Have you noticed the world getting louder? That there’s just so much more grabbing for your attention? I’m finding I’m being bombarded almost from the second I wake up, to the moment I go to sleep. There just seems to be so many ‘things’ that want to take from you. Expectations. Things you ‘should’ do. Political messages, religious demands, work pressures, the crush of insatiable capitalism. It’s unrelenting, and it seems to be increasing. I don’t really ‘live online’, and try to keep a low social media profile, however even I’m finding there’s so many things that make my blood boil as soon as I log onto Facebook, or read the news. Things that affront my faith, heresies, wolves dressed in sheep’s clothing. Things wanting to tear down. I’ve found there’s a stack of things simply yelling at me. Yelling, assaulting almost every part of my being. Have you found that? Even in my own walk of faith, there seem to have been people and organisations yelling out at me, proclaiming all sorts of things. Yelling out a mish-mash of political messages intertwined with an ‘interesting’ doctrine. Yelling out for me to attend their church, their conference, their course, or read their latest book. Yelling out for me to join their particular political movement, cause or group. These things – they burden. They saddle with distraction, and they crowd out the quiet whisper of truth. Yelling out. Here’s what I’ve also found, in amongst the noise. The quiet whisper of truth. From the get go, this quiet whisper isn’t some zen-like state. It’s not finding mindfulness, or meditating on nothing. It’s not something abstract that distracts you, or promises self-fulfilment, or fills your mind with another distraction. No, this quiet whisper is something completely different. I’m talking specifically in relation to my faith, but I think these principles can probably be applied to most areas of life. You see this yearning for the truth in so many areas. You see it with food, when people seek out the ‘original’ ways of doing things. You see it in some aspects of environmentalism, where people seek ways to live without the noise of everyday, and electing for a sustainable lifestyle. You see it when people restore cars, aiming to get their classic back to ‘original’ condition. You see it when people lose their way in their relationships, and they seek to find the things they first enjoyed about each other. The quiet whisper of truth. Listen to her. This is how she makes herself known to me: She is the quiet whisper guiding me to holiness, when there’s yelling about ’10 things I need to do to improve my life’ She’s the gentle beckoning to repentance, when the seductive siren of lust tries to tempt me She’s the sweet call of righteousness, when the hiss of shadows tries to lure me to corruption She’s the unfailing rock I grasp to, when the tide of popular culture melts beneath my feet She is the wisdom of ages, unchanging, unfailing, unfaultable, when the dross of fancy speakers, loud music and ‘Jesus is my boyfriend’ messages turn to dust. This quiet whisper of truth. Heed her call. I’ve found this whisper, this whisper in places seldom sought. I’ve found her in the beautiful Law. I’ve found her in the ancient voice of the prophets. She calls out your name. I’ve found her, not in the flashing lights of the pulpit, but in seeking, and searching the scriptures. This whisper of truth, I have found her in the counsel of men who speak quietly. I have found her in the voices of women refined by fire. Her voice isn’t brash, but her authority is immutable Her call is sweet, but her message is life-affirming Her whisper illuminates the hidden darkness in you, her embrace calls you to repentance, her grace calls you quietly, calls you to the light. I’ve found this quiet whisper of truth makes me squirm, and makes me uncomfortable. Truth will do that, for darkness can’t hide when the light of truth beams down. Let me encourage you to seek this truth. Seek out her quiet whisper, this quiet whisper of truth.
Lose weight. Work less. Be kinder to my family. Listen more. Take time to smell the roses. Enjoy sunrises. Read more. Exercise.
If 2016 has taught me anything, it’s that freedom of speech is more important than ever. It’s taught me that there’s people from both sides of the political spectrum that prefer to use insults and smear to respond to things that cross their sensibilities (or insensibilities!). I’ve learned that there’s a huge movement against free thinking. There seems to be people, ideologies and movements that want to police your very thoughts and closely held beliefs.
2016 has taught me that there are people that are very well prepared to label uncomfortable facts as an ‘ism’ or a ‘phobia’. 2016 has taught me that there are some people who’s default response to my beliefs, thoughts or ideology is to call me all manner of things, without actually asking, engaging or seeking to find out the why of these beliefs.
I’ve found that there’s a large swathe of people, like myself, who for too long have been polite. Perfectly rational, normal people who for too long have bitten their tongue, either publically or privately. People that have literally been too scared to voice conservative or libertarian viewpoints. Kind, hard working, compassionate people who have been scared to speak out on important issues because any dissenting view gets dubbed as racist, intolerant, bigoted, nationalist, unkind or uncaring.
2016 has taught me that there are people who passionately argue ‘against the rich’, but never say how much of their own personal income or assets should be ‘redistributed’.
2016 has taught me that there are Christians who worship a Jesus who’s big on acceptance but silent on all that horrible sin stuff, mute on repentance and uncomfortable with a Sovereign Lord.
2016 has taught me that there’s a stack of people who resent being told what to do. That there seems to be a class of people who make decisions based on good intentions, rather that good outcomes. It’s taught me that even within a so called Liberal party, there are people who want to placate and pander to illiberal policies and outcomes.
So if 2016 has taught me anything, it’s that my opinion is worth just as much as anyone elses. It’s taught me that I’ve still got a voice, and I’m still going to use it. It’s reminded me that freedom of speech, freedom of thought and liberty are more important than ever. It’s reminded me that I will not be told what to think, or say, and I’m not going to be silent.
So my resolution for 2017 is to remove the shackles of politeness and timid silence. I don’t expect to ruffle any feathers or change anyone’s opinion. I’m not looking to cause a stir or be unkind. I’m just resolving in 2017 to exercise my voice. It’s probably the only exercise I’ll do!
Editors note: If you’re not into preachy, Christian blogs, this one isn’t for you.
An associate posted a thought provoking post the other day dubbed ‘12 Reasons Millennials are OVER Church‘. Have a squiz at it. I read it. I read it again. And again.
My first, second and third impressions is that the author thinks way too highly of himself, is waayyyy to happy to signal his virtues and seems more than happy to blame others.
I read his bio and about him, and my personal opinions of him softened, just a little.
The article ’12 Reasons Millennials are OVER Church’ is, for the most part, is a list that says ‘wa wa wa wa me me me me’. Read it for yourself.
The author though, is onto something – I suspect though he doesn’t know what it is.
He’s rallying against something, in hope for something, but is looking in the wrong spots.
His heart naturally is in the right place, but he’s asking the wrong questions.
Now, I try to avoid preachy things on this blog. Actually, I like to avoid preachy things like the plague, because no one likes preachy things. I don’t even like preachy things. But I’m going to get preachy, because the author is striking a match against every surface, hoping it would light, when only flint will cause the spark.
So lets get down to business.
‘The Church’ has failed Millennials. Big time.
It’s not because ‘the Church’ hasn’t been inclusive
It’s not because ‘the Church’ isn’t giving to the poor
It’s not because ‘the Church’ isn’t accountable for it’s finances
It’s not because ‘the Church’ isn’t mentoring it’s young (although there is a yawning gap here)
The Church has failed Millennials because for the last umpteen years, all that’s been served up is what could be best described as a wishy-washy ‘Jesus is my boyfriend’ gospel. The Church has failed miserably to teach basic, fundamental truths.
The Church has absolutely abdicated it’s responsibility on key matters such as repentance, the Sovereignty of the Lord, the authority of the Scriptures.
The Church has really, really made a mess of any type of systematic teaching.
Think about strong cultures. I’ve written about culture before, but just think about it. What makes a culture strong? Systematic teaching. Living the culture. Breathing the culture. Being deliberate in teaching the young the culture. Imparting. Mentoring. Teaching lore and law. Wrestling with it. Wrestling with your place in it.
When was the last time you actually heard a Church talk about it’s doctrinal statements? Explored – and I mean really explored what it means to be a Christian? The author seems to critisise Christians who explore the truth, who delve into their faith, who explore the beautiful Scriptures. Reasons 7 & 9 talk about how Millennials don’t want to be preached at, but want to hear about the controversial issues. I whole heartedly agree that mentorship is lacking in the church, however, preaching – and I mean real systematic preaching and teaching is a wonderful, effective and authoritative way of delivering truth.
It’s telling, that the author seldom talks about biblical truth. About teaching even the very basic fundamentals of faith. There’s no real talk of ‘hey, teach us the truth and let us go and make disciples of Jesus’. There’s no real talk of ‘how can we really be set apart in righteousness’. There’s scant talk of biblical basics such as sin, repentance and forgiveness.
The truth is, the Church has failed Millennials. It’s failed Millennials by not giving them even the most basic tools for understanding biblical authority. For having the confidence to stand of the word of the Lord. For imparting discernment. In a time when the Uniting Church of Australia is scared to mention the name of Jesus in it’s advertising material, I tell you – the Church has failed Millennials.
To quote the X-Files, the truth is out there. Where’s the best place to start? Pick up your Bible. Start reading. Read it with fresh eyes. Ask the Lord to reveal himself to you. Ask him ‘why’. Find him in the story of creation. Find him in the exodus. Find him in the Passover. Find him in beautiful detail in the law. Find his promises in the prophets. Find his fulfilment in his Son. Explore the Gospels. Read, and re-read the letters. Read it for yourself.
There are some great podcasts out there. Don’t find ones that cover the hot topics. Find ones that explore the truth. Find ones that will help you understand the Scriptures as they were intended to be explored. Find ones that will give you the tools to both understand what the Scriptures ment when they were written, and what they mean for you now.
We are living in a time were globally, Christianity is under persecution. I read just earlier this week a church in Cairo was bombed with worshipers inside. ISIS is doing dreadful things to Christians, as well as other Muslims and minorities. Countries like Iran and Saudi Arabia actively make it difficult for Christians. Churches in the Philippians and Malaysia are being burnt down. In ‘the West’, churches aren’t being burned down, but hold up a bible and preach the gospel in a university, and tell me about the warm reception you get.
The things the author desires are good things- charity, mentorship, accountability. These are good things, but they don’t nourish the soul. The sooth, but don’t heal. They wipe tears, but they don’t reconcile the ledger of sin.
The Church has failed Millennials. It’s time now for Millennials to grow up, take responsibility of their own faith and start grappling with their own faith, and not by having a wa wa fest over the ills of the Church.
I was privileged to go to a Samoan wedding last night. It was the first Samoan wedding I’ve been to. Actually, it was just the wedding reception, but there was enough Samoan to know it was almost exclusively a Samoan wedding. I’ve been to other cultural weddings in the past. I’ve been to a Macedonian wedding, an Indian wedding and plenty of Aussie weddings. Incidentally, do you know the difference between an Aussie wedding and an Aussie funeral? One less drunk.
Jokes aside, it was a beautiful reception. The groom was a couple of years younger than me, and is currently a professional rugby league player. To be honest, no-one really mentioned the bride, as lovely as she was.
Now, I don’t know how indicative this reception was of Samoan wedding receptions, but there were many things that the MC would preface much of the proceedings by saying ‘in Samoan culture’. For example, he’d say ‘in Samoan culture, we always invite the priest and his wife to eat first’, or ‘in Samoan culture, we share dances and songs at gatherings like this’. Indeed, there was much singing, dancing, prayers and formalities. Most of the reception, save for a few speeches, was done in Samoan. One of the grooms family members was a tribal chief, who gave a very ostentatious speech in Tongan. The women all gave dances, the men gave dances, they all gave dances. At various times during the evening, they broke out into beautiful Samoan songs – many of which I recongnised as old church hymns, except in Samoan. It was truly a beautiful experience, and it gives me goosebumps even now thinking about it. Regardless of your views on faith, there is something totally inspiring about spontaneous hymns in a beautiful language.
Just over a year ago, I was in Fiji. Going there, it weighed heavy on my mind the disparity between my Western wealth and the humble, austere living of the Fijians. Anyone who has been to Fiji will know what I’m talking about. How do I reconcile having a plate of food, served by a beautiful Fijian man or woman, who goes home to a simple home, perhaps without even electricity. It wasn’t until I visited a nearby village and partook in a kava ceremony that it made sense – how the Fijians could live like this – really in what we would describe as poverty.
During this ceremony, the village elders described how they were deliberate in preserving their culture. How they were committed to seeing their culture and their way of life preserved and passed onto their children, and their children’s children. They were describing their love of their culture. So we sat there, on the floor of this wall-less shelter listening to the elders, sipping kava, being mesmerised by this simple way of life. It wasn’t until that moment that I realised that even though there was a huge disparity – and I mean huge – between my shallow wealth and the depth of their culture that I wondered who was missing out.
I can’t help wonder, now, what is my culture. Even as a fairly conservative kinda guy, I don’t have any real rituals, customs or rites. I had no formal initiation into manhood. I have a personal faith, but to say the predominant culture I find myself is in anyway religious would be incorrect. I have no tribe with a chief, I have no songs of my forefathers, even at significant events (weddings, funerals etc), to say there are cultural expectations would be a stretch of the imagination. I have no special language to pass onto my son or daughter, no lore nor rites. I pray I will train them up in the ways of the Lord, and this is one inheritance I am very proud to implore them to find their faith in Him.
So, we – I – have very little in the way of culture. What do we have? I have been searching for the answer. What have we found our new culture? I look back to the social revolutions of the 60’s, where there was a very clear rebellion against the conservative ways of the 50’s. It is very easy to see the difference this rebellion, if you want to call it that, had on our Western society. But even now, if one was to rebel, what culture would they be rebelling against? If I was to tell my culture to ‘stick it’, so to speak, what would I actually be rebelling against, for the cultural rules and expectations placed on me are so minimal.
In the years proceeding 1990, Latvia, along with many other former Soviet republics regained independence after being occupied, bound by the evil yolk of communism. During those oppressive years, the Communists imposed their might on the Latvians, forbidding the language, the culture, the stories, the lore. In the three decades since independence, Latvia, as well as her sister states Lithuania and Estonia have been deliberate in nurturing their culture, their language and traditions. Jay Nordlinger writes that for many Lativans returning to Latvia after Communism it has been both a physical and spiritual experience. Many Jews similarly express similar sentiments when they return to Israel.
I love capitalism, and firmly believe ethical capitalism (I know some friends will scoff at that term!) does much more benefit than controlled economies. What capitalism can’t do, what it cant buy or produce though is connection, culture and being. I wonder, if, here in ‘the West’, we have traded culture, connection and a sense of being for a never-satisfied need for ‘things’ and ‘stuff’. I wonder.
Culture, in the traditional sense of the word, doesn’t spring up overnight, but something I think needs to be practiced daily. One only needs to look at the Jews to see how, especially for observant Jews, their culture is a daily practice. It’s a culture that’s sustained them through over 3500 of human existence, through being scattered amongst the earth, through Pogroms and Holocausts and ever present promises of destruction.
So I ask – do you come from a strong culture? How do you see culture in terms of identity? Is it a culture you wish to impart into your children? Do you find comfort in the company of ‘your own’?
You may think this blog is somewhat somber, and perhaps it is. I guess I’m just missing this idea of culture, this idea of belonging to something bigger than myself. Something that perhaps compliments my faith, and something bigger to shepherd my children in as I guide them through the wilds to maturity. I’m interested. Tell me your thoughts.
Picture credit from http://www.qiane.co.nz/anele-nigel-le-lagoto-resort-savaii-destination-wedding/
You’re answer is probably the last 007 movie you watched!
I got the title of this blog from a news article. You can read it here. It talks of a teacher in America who, on Wednesdays, holds the ‘Gentleman’s Club’. On that Wednesday, he dresses the boys in shirts, ties and jackets. He teaches them things like how to shake hands, how to make eye contact, open doors and address adults. The take away quote from the article for me is this:
“I know a lot of them struggle because a lot of them don’t have men at home, so I just want them to grow up and think of the things that I teach them…A lot of my students perform well when they know someone cares about them”
A lot of them struggle because a lot of them don’t have men at home.
A lot of them struggle, because a lot of them don’t have men at home.
You can read the correlation between the outcomes for children who don’t have their biological father living at home. Do some reading for yourself, and investigate the family patterns of people who are incarcerated, have higher rates of illicit drug use or dependency, teenage pregnancy and mental illness. One of the strongest indicators for these is a child not having their biological dad living at home with their biological mother.
Sociologists and politicians, I’m sure, will have a lot to say about this, most of it claptrap. The solutions inevitably will focus around building a bureaucracy, programs, incentives, studies and commissions to support the drug dependent, the criminal, the mentally ill, the pregnant teenager.
Here’s what it comes down to for me however.
Self control. Specifically, a man displaying self control. This is probably one of the rare times feminists and I will agree, but for different reasons and different outcomes.
It begins with a man displaying self control around women. Around his girlfriend, the girl at the party, the girl down the road, the girl he sees every now and again. Self control that he doesn’t put himself in a situation where he could get her pregnant. Self control to stop way before that inevitable temptation starts, because honestly, once he gets that girl pregnant, his choices are limited, and his responsibilities increase. We know from the boys in the abovementioned story how much they suffer not having an active, committed, hands on dad at home.
It begins with the man who finds himself getting frustrated with his partner, and pushes her once. Then again. Then it’s a shove. Then it’s drinking, and another shove. Before he knows it, he’s lost control. He’s out of control, and the people who should be trusting in him for their safety and security fear him. His partner doesn’t know how long this good, or bad turn will last, and life is lived on eggshells. His daughter learns that this is how men are, his sons will have this destructive path imprinted on them. Because he lacked self control, his missus leaves, he’s involved with the courts, the police, the law. Who will teach his sons self control?
It starts with a promotion, and a payrise. It comes with a bit more prestige. A bit more entitlement. Maybe a business card, maybe a car. He finds he gets more fulfilment from work than his family, more adoration from the juniors than his wife, more respect from his peers than his kids. He finds himself surging in a tide of success, and his control at home diminishes. It becomes an annoyance. His influence at home becomes transactional, not relational. Who is there when his son needs loving guidance and firm direction? Who is there when his son loses his cool?
The path of a dedicated husband and father is, in my opinion, one of the hardest things to do. There is a delicate balance between just providing and influencing. There is an ongoing tension between taking the easy road, to loving guidance, to punitive discipline. There’s the unrelenting and oppressive lure of sexual temptation, available literally at the tap of your fingers. A man has access to instant credit. Gambling on his phone in real time. Endless entertainment on the computer or TV.
I started this article talking about the Wednesday Gentleman’s Club, and how one teacher influenced these precious boys just by meeting some BASIC needs – providing good clothing, teaching them to shake hands, teaching them to open a door. These are BASIC needs – needs these precious boys hadn’t received at home, because of an absent father. Because a man lacked self control, because he used a woman to gratify his own selfish desires, and now isn’t taking up the mantle of his responsibility.
The purpose of this article isn’t a critisism, it’s a challenge. It’s a challenge to all the dads and fathers out there. It’s a challenge to the single guys. It’s a challenge to me. What is the Wednesday Gentleman’s Club in your life? Are you the one teaching your boys to dress like a man, talk like a man, shake hands, open doors address others with respect? Are you the one teaching your boys the enduring gift of self control? Are you practicing self control now, so you can teach it later to your sons?
I know you can’t be everything to your boys. I can’t be my son’s footy coach, on account that I can’t kick a footy to save my life. Here’s what I can do though. I can teach him to respect his coach. I can teach him to be a team player, to share the ball around, to win with grace and to lose with dignity.
Who will be teaching your sons about self control? Will it be you, or someone else. Will it be the boys in blue? A gang? A magistrate? Their teacher?
I firmly believe that as a society, we will be stronger when more men exercise self control.
Before you say it, yes, I didn’t blog about day six. That’s because most of the day was spend driving from Sydney to Port Macquarie. Because you’re all terribly interested, we stopped off to see my brother in law and his family for the night in Wauchope, a quaint little town inland a bit from Port.
The morning of day six was spent watching my nephew play soccer, so I found an excuse to pop into town to fetch some supplies for the drive back to Brisbane. I like Wauchope, it’s old rail yards and country feeling. Check out a few snaps.Day six, while spent mostly driving back to Brisbane, was a day of quiet contemplation, and if there’s two things I like, it’s quietness, and contemplation.
Over the last week, we’d cruised the nighttime peace of the Lockyer Valley. I’d taken on the foggy lofts of the Toowoomba Range, and the loneliness of the Gore Highway before dawn. We galloped across the western corridor of New South Wales, and I suspect if we’d come a day earlier, it would have been a picture of dry farmlands, aching for the rain that accompanied us on our drive. We voyaged past towns of yore, sleepy villages and tired rural centers. Gently undulating mountains and now-green farmland greeted us for many hundreds of kilometers, then offset to the murderous roads of Sydney.
We’d basked in the joy of Sydney Harbour and enjoyed what people travel all over the world to experience. That crystal harbour, the vibrant city, the Opera House and the Bridge, all stunning snapshots of that magnificent city.
But now, as we pull out of ‘the doughnut’ at Port Macquarie, I look forward to the next six or so hundred kilometers to beautiful Brisbane.
You need to understand that pretty much from Coffs through to the Ballina is God’s country, and I don’t say that lightly. In the afternoon sun, this country is about as close to the heavens as one can get.
On the west, as the sun drizzles over the mountain you’ll see see cane farm nestled in the cradle of valleys. Rivers take the path of least resistance towards the sea, carving a curvy glass mirror through the lows of the countryside. Oyster leases peak out of the water and old couples, sipping coffee out of metallic cups look into it. Fortified bridges, like church spires guide the way from south to north, forcing even the most seasoned traveler to cover the break and marvel at the still rivers underneath. I’m reminded of my time doing disaster relief after ex-tropical cyclone Oswald, in a small farming valley of the Lockyer. Old farmers talked with reverence of the waters, which provided life, death, inspiration and fear, and a local to these parts knew only too well how these currently dulcet rivers turned to fists of rage during a ‘big wet’.
To the east, much of the same. Quiet towns, abandoned churches, picket fences and farmhouses held up by ivy. The sun casts long shadows and the cane seems to arch west, aching for the last warms of the winter sun as it ducks behind the western horizon.
We inch north and run parallel to the coast. From Nambucca, we see glimpses of the Pacific, and it continues to reveal itself little by little as we head up the coast. This freeway is built for speed, the country was formed for taking it easy, and part of me thinks it’s a shame that we see this part of the earth as an inconvenience to race past. , rather than enjoy its intricate beauty. Once we hit the Byron hinterland, it’s just over an hour to home, and just over an hour until life kicks back in to its usual gears.
I continue at 110, wishing I could spend a week exploring these Northern Rivers, but aching for my own shower, my own toilet and my own bed.
It’s been a fantastic week on many levels. I’ve learned a lot about myself, my family, this country. Like any travel, it opens doors, gives you this wunderlust, makes you want to leave, and makes you want to come home again.
Growing up in a church-going Christian family, I had the privilege of hearing many wonderful stories of people who have had their lives turned around by the saving grace of God. People who turned away from drugs, violence, gangs – all manner of evils. Similarly, I’ve been blessed and inspired by many ‘heros’ of the faith – women and men who have risked it all to take the powerful message of Jesus to people all over the world, even in the face of danger and death.
Probably the worst I’ve ever copped for being a Christian was being called a ‘churchie;, or people giving me their frank and honest opinion on faith, organised religion or their ideas on God. Hardly persecution!
For many ‘Western’ Christians (myself included), it is easy to be two things. Firstly, too comfortable (even caviller) in our faith. The second, there’s a risk to see these great stories of lives turned around, or being bold in the faith as the ‘golden standard’ for living your life. The risk is that a boring, suburban life kind of isn’t cutting it, and that this kind of testimony isn’t as powerful.
I want to say that I truly believe every Christian has a ‘mission field’. It could be overseas, it could be in your own country. None of us are called to ‘hide our light under a bushel’, so I don’t want this to sound like an excuse for sitting on your hands and being a ‘Sunday Christian’. What I’m saying is, for me, certainly in the past, I never really thought my testimony would cut it compared to some of the ‘guts and glory’ ones I heard from the pulpit.
I’ve been blessed to meet people, as I’ve grown, who don’t have a whizz-bang testimony. Men and women who have not gone out and changed the world, who never had a life of vice and crime, who have never influenced thousands towards Jesus. These people, however, have made a profound difference in my life, and the life of those around them. People that have been Jesus to their colleagues, their neighbours, the guys at the pub, the mums at the school drop off, the homeless guy they see on the way to work.
People that faithfully, consistently and lovingly apply their lives to reading the scriptures, praying, practicing being Jesus to the ‘ones’ around them. Loving their family, being dedicated to their spouses and children, being faithful in their employment. These are the people that most inspire me.
People, that, who on the outside are quite unremarkable, but to me, have shown Jesus to me more than any big-name preacher or crime-to-Christ could ever do.
In everyone’s life, there will be times and seasons to be bold. To step out in faith, to take a risk, to put yourself out there. I know I should do it more – much more. What I’m saying, however, is that I’m most inspired, most impressed when I meet men and women that are faithfully committed in the small things, and who are Jesus to the ‘ones’.
Just because your testimony doesn’t include preaching to the masses, turning your life around from crime, from doing amazing work for God, it does not mean your testimony is any less worthy or special. It takes guts to represent Jesus in your family, your work, your community group, even your church. It takes guts to share the good news – even when you’re not facing harsh persecution. It takes commitment, strength and character to read the Word everyday, pray for your loved ones and your enemies and cloak yourself in humility everyday.
So to those fine men and women out there with a boring testimony, I want to honour you. I want to honour faithfulness, your love and your compassion. The difference you make in the ‘ones’ is immeasurable, and I thank you for it.