Have you ever read a passage of scripture that seemed to smack you right between the eyes?

Last night our small group encountered these verses. As they were read aloud I literally rolled my chair backward and said something profound like, “Huh.”

For though we live in the world, we do not wage war as the world does. The weapons we fight with are not the weapons of the world. On the contrary, they have divine power to demolish strongholds. We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ. [2 Corinthians 10:3-5]

I was particularly struck by this sentence: The weapons we fight with are not the weapons of the world.

I’m not sure I heard most of the remainder of the discussion. I couldn’t get past the thought that God doesn’t want me to fight the world’s battles according to the world’s rules. I’m not sure why that felt so powerful—it’s not exactly a new concept.

I wanted to look a little deeper, so I looked up the same passage in The Message.

The world is unprincipled. It’s dog-eat-dog out there! The world doesn’t fight fair.

No kidding. So how am I supposed to compete in a world with no rules?

But we don’t live or fight our battles that way—never have and never will. The tools of our trade aren’t for marketing or manipulation,

God doesn’t need to be packaged and promoted in some slick direct-mail scheme. No tricks, no gimmicks, no guilt trips, no bait-and-switch tactics. We don’t use violence, threats, coercion, or peer pressure. Those are the world’s tools, not God’s.

but they are for demolishing that entire massively corrupt culture.

The war is spiritual. It’s not about politics and nations and material stuff–it’s much bigger. And I’m not supposed to modify the culture into something just a bit less offensive. I’m not supposed to fit in and trim around the edges.

We use our powerful God-tools for smashing warped philosophies, tearing down barriers erected against the truth of God, fitting every loose thought and emotion and impulse into the structure of life shaped by Christ.

I can’t just go with the flow. I’m instructed to “capture” my thoughts, emotions, and impulses, not be their prisoner. Jesus is the structure—everything else must conform to Him.

Weapons?

I wondered about the weapons with which we’re supposed to fight, these God-tools capable of smashing philosophies and tearing down barriers. Am I supposed to wear a cape, place a large “J” on my chest and leap tall building in a single bound?

I spent a few moments listing the tools Jesus used to change the world. Indeed, they’re not the world’s weapons.

Jesus deployed an arsenal consisting of:

• Faith
• Hope
• Love
• Prayer
• Spirit
• God’s word

Pretty simple, huh? I wonder if I have the courage to drop the world’s weapons and do life His way.

Two questions: Did I miss anything in my list? Who can you think of who sincerely tried (tries) to use these tools?

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A Reflection Of God

When Jesus returned to Capernaum several days later, the news spread quickly that he was back home. Soon the house where he was staying was so packed with visitors that there was no more room, even outside the door. While he was preaching God’s word to them, four men arrived carrying a paralyzed man on a mat. They couldn’t bring him to Jesus because of the crowd, so they dug a hole through the roof above his head. Then they lowered the man on his mat, right down in front of Jesus. Seeing their faith, Jesus said to the paralyzed man, “My child, your sins are forgiven.” [Mark 2:1-5]

Do you believe God heals?

Sometimes it seems that we relegate healing to biblical times, as though miracles don’t still happen. I don’t believe that’s true.

Two weeks ago our church did a “service of healing.” The pastor talked about the importance of acknowledging the reality of pain, disease, and other worldly adversities faced by many among us. He stressed God’s power to heal and the mystery of why it doesn’t always happen. There was an opportunity for people to request prayers for specific healing.

Even though I didn’t respond, a man came and stood quietly beside me. He gently placed a hand on my shoulder—I’m sure he prayed silently for my injury to be healed. After a few moments he leaned down and whispered, “I believe God can heal your injury.”

I’m grateful for his prayer and for his concern. I also believe God can heal my injury.

Last week, our pastor referred to that service and once again discussed the mystery of healing. I’m sure it’s just my imagination, but it felt like he looked at me when he said, “Some of our hurts weren’t healed last week.”

I wondered about the guy who placed his hand on my shoulder. Did he believe his prayer hadn’t been answered, that God for some reason chose not to heal me?

Immediately following my accident I spent a lot of time begging for that healing, wondering why it didn’t happen, and listening to some pretty diverse (and bizarre) explanations for my failure to be healed. After a lot of thought and introspection, I reached this conclusion:

God has in fact healed me. In every way that matters, I’m whole and free.

In Mark 2, some men bring their paralyzed friend to Jesus. Their path is blocked by the crowd, so they take some rather drastic steps to get Jesus’ attention. Seeing their extraordinary faith and effort, Jesus looks at the paralyzed man and says, “My child, your sins are forgiven.”

Can’t you imagine their response? Scripture doesn’t record their thoughts, but I’m sure they wanted to say, “Excuse me, but we didn’t carry our friend all this way, fight through the crowd, and cut a hole in the roof to get his sins forgiven. We want him healed.”

Jesus knew why they were there. He knew they wanted their friend to walk. But He also knew that wasn’t what really mattered. Jesus gave the man something far more precious than a healed body—He gave, for free, a healed soul.

We read the rest of the story, how Jesus went on to provide physical healing, and we celebrate a miracle. Then we wonder why Jesus doesn’t reward our faith, why He lets us struggle and suffer.

We’re quick to condemn the religious leaders who watched Jesus that night, but at least they really understood what was happening. Physical healing wasn’t what impressed and outraged them—they’d seen that before. They knew that the real miracle, the one that mattered, was the forgiveness of sins. Only God can do that.

I don’t intend to discount the reality of worldly pain and struggle. God cares about our needs and concerns, and we should pray for His miraculous healing power. I do.

But we spend far too much time trying to explain why He chooses to heal some times and not others, why He sometimes answers, “No.” It’s not that those aren’t important issues; they are not the central issue.

Every single person who follows Jesus is healed. Every believer will spend eternity in fellowship with God. That’s the central issue—that’s what matters.

I don’t know why God chooses to leave me in a wheelchair. But I sure hope the man who prayed for my healing knows that his prayers were answered. God did not say, “No.”

We’re not human beings on a spiritual journey. We’re spiritual beings on a human journey. Steven Covey

My essence, and yours, is spirit. Spiritually, because of Jesus’ sacrificial love, we’re whole and healthy and free.

Do you ever get caught up in worldly concerns and lose sight of the eternal blessing of unmerited forgiveness?

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Asking The Right Questions

Don’t you love it when a really cool idea just drops into your lap?

This morning I met with eight people who are part of the year-long workshop I mentioned last time (How To Know What’s Right). We enjoyed a great conversation about courage, communication, and character.

One of my companions told us about a slogan his church adopted: ME TOO. They printed it on t-shirts and hats and made it the focus of Sunday school classes. The pastor preached a sermon series titled ME TOO.

It took a few moments for the significance of these simple words to penetrate my thick skull, but gradually the lights came on. Do you get it?

“I’ve really messed up my life.”

“ME TOO.”

“I feel like I don’t deserve God’s love.”

“ME TOO.”

“I need to learn how to pray.”

“ME TOO.”

It’s not just about church. Think about some of the other places this motto could apply.

“Daddy, I get scared sometimes.”

“ME TOO.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I need to listen better.”

“ME TOO.”

The list is endless. I think I need a bunch of these shirts.

Don’t you wish you’d thought of this?

ME TOO.

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Therefore, I urge you, brothers, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing to God—this is your spiritual act of worship. Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will. [Romans 12:1-2]

Jon Swanson makes me think.

Okay, I guess he doesn’t really MAKE me think. But he keeps writing stuff like What Counts As Church? that reminds me I’m not the center of the universe. Since that’s a novel idea for me, his words challenge me to look at old ideas in new ways. Aside from the brain cramps, I guess it’s a good thing.

After reading What Counts As Church? I met a friend for coffee at my church, except I realized that we were really meeting in the building where my formal church usually gathers—because church isn’t a building. While we were talking our worship pastor, Terry Kelley, walked by.

Terry’s a great guy, a fabulous musician with a big heart for God. But I found myself thinking that “worship pastor” is sort of an odd title. If he leads worship, what do other pastors do? Shouldn’t every pastor be a worship pastor?

Many churches, including mine, designate the music as “worship” time. I guess that means we’re not doing worship when we give or listen to the message or greet our neighbors?

I know that’s not the intent, but words matter because they guide our thoughts. When we talk about the church as a building we easily shift to thinking that way, and suddenly church becomes a place or an organization rather than people and relationships.

Same thing with “worship.” If we’re not careful, we confine it to a box that’s only open when there’s music and singing and maybe hands raised. That’s the worship time, and when it’s over we close the box. We’re done with worship—check that off the list and get on to other stuff.

This morning I cycled along the Cache la Poudre River. It’s one of my regular workout routes, but I’m reminded every time of the story in Relentless Grace about The River. I remember that God is bigger than my small perspective, that He’s in control, and that the river flows exactly as He intends. I don’t sing (thankfully for others on the path) but I believe those moments are acts of worship.

Or maybe they’re prayer instead of worship—sometimes I get them confused. This was workout time, not worship time or prayer time.

See how our insistence on categorizing our interactions with God gets in the way of our interactions with God? Does it really matter if it’s called prayer or worship or sitting by the river with God or riding a hand cycle while I talk to God?

Like most things, I mess this up. I get all focused on whatever I’m doing, like this is “writing time” and later will be “throw the tennis ball for Monte” time. I forget that it’s ALL worship time.

That’s why I need guys like Jon to remind me to think.

Do you ever divide up your life, without thinking, and turn prayer and worship into categories rather than ways of living?

I, John, am the one who heard and saw these things. And when I had heard and seen them, I fell down to worship at the feet of the angel who had been showing them to me. But he said to me, “Do not do it! I am a fellow servant with you and with your brothers the prophets and of all who keep the words of this book. Worship God!” [Revelation 22:8-9]

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Excuses, Reasons, And Lies

Begin With Why

Have you ever looked back and wondered, “Why in the world did I do THAT?”

Sometimes that’s my whole life. I’ve wondered at times about getting the question tattooed on my forehead.

Last time we looked at the deadly self-infection of Results Syndrome. When I’m motivated by immediate results, I often find myself wondering (too late) why I did something so dumb.

Since one of my big personal goals is a more intentional life, I need to get better about making choices. I’m thinking that an important element in avoiding Results Syndrome is beginning with WHY.

Simon Sinek examines this seemingly basic notion in his book Start with Why: How Great Leaders Inspire Everyone to Take Action. He offers a nice visual to reinforce the idea.

Too often, we make choices like this. We decide what to do based on pressure, fear, desire, or some other immediate stimulus. Then we work toward the center and—after the fact—ask why. In this model we end up either questioning our personal sanity or creating elaborate justifications for a decision that makes little sense.

Simon suggests that we make better choices when we begin with why.

Why cuts deep. In a culture that skips along the surface of life, why points me to my core values. Why centers my thinking more on eternal principles and less on temporary cultural or personal whims.

Why guides me toward “what’s right” and away from “what works.” Why prompts consideration of “what’s best” rather than “what’s possible” or “what’s easiest.”

A young person who stops to ask why might be better equipped to face pressure to compromise on issues of drugs, alcohol, or sexuality. A parent might be more apt to listen openly and lead rather than herd.

A politician who seriously asked why might be less inclined to avoid difficult issues based solely on a desire to be re-elected. A voter might look past appearance and ideological rhetoric.

A church that asks why might look less like an exclusive club catering to a better class of sinner. A follower of Jesus might be more forgiving and accepting, less inclined to judge and condemn.

I spend a lot of time and energy wondering what to do and how to do it. A lot of my prayers are about seeking guidance about what God wants me to do or how to follow Jesus in a particular situation. Perhaps I’m not aiming at the center of the target.

Maybe why is the center, the place to begin. When “what to do” and “how to do it” flow from “why am I doing it” I might spend less time looking back and wondering why I made such an obviously harmful choice.

I think God cares more about my character and my heart than my achievements. I suspect that if I act from the right why, if my heart’s centered on His purpose instead of mine, He’ll use even my imperfect efforts to accomplish great things.

Can you see any places where “beginning with why” might be helpful?

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What Are You After?

Happy Monday! I’ve decided to add a feature.

For the next few Mondays, I’ll post a series of excerpts from RELENTLESS GRACE. You can read previous excerpts here.

I hope you enjoy them, and that you’ll encounter God’s invitation to give hope another chance.

TAMING THE MONSTER (Relentless Grace Excerpt #6)

Note: This is a follow-up to last week’s excerpt. If you missed it, you can read it here.

The room became nearly dark as the door closed again, just the dim light from the hallway sneaking under the door. Silence for a few moments, but somehow a different quality permeated the room. A small bit of peace had settled in the shadows.

“Rich.” Spoken so softly I almost felt it more than heard it. “Rich, may I come in?”

Tears flooded my eyes again.

“Al,” I whispered. “Yeah, please come in.”

He crossed the room and stopped beside me. I could hear him there, and then I felt his hand on my shoulder. He stood beside me in dark silence and we stared at the blinds for a few moments. I cried and he held me awkwardly, avoiding the screws, and cradled my head as the fear and pain gushed out. The emotion of this miserable day completely overwhelmed me and the terror of the past weeks seemed to rip at my soul. I sobbed uncontrollably, but I was no longer alone.

 “Do you want to talk about it?” Al asked.

So I told him about the monster in the mirror and the horrible panic, about finally understanding what I had become. How could I ever go outside the room again? How could people even tolerate such a terrifying figure? Why had no one told me about my freakish appearance?

“I can’t live like this. This cannot be what God wants anyone to be. I need to die—that thing in the mirror needs to die. That can’t be me. What happened to me? Where did I go?”

Al and I talked for a long time that evening. We spoke about the embarrassment of feeling like some strange creature that belonged in a circus sideshow rather than in my body. We talked about who—or what—I was in this lifeless skeleton of a body with the Frankenstein screws in my head. I asked the same questions again and again, “What happened to ME?”

At one point, Al went to the bathroom and came back with a hand mirror. “You need to take another look at yourself.”

I recoiled in horror. How could he possibly imagine I’d want to see that monstrous reflection again? But he persisted, gently telling me I needed to take a better look, a calmer look, I needed to see me in the mirror. After a long time and a lot of angry, fearful refusing, I agreed. Slowly, Al brought the small hand mirror up until it was in front of my face.

I closed my eyes as the reflection appeared before me, then opened them a little. I saw a hollow face with a sallow complexion. The eyes darted back and forth, brief glimpses before looking away and back again. I noticed the same scraggly beard and unkempt hair I’d seen earlier. And then I saw them—the screws and the metal halo they held in place around my head. I squeezed my eyes shut tightly, and waited a few moments before I found the courage to open them again.

The halo of silver-colored metal hung suspended about half an inch away from my head. I could see two of the screws embedded in my forehead about an inch above and outside of each eyebrow.

I stared with some combination of fascination and disbelief. How had my life come to this? How could THAT be ME? Al steadied the mirror for several moments and allowed the image to hang there in front of me. Who is that? Where is me?

Al must have seen the questions on my face because he said quietly, “Rich, you’re in there.”

“Where?” I whimpered.

“Rich, you’re in there,” he repeated. “You are not what you see in the mirror. What you see right now is pain and sorrow and a catastrophic injury that’s going to need a long time to heal. You see fear and loss and grief. You see a brace that looks horrible because of the horrible job it has to do. You see all of that, and you think you’re seeing you.

“But all of that stuff isn’t you. It’s all on the outside and it’ll all go away. Even the brace—four months is an awfully long time to have such a terrible contraption attached to you, but it’ll go away. None of what you see is you. You’re in there, underneath the unimaginable things that have happened to you.”

I asked him to pray with me. Al was good about that, a pastor who loved God with all his heart but didn’t just drop “Jesus” into a situation as though that would make it all better and you never should have been sad or scared in the first place because you should just have enough faith. But now he prayed with me, and as he prayed he also reminded me I wasn’t alone. He laid the mirror down, took my paralyzed, limp hand in his hands and prayed.

“Lord Jesus, be here with us. Rich is really scared right now, Father, and he has every reason to be scared. A terrible thing has happened and Rich doesn’t even know where he is anymore. He looks in the mirror and he can’t find himself, and instead he sees a hideous, frightening reflection of Evil.

“Father, hold Rich in Your hand right now. Let him know that Your arms surround him tonight, that he’s safe, and that he has not gone anywhere. Let him know that he’s right here, and that You know all about his battles. Remind him that Jesus felt the fear, knows the pain, and understands what it means to feel lost and alone. Father, help Rich to sense the powerful presence of Jesus in this room right now through Your Spirit.

“And Father, grant to Rich Your peace in this moment. He faces a long and difficult road, but help him to know he doesn’t have to travel that road tonight. Help him to let go, to fall into Your arms, and to be at peace.

“Father, I ask this, for Jesus’ sake. Amen.”

The room that had been filled with so much turmoil all day was unexpectedly quiet, still and peaceful. This dreadful situation wasn’t suddenly all OK. But it was somehow OK in that moment. Al and I talked a while longer. He reminded me that there were no magic, easy answers to this dilemma and that I’d likely encounter frightful images again. But he asked if I could let the peace in the room settle over me, just for tonight.

“Yeah,” I whispered. “I’m really tired. I’ll be all right. Thanks.”

Al was sure right about one thing. My journey didn’t get magically easier that night. God never promised every season of life would be easy. He did promise we would never have to face any situation alone. That doesn’t make it easy—it DOES offer hope.

Hope provides a permanent solution to a temporary problem. The hope God offers isn’t the sort of wishful thinking so prevalent at birthday celebrations. “I hope I get a new bike” confuses hope with some sort of superstitious yearning. I hope my team wins the big game; I might refuse to wash my lucky jersey because I hope it’ll bring good luck. That’s not God’s hope.

God bestows through His grace the kind of hope that might be more accurately described as “expectation.” God doesn’t promise that I can wish for His peace; He promises that I can expect to receive it. God’s hope isn’t based on wishes or luck or maybe. God’s hope implies certainty rooted in grace and love.

That night I felt the power and the hope of the presence of Jesus. I knew He stood with me, walked beside me and even carried me when I needed it. The palpable tranquility that filled my hospital room that night drove away the fear of the monster in the mirror.

In a moment when I couldn’t see a way out, God provided. He didn’t solve the problem or make the pain disappear. But He did give me what I needed at that moment. He made that night, at the end of an awful day, a night of peace.

I wish I could proclaim that I never gave up again, never got frustrated or fearful, never forgot to lean on God’s promises. I wish I could say that after that night I always remembered that Jesus knew the pain and the fear and would always be with me. I wish I had been able to carry the peace of that night through the difficult days and weeks ahead.

But in fact I continued to give up and get angry and frustrated. Time and again I found myself at the end, lost and alone. No way to turn, no idea how to get out of this one.

And every time, God provided. Not an easy way, not an end to the pain. But Jesus was always with me. Somehow He helped me summon the strength to go on when I was certain I couldn’t go any farther. Every time, when I could find no escape from the fear, God provided.

If you’d like to read the story of Relentless Grace, you can order a signed copy here or purchase it at Amazon.com.

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The success of love is in the loving – it is not in the result of loving. Of course it is natural in love to want the best for the other person, but whether it turns out that way or not does not determine the value of what we have done. Mother Teresa

What do you usually pray about?

I think I frequently get prayer backwards.

When I first began my attempt to follow Jesus, I found fascination in the public prayers of more seasoned Christians. They prayed about every event in life, every choice and decision. They prayed for safety and health, for pregnancy, and for nearly any imaginable result.

Christian athletes prayed for success, Christian soldiers prayed for victory, and Christian business folks prayed for increased profits. No matter the arena or desired outcome, it seemed that someone prayed about it.

Curiously, there were always profuse thanks from the winners, the success stories, the prosperous, those who realized their dreams. You didn’t hear much from those on the other side of the ledger.

This common model for conversation with God envisions Him as a cosmic vending machine. You choose the preferred product, put in the right payment, turn the handle, and expect Him to produce the right result. And when God meets your expectations, you say thanks.

And if things don’t go your way, then perhaps God is saying, “No” or “Not now.” Perhaps He’s preparing you for a future challenge, or maybe you didn’t pay the right price. Maybe you just don’t have enough faith.

Frankly, the whole thing seemed a bit pointless to me, since He already knows my wants and needs anyway. It felt a little superficial, like I was reading the lines of a script because I was expected to read them. Prayer seemed like an exercise, a sort of false piety intended mostly to say the right words and ultimately get what we want from God.

I think this vending machine model misses the entire point.

I do believe God cares about every event in our lives. I think Jesus grieved when I fell and endured the struggle of paralysis. He weeps at the death of a child, and hates to see us disappointed, sad, or hurt. He does not minimize or dismiss our desires, needs and concerns, but they are clearly not the main point to Him.

Jesus spent most of His time telling us, in Steven Covey’s words, that “…we are not human beings on a spiritual journey, we are spiritual beings on a human journey.”

“Consider how the lilies grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today, and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, how much more will he clothe you, O you of little faith! And do not set your heart on what you will eat or drink; do not worry about it. For the pagan world runs after all such things, and your Father knows that you need them. But seek his kingdom, and these things will be given to you as well. … For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” [Luke 12:27-31,34]

So how does this relate to prayer?

I think the focus of prayer shouldn’t be asking for results and thanking God when we approve of outcomes. We’d do better if we sought help in doing things His way.

• I think He cares what we do; I think He cares much more about how we do it.
• I think He cares about results, but they’re always temporary; I think He cares more about character, which is permanent.
• I think He cares about the path we’re traveling; I think He cares more about the direction we’re heading.
• I think He values me because of my identity as His child, because of who I am in Christ, and not because of what I accomplish.

When things don’t go my way, or when they do, I’d do better to stop seeking a rational, human-created explanation. Sometimes there’s an answer to Why, but mostly the logic is shrouded in the mystery of eternity. Rather than demanding cause-and-effect clarification, I’d do better to ask Him how I ought to respond.

That’s really the central premise of SetFreeToday. Where you’ve been matters less to God than where you’re going. He offers the chance to choose a new direction, a new beginning, each day.

“Thy will be done” isn’t a request for favorable circumstances. It’s a longing to understand how God wants me to respond, the direction He wants me to travel, the kind of person He wants me to become. I need to stop talking, asking, and demanding.

I need to listen and follow.

What’s your take on prayer?

Being a Christian is more than just an instantaneous conversion – it is a daily process whereby you grow to be more and more like Christ. Billy Graham

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“Be careful not to do your ‘acts of righteousness’ before men, to be seen by them. If you do, you will have no reward from your Father in heaven.”

I try to avoid politics. Really, I do.

I dislike partisan bickering and divisiveness that casts someone as the personification of evil simply based on party affiliation. I’m opposed to rhetoric that twists every event to fit a pre-conceived ideology and advance an imperfect human agenda.

Certainly I have my own views on matters of public policy, but I’ve discovered that my personal positions rarely align perfectly with “red” or “blue” factions. I try to listen to all sides, understand the facts, and take a position that makes sense based on my information. I’m also certain that I’m probably wrong more than I’m right. I’m not convinced that any person or ideology holds all the answers, and I’m innately suspicious of those who scream their convictions with absolute certainty.

I profess a single, central truth: Jesus loves me, this I know. I try, and usually fail, to reason and relate from this base.

With that background, I’m mystified by “controversy” surrounding President Obama’s choices regarding observance of the National Day Of Prayer.

Personally, I believe that every day ought to be a day of prayer, though I fall significantly short of that mark in my own life. And whenever people choose to gather to pray corporately on any occasion, I believe God hears and answers those prayers.

But why is any individual’s choice regarding prayer a matter of concern to Christians? When did publicly prescribed prayer become a requirement?

“And when you pray, do not be like the hypocrites, for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and on the street corners to be seen by men. I tell you the truth, they have received their reward in full. But when you pray, go into your room, close the door and pray to your Father, who is unseen. Then your Father, who sees what is done in secret, will reward you. And when you pray, do not keep on babbling like pagans, for they think they will be heard because of their many words. Do not be like them, for your Father knows what you need before you ask him. (Matthew 6: 5-8)

My prayers are between God and me, and I’m grateful that He forgives me for not talking and listening to Him as much as I should. Sometimes I pray corporately with other believers, but most often I pray behind closed doors. And far too often I don’t pray at all. I’ve never attended a public observance of the National day Of Prayer. That makes me no less sincere as a believer, just as regular attendance offers no indication of another’s relationship with Jesus.

If I judge another’s personal prayer life, I need to be careful that I don’t set a standard I cannot meet. If we feel we can decide when and how someone else should talk to God, we might someday find ourselves on the other end of that stick.

The president, like anyone else, ought to be free to pray, or not, according to his own conscience. And Christians, especially, ought to respect and honor that choice.

How can you and I make each day a personal day of prayer?

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