Since going through a difficult experience three years ago, I’ve battled subsequent bouts of intense anxiety and fear. Upon learning of my season of struggle, a dear friend encouraged me to memorize, meditate on, and embrace John 10. The passage, she explained, expounds on the Good Shepherd we have in Jesus and calls us to recognize and listen to His voice rather than voices of doubt, darkness, discouragement, and shame.
I spent much of my post-college career as a sports journalist—regularly talking with Olympic and professional athletes who professed and modeled a life devoted to Jesus. It wasn’t until I had interviewed well over one hundred athletes that I realized I was more apt to share their testimonies with others than I was to share my own. I believed friends and acquaintances would rather hear about the athletes’ journeys than hear about mine.
Friends often remind me, “You’re not alone.” “God is with you,” they say. “Yes,” I answer. “He is.” Yet there are times—mostly when I’m pressed to accomplish a daunting task without anyone physically present to help me, or when I’m alone for extended periods of time—that I wonder, “Is God here with me?” And, if so, “What does His presence truly mean?”
Yesterday I spoke with a couple whose son became severely ill when he was just five years old. With raw emotions, the husband and wife described how their child collapsed—and their subsequent mad dash to the hospital.
At times I’m hesitant to invite others to pray for me. If, for example, I say, “Please pray for me, I’m experiencing a spiritual attack in a certain area,” do I sound arrogant? Do I sound as if I think I’ve done something so important the enemy’s trying to stop me? Am I possibly calling something a spiritual attack that’s actually a consequence of something I’ve done or haven’t done? Will friends and ministry partners grow weary of repeated requests for prayer? Are my prayer needs too personal to share?
I’ve written before about a raucous nightclub that opened across the street from my family’s home in Uganda—causing us to move out before we had a new place to live. The unexpected and challenging experience—moving from the stable house and community we had lived in for seven consecutive years—led to a state of ongoing transition. We ultimately ended up settling in a community where we knew no one, and had to start over from scratch.
When considering the amazing book of Revelation, I sometimes shudder as I contemplate the trials and tribulations the apostle John forewarns will occur prior to Jesus’ return. Recently, however, I joined thousands of men and women around the world for an in-depth, yearlong study of Revelation.
An article in the business magazine Fast Company suggests that most people choose to spend time with people much like themselves. Why? Because life seems less complicated when we’re surrounded by people who agree with us, think like us, and possess similar values.
Sometimes we can make sweeping generalizations about all sorts of things—or even about people. “No ___________ are friendly,” we might say. “All ___________ are corrupt,” we insist.
Recently, three of my son’s soccer teammates spent the weekend with us. On Saturday, the boys decided to paddle their canoes to the home of some friends of mine. Though they weren’t expecting guests, the Andersons showered the boys with hospitality when they arrived at their dock.
On the way home from soccer practice last week, my 12-year-old son busily jotted his thoughts onto a notepad he had brought with him. When he finished, he handed it to me and said, “This is what I [created].”