out in the snow to get my boots!”

I feel like that a lot. It’s kind of like looking for my glasses when I can’t see without my glasses. If I already had them it would be easy to find them, but then I wouldn’t need to look.

Faith seems to work that way. When I had none, I couldn’t seek it since I didn’t believe I’d find it. It takes a lot of faith to look for faith.

Now that I’ve found it, faith seems to be everywhere.

I’m not sure how I found it in the first place. In fact, I’m pretty sure I didn’t find it at all. I think faith found me. On a dark night nearly thirty years ago, faith whispered to me and pointed me to a better way. That’s the story that guided me to Relentless Grace.

That’s an amazing aspect of walking with Jesus. He brought what I needed, things like love, grace, truth, hope, light—all the essential stuff I could never find on our own. To one who had nothing, He brought everything.

I’m not sure how it works. I don’t get how love becomes human and reaches across the divide between faith and no-faith. The Bible says, “For we live by faith, not by sight” [2 Corinthians 5:7].

I’m not sure how we get that faith, but I don’t have to understand it.

I have faith. I’m glad.

Do you understand how one finds the faith to seek faith?

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Today I’m thinking about wanting less.

That’s a bit odd, given that we’re heading over the river and through the woods to my in-laws’ house filled with gift-crazed kids from four generations. We’re preparing for the annual unwrapping frenzy loosely inspired by ancient offerings of gold, frankincense, and myrrh.

I love opening my surprises as much as everyone else. I enjoy the over-the-top Christmas at the farm. Piles of wrapping paper, wonderful food prepared by loving hands that could feed a small army, squabbling children, squabbling adults, football games between teams I’ve never heard of.

I love playing new games, doing jigsaw puzzles, figuring out new electronics, searching for lost directions—it’s just all a great, warm, chaotic few days.

So why am I thinking about “less.”?

Jesus had it all. And He let go. He took less—much, much less—so I could have it all.

How do you do that? How do you volunteer to leave the splendor of Heaven and the perfect intimacy of the Trinity? How do you willingly exchange the worship of angels for the scorn of those You created?

I know the words, the theology, the answers we’ve discerned from His words and actions. I understand, as long as I don’t think about it too deeply. I can wrap my mind around a nice story from the two-thousand-year-old past.

But when I remember that it’s not just a nice cuddly story, when I remember that He knew the link between the manger and the cross, I can’t make it make sense. I know He did it for me, for love, but I cannot claim to comprehend what’s behind that kind of sacrifice.

Would I make that choice? As much as I’d like to say I would, it’s just not true. I don’t want to surrender what I’ve got. As much as I know better, the fact is that I want more.

I’m thinking about wanting less. I’m grateful that Jesus chose to want less. I want to want less.

For this Christmas, I guess that’ll have to be enough.

Do you think you understand what Jesus gave up? What do you feel as you consider His choice to want less so we could have it all?

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Who’s your hero?

I recently heard a surprising, thought-provoking response to that question. A critique group gathered to practice their public speaking skills. They challenged each other to do a two-minute impromptu talk answering the question, “Who is your hero?”

The last speaker began with an attention-grabbing opening line: I am my hero.

Sounds a bit self-centered, doesn’t it? I wondered immediately whether the guy had trouble getting his big head through the door.

But his explanation made a lot of sense. He’s right, and I really admire the unique look at a common question. Based on his thoughts, here’s my take on myself as my own hero.

I’m a Hero?

A hero doesn’t need super powers, a cape, or a mask. If I look at my life as a story, I’m the main character. The principle character in a story is—the hero. I know—hero is technically male and heroine is female, but you get the idea.

Each of us plays the principle role—the hero (heroine)—in our own life story.

So what do you do if your hero doesn’t seem all that heroic? What if the hero’s life is mundane, routine, even boring? Well, that’s the really cool aspect of this perspective.

It’s YOUR story.

You write, direct, and produce. You create the sets and the costumes, choose the supporting cast, and select the locations. You’re the editor.

So if you don’t like the story, you can change it!

This is a great time to consider some editing. As I think about goals for 2011, I’m looking at God as my audience. Here are a few things I think God wants from my story. (Next Year Is Nearly Here) (God’s Plan For My Life)

God wants a story about pursuing God-sized dreams. Perhaps that means doing something big, or doing something small in a big way. A friend is volunteering for “children’s story time” at a library, and she’s taking a class in storytelling so she’ll be interesting and compelling. She’s doing a small thing in a big way.

I hope my dreams don’t reflect a small view of God.

God wants a story about the future, not the past. He’s about new beginnings and fresh starts. If the story seems pre-determined by regret, mistakes, bad choices, or someone else’s actions, maybe it’s time to tear up that old script.

Jesus did not come so we could live in chains forged in the past. He invites us to follow Him into a future of freedom and new life.

God wants a story of courage. One of the most frequent directions in Scripture is Don’t be afraid. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t experience fear. When the disciples saw Jesus walking on the water, He said: “Take courage! It is I. Don’t be afraid.” [Matthew 14:27b]

As I think about my goals, the story I wish to write in 2011, I picture Him saying those words. He invites us to face the fear, trust that He walks beside us, and write a courageous story.

God wants a story of joy. Too often Christians engage with wider culture in negative, angry ways. God is portrayed as a cosmic killjoy and believers are recognized primarily for what they oppose.

My pastor tells a story of attending a parents’ meeting at his kid’s school. Some controversy was anticipated and a man who didn’t know him leaned over and whispered, “This should be entertaining. The Christians are here in force.” Asked to explain why that would be entertaining he replied, “They only show up when they’re mad about something.”

I like Rick Warren’s quote: I love Jesus. I’m just not angry about it.

God wants a story of stewardship. He doesn’t want me to hide my light or bury my talents. He intends my gifts to be used wisely and responsibly, but also extravagantly in God-sized ways.

Delight the audience

That’s the objective of a great storyteller. I believe God’s pleased when we use His gifts to compose big stories of growth, courage, joy, and energy.

In an interesting story, the hero doesn’t sit on the couch and complain. My hero’s got some work to do.

How will you edit your story to delight the audience?

Please leave a comment.

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Christmas In A Single Word

The Paradox Of Christmas

What would Jesus think if I showed up in Bethlehem?

I’ve been trying to spend some time each day during this Christmas season at the nativity scene, wondering about the thoughts, emotions, and experiences of each character. And I found myself wondering how Jesus would respond to the presence of a disabled person in that holy circle.

I’d probably try to stay away. I’d list endless excuses to stay in my own warm, safe environment and let someone else go.

I don’t do cold very well. Bethlehem isn’t wheelchair accessible—no pavement, dirty streets filled with all sorts of obstacles. So when I showed up I’d be reluctant, maybe even angry or bitter. Would He notice? Would it matter?

I always interrupt. I’d need help across the rough floor. Perhaps one of the Magi or a shepherd would leave his place to assist, or maybe an angel would clear a path for me. One of the animals might need to move. I hate causing so much commotion.

They came to see Him, not to help me. Would my presence break the mood?

I’d need a place near the front. Someone else might move farther away so I could see from my seated perspective.

Everyone wants the good seats, the best places. Everyone wants to be close to Jesus. Would my special need cause resentment?

Others brought gifts. My hands fumble with wrapping, and the ruts and bumps and jolts make carrying a package impossible.

I didn’t bring anything with eternal symbolic value or meaning. Would He think I wasn’t grateful?

Everyone else kneels in worship and praise, but I can’t assume the customary posture of humility. I can only slump forward and hope muscle spasms don’t cause me to lurch onto the floor. I don’t look like I’m worshipping.

Would the others question my sincerity? Would He be offended?

I’m crashing a party for special guests. The Magi received an astrological invitation along with the first GPS directions. Shepherds were summoned by an angel’s proclamation. But I just showed up with no special summons.

Nobody will compose a carol about a wheelchair and a manger. I won’t have a part in the Christmas programs. Would my presence destroy the symmetry of a carefully choreographed eternal moment?

Perhaps I should just hang back and observe from a respectful distance. I don’t fit in; I don’t want others making a fuss. I can’t really participate anyway.

I don’t belong here.

# # # # #

You see it, right? The excuses and self-pity, the misplaced focus that completely misses the point of the gathering?

IT’S NOT ABOUT ME!

It’s not about neatly wrapped gifts or carefully chosen guests. It’s not about bumpy floors or animal poop in my wheels or who gets to sit in front.

It’s not about whether I go. It’s about the fact that He came.

What makes you feel like you don’t belong?

(note: This is a re-write of a year-old article (A Wheelchair And A Manger) as a follow-up to (Do We Really Need The Baby?).

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10 Ways You Can Enjoy An Intentional Christmas

Do We Really Need The Baby?

Adversity And Christmas

Do you ever get the feeling that our version of Christmas is more about the wrapping than the gift?

Jon Swanson wrote a wonderful article about Christmas programs. He’s right—we often get so concerned with the presentation that we forget the meaning behind it.

Christmas isn’t about a perfect performance.

Jon’s article stimulated my warped sense of humor. I imagined what the first Christmas might have looked like if humans produced it. I imagine the set as everyone rushes around making last-minute adjustments. It might have looked like this:

An angel’s carefully blocking out the scene so the characters are in the right place for a good camera shot when the wise men enter.

Mary’s mad because the camera isn’t getting her best profile.

The baby’s making everything more complicated.

A shepherd’s trying to get the stupid sheep to stand still.

Another angel’s cleaning up after the donkey that pooped right in front of the baby.

Joseph wants a bigger part.

Whose idea was the manger? It’s too hard to see the baby in all that straw.

The camels won’t get in line.

The star’s too bright—it’s messing up the lighting in the stable and it keeps spotlighting the baby. Somebody needs to tone down the star!

The director’s yelling at the shepherd boy to stop banging on the drum. The boy starts crying, and his mom threatens to take him home.

The conductor insists on one more rehearsal—got to get those “Halleluiah’s” just right, and the alto angels are missing their cues.

Can someone keep that baby quiet? We’re trying to concentrate!

The innkeeper keeps sneezing. Who picked an innkeeper who’s allergic to hay?

Where’s the tree? It can’t be Christmas without a tree.

Got the tree, but now the angels are mad because there’s a star on top.

The baby keeps squirming and fussing. Can’t we lose the baby—is He really necessary?

That’s how it happens when we do it.

I’ll bet that’s not how it happened when God did it.

C’mon, play along and have some fun. What other silly scenes do you envision in the human production of the first Christmas?

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A Wheelchair And A Manger

What Are You Giving Jesus For Christmas?

Christmas In A Single Word

Just tell me the rules!

Have you ever reached that point? You can’t see a way forward or you’re not sure which way to turn and you just want a step-by-step guide?

The Internet thrives on this human desire for an instruction manual. You can get rich without labor, lose weight without sweat, and find the perfect mate without risk. Just send $19.95, and if you hurry we’ll throw in a set of steak knives.

We all know it doesn’t work that way, right? But when the storm hits and the water’s rising, I suspect we’d all like Seven Simple Steps To Drain The Swamp.

I’ve been thinking about Rules, Games and Life and my observation that life doesn’t work like a game. Today I’d like to take apart our natural approaches to rules. I see two general tendencies: rulers and rebels.

Rulers

make rules to force compliance with their version of absolutes. They construct elaborate codes to address every contingency, then add new layers of rules about rules to close loopholes. Rulers derive power by controlling others’ behavior.

Rulers don’t create unified, growing long-term communities because their circles are based on coercion and force. People tend to enter and remain out of fear, so rulers retain control by fostering apprehension among the people in their circles.

Rebels

defy authority and actively assert autonomy from rulers.

Rebels often have an interesting relationship with rules. They believe rules were made to be broken and loopholes to be discovered and exploited. Yet they’re quick to assert their rights and demand the protection of laws when it’s expedient. They frequently justify choices by citing technicalities that make their behavior “legal.”

Articulate, charismatic rebels attract incredibly cohesive communities. People rally when confronted by a common threat, and “the man” provides an easy, convenient enemy. Accomplished rebels identify and demonize the enemy, skillfully amplifying the threat of an amorphous “they” who’s out to get “us” because we won’t adhere to their expectations.

Rulers and rebels have a lot in common.

Both groups derive their identity from their relationship to rules. Rulers create and enforce, rebels defy and resist. Rules unite their communities and define the borders of their circles.

Both groups are highly invested in identifying “us” and “them.” They undermine proper order and trample obvious moral standards. They demand arbitrary compliance with random, unnecessary expectations.

Both groups need an enemy to unite their communities. No enemy, no one to fear. No enemy, no one to defy.

Ruler/Rebel is a continuum. Most folks probably live somewhere near the middle. They’re sometimes rulers, sometimes rebels.

It’s also interesting that the extremes resemble each other. Extremist rebel leaders encourage compliance with their non-conformist mantra, while extremist rulers actively oppose competing sets of rules. Religious and political personalities, pundits, talk show hosts, and celebrity media types often control by rebellion. Their rhetoric is more about opposition than promotion of an agenda.

A Third Option

To me, life seems like a very wide road with a lot of latitude for choice. Yes, there are boundaries, those white lines that define the edges. But unless I want to rob banks or sell heroine to kids, those lines don’t limit my choices much. I don’t find myself frequently wanting to commit murder or cheat widows out of their savings, and I’m betting that you don’t either. So “what’s legal” doesn’t really impact my choices.

The point is that I’m relatively free to choose my own lane.

Rulers use fear to narrow the road. They’d like us to believe that anyone outside their particular lane is on the road to hell and wants to take the rest of us along. Followers remain in the “straight and narrow” due to fear and obligation.

To me, their arbitrary restrictions seem irrelevant. Acknowledging their silly lines only feeds their sense of power.

Rebels actually take the rulers’ imaginary markings seriously. They purposely live at the edges and congratulate each other for violating borders that don’t even exist.

Seems like the third option involves simply ignoring the rulers’ fear-mongering.  Their lines have no relevance unless I choose to acknowledge their existence. This also makes rebelling sort of silly. What’s the point of consciously defying imaginary limitations?

WDJD? (what did Jesus do)

Jesus reserved his harshest words for those who turned worship into exhaustive, detailed lists of expectations and requirements. He knew that following rules out of fear could never lead to open, authentic relationship. He doesn’t care about religion, because He wants pure hearts.

But Jesus wasn’t into rebellion, either. He chose the path of service and sacrifice, not because He had to or needed to. He chose His path because He loved you and me.

One of them, an expert in the law, tested him with this question: “Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?”

Jesus replied: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.” [Matthew 22:35-40]

When I understand that no one else can define the “right” lane for me without my permission, I’m free to follow Jesus. When I stop worshipping—following or defying—human-created rules, I’m free to choose agape.

Agape means real freedom. It’s not about conformity or non-conformity, it’s about choosing surrender. I believe Jesus invites us to follow Him along the blue line, the line of love. I believe it’s the path for which we were created, the path to intimacy and authentic freedom.

I don’t follow His lead very well. I often try to define my own path and tell Him where we should go. I picture Him smiling as I struggle furiously to make my way work or explain why I really know what’s best.

I’m thankful for grace, for the knowledge that He forgives my futile rule-making and silly rebellion. I’m thankful that Jesus never leaves His path of unconditional love.

I’m thankful that He continually, gently invites me to rejoin Him.

Please leave a comment.

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Right Or Not Right?

Eyes On The Prize

Who’s In First?

Does it really matter?

I ask myself that question a lot. What’s “it”? Whatever I’m doing that’s consuming my time and attention. I’m all in favor of relaxing and having fun, but I want my life to be about stuff that matters.

So—how do I decide? How do I know if “it” really matters? Last week I stated two criteria:

• It can’t be just about making money (Gasoline, Money, And Stuff That Matters).
• It has to create more value for others than for me (What’s The Value Of Stuff That Matters?)

A third characteristic of stuff that matters seems to involve seeing the big picture. Stuff that really matters can’t be just about “here”—it has to benefit “there” as well. It can’t be about “now” at the expense of “later.”

Stuff that matters must enhance the big picture.

A lot of our efforts are sort of like a ponzi scheme—they work as long as we don’t worry about the big, long-term implications or how others will be impacted. It’s sort of like building a tall fence and tossing your trash behind it. The neighbors won’t be pleased, and eventually the junk accumulates until someone has to deal with it.

Businesses, families, and nations create a façade of economic stability on a foundation of unsustainable debt. Borrowing for now, with no plan for then, just means someone else will ultimately clean up my financial mess.

If technology teaches anything, it’s that there’s no “there.” We’re all “here.” I’m grateful (and amazed) that you’re reading these words on every continent. It’s not just my country, or yours, it’s OUR world. Work that matters can’t enhance my side of the fence while ignoring yours.

I’m often tempted to think of here as my little corner, my house, my town, as though here is a small place. But in terms of stuff that matters,  here is a very big place. Stuff that matters has to consider the “big here” rather than the “small here.”

Same with time—it can’t just be about this moment, because choices that matter have a longer impact. Stuff that matters impacts the “big now” as well as the “small now.”

I think that’s how God sees it. As Father, He sees everywhere, eternally. As Jesus, He understands here and now. And because He’s God, He knows exactly how to keep it all in perfect perspective.

So, stuff that matters:

• Might be about making money, but it can’t be ONLY about that.
• Might benefit me, but it benefits others more.
• Might enhance here and now, but must benefit there and later as well.

Make sense? What did I miss?

What else would you add that helps you decide what really matters?

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What’s The Value Of Stuff That Matters?

Gasoline, Money, And Stuff That Matters

I’ve been spending a lot of time recently with a young man who’s on a difficult journey. He wants everyone to learn from his experiences.

Everyone.

He’s doing his best to be vulnerable and transparent. He’s not looking for attention—I believe he genuinely wants to help.

I’ve been talking about “Stories Worth Telling,” advancing the idea that we all have worthwhile stories to share. My friend desperately wants to share the lessons he’s learned, but it’s not working. He’s alienating listeners and isolating himself from potential sources of encouragement.

So what’s the problem?

He’s missing an important element of sharing—he needs to …

GET PERMISSION

In this context, permission means more than “Is it okay if I tell you my story?” It means investing the time and effort to create a relationship.

It’s one of Steven Covey’s Seven Habits Of Highly Effective People: Seek first to understand, then to be understood. I’ve learned, often the hard way, that I can’t impose my story on others. In fact, I’ve pretty much adopted a personal policy that I don’t talk about my injury unless someone asks. And even then, I often respond with some sort of clarifying question to be sure I understand the request.

In my classroom, I didn’t begin the year by telling new students about my injury. I learned that the issue would eventually arise in the course of our interaction. When they asked, I figured they were ready to listen.

Teachers talk about something called a “teachable moment,” a circumstance in which the stage is set for an important lesson. Great teachers work hard to create such situations, and they also learn to recognize them when they appear without prior notice. Such moments are priceless and fleeting; they must be seized, but they can’t be rushed.

That’s how story-sharing works. You need to be ready when the opportunity arises, but you can’t force it before its natural time. And the very best, most helpful, stories are shared in relationship.

That’s how God designed us. Jesus didn’t grab random people off the street and demand that they listen. He gathered a group of friends, spent time with them, and let them know how much He loved them. He taught in the context of their everyday struggles and questions.

I want to work like Him. I want to listen, understand, and share when it’s appropriate. I want it to be about the audience and what they need.

It’s not MY story anyway. It’s not about me.

I wonder how many times I’ll remind myself of that lesson before I truly learn it.

Are you ever tempted to push your story into a setting that’s not quite ready to hear it?

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