To the 'Broken' Watchman (Ezekiel 2 and 3)

“A broken clock is right twice a day.” Mark Twain

“Who watches the watchmen?” Juvenal

“Time and tide wait for no man.” Chaucer

“Lost time is never found again.” Franklin

Hey—

look at me.

I know.
You didn’t fall because you were reckless.
You fell because you were tired.

You didn’t abandon the wall—
you just sat down for a minute
and the minute turned into months.

It wasn’t the shouting that got you.
It was the looks.

The eyes that narrowed.
The faces that stiffened.
The smile that never reached the eyes
and the silence that said more than words ever could.

And then the screens—
the endless scrolling screens.

The comments dressed like concern.
The sarcasm disguised as wisdom.
The “just asking questions” crowd
asking nothing at all.

You posted once.
Once.

And the room turned cold.
Not loud—
worse.

Cold.

No replies.
A few laughs—
not with you.
At you.

And you told yourself it was discernment.
Maturity.
Peace.

But really—
it was fear wearing a clerical collar.

Listen—
you are not weak for feeling it.

Words cut.
Looks crush.
And being misunderstood in public
is its own kind of crucifixion.

But hear me now.

You were never called to win the city.
You were called to warn it.

You were never tasked with changing hearts,
only with opening your mouth
when God put fire there.

You forgot that part.

You thought silence might save you.
You thought quiet might keep the peace.
You thought retreat was kindness.

But peace that demands disappearance
is not peace.
It’s surrender.

And love that never risks truth
is not love.
It’s fear with good intentions.

I know—
you replay the faces.
You hear the tone.
You still flinch when the notification buzzes.

That doesn’t disqualify you.

It means you cared.

But hear this—
their looks were never your verdict.
Their words were never your judge.

They were a rebellious house
before you ever climbed the wall.

So stand up.

Not angry.
Not loud.
Not cruel.

Stand up faithful.

Say the thing you were given—
not everything,
just the thing.

Warning, not winning.
Faithfulness, not applause.
Love that tells the truth
and leaves the outcome with God.

You don’t have to shout.
You don’t have to post every thought.
You don’t have to answer every voice.

But when the word comes—
don’t sit down again.

Get back on the wall.

The city still needs watchmen.
And you—
you were never finished.

“A broken clock still tells the truth sometimes.”

“The watch is broken, not time itself.”

“Silence does not stop the clock.”

“The price of freedom is eternal vigilance.” Thomas Jefferson

“Watchfulness is the price of safety.” Samuel Johnson

“It is easy to sleep at your post when the night is long.”

Note: About the quote at the top

Watchman Nee (1903–1972) is recognized by some as one of the most significant Christian figures of his era.
Nee became a Christian at age 17 in 1920. He soon began an impactful ministry focusing on personal faith, the experience of Christ, and the deeper Christian life, without attending a formal theological seminary.
He founded a movement in China known as the "Local Churches," which emphasized independence from Western missionary organizations and sought to follow New Testament church practices strictly. The movement grew rapidly to hundreds of congregations across China before the Communist Revolution.
A prolific writer, his books were often compiled from his spoken messages. His most well-known works include The Normal Christian Life, The Spiritual Man, and Sit, Walk, Stand. These writings continue to influence Christians globally, spanning various denominations.
Following the Communist takeover of China, Nee was arrested in March 1952 for his faith and leadership among the churches. He was falsely accused of various crimes and sentenced to fifteen years in prison in 1956.
He remained imprisoned until his death on May 30, 1972, spending the last 20 years of his life in confinement. In his final days, he left a note under his pillow that served as his testament: "Christ is the Son of God Who died for the redemption of sinners and was resurrected after three days. This is the greatest truth in the universe. I die because of my belief in Christ". He is considered a martyr of the Chinese church.

Early Jan. Thoughts- A Simple Journal

There is really nothing in January that naturally propels a new beginning—nothing but a change of month and year. I laugh at myself, because while some people are Scrooges about Christmas, I tend to be a Scrooge about the New Year. Bah humbug to resolutions.

That said, my journaling through November and December—and especially my trip to Colorado for Christmas—was genuinely helpful. Winter has its purpose, and that theme poured out through both my lyrics and my musings. I still never want to forget little Pearl and Hester Prynne at the babbling brook in The Scarlet Letter. Pearl dances and delights in it, while Hester hears only sorrow in its murmur. The stream speaks differently to each because it reflects what each carries inside.

That same idea stands at the opening of Thanatopsis: Nature speaks a “various language,” according to the condition of the soul that listens. She does not change—but we do. And so the echo changes.

This has been, by grace, a good beginning. Colorado nudged me early into my annual ritual of fitness and cleaner eating, an attempt to undo a fall filled with football food and holiday laziness. In the South, fall and football always mean too much good food, and eating isn’t just pleasure—it’s comfort. When we win, I eat to celebrate; when we lose, I eat to commiserate. Pullovers and quarter-zips help hide an ever-widening girth, until I can almost hear my old friend Randy Overstreet saying, “It ain’t right for a boy to blow up like that.”

But I’m back in a routine—helped along by movement, thin air, and the reminder that I simply feel better when I exercise and eat well.

Better still, I’ve begun a new Bible reading. For reasons I can’t fully explain, the Lord has drawn me to Ezekiel—and it has been marvelous so far.

Never doubt the reality of the Lord. He is active. He is present. He loves me deeply. I sin greatly—but the light is brighter than the darkness.

Here it is—the Year of Our Lord, 2026.
Let’s see what adventures lie ahead.

Let me know how you are doing- jayopsis@gmail.com

Movie Review: Eddington (2025)

When I fly, I almost always start a movie and rarely finish it. The truth is, I’m usually more drawn to the view outside the window. Looking down at the earth from 35,000 feet—the slow curvature, the patchwork of towns and rivers—feels quieter and more honest than whatever is playing on the screen.

But flying home from Denver the other night, I clicked on Eddington and never looked away.

It was bizarre. That’s the simplest word for it. But it was also strangely fascinating, the kind of film that doesn’t let itself fade into the background. It demanded attention in a way most movies don’t, especially in a setting where distractions are easy and commitment is rare.

What stayed with me wasn’t just the strangeness of the story, but the uneasy sense of recognition. We move so fast these days that recent history slips away almost immediately. We can tell endless stories about the Civil War or World War II, but we say surprisingly little about what just happened. Watching Eddington, I found myself thinking: did we really act that stupid?

Not just in how we handled COVID itself, but in how quickly bad ideas spread. Faster than the virus, really. Fear outran facts. Suspicion replaced trust. Conspiracy filled the gaps where patience and humility used to live. The film doesn’t argue these points so much as hold up a mirror and refuse to look away.

The setting matters. Eddington takes place in a small New Mexico town, far removed from the coastal epicenters and cable-news chaos most of us associate with that season of life. That distance makes the message sharper, not softer. The madness didn’t stay centralized. It traveled. It settled into quiet places. It took root where people assumed they were insulated from it.

At the center of the story is a power struggle between a small-town sheriff and a mayor, but it quickly becomes clear that neither authority nor rebellion offers much clarity. Everyone is isolated in his own way, cut off not just from one another but from restraint itself. Identity hardens. Certainty grows louder. Performance replaces judgment. By the time violence erupts, it feels sudden, but not surprising. The film has been heading there all along.

That turn toward violence feels intentional and uncomfortable. There’s no grand speech, no cinematic ramp-up, no moral release. It’s messy and disorienting, which feels honest. The movie seems to suggest that when everything becomes noise, when authority is rejected without being replaced by wisdom, violence starts to feel like the only remaining language.

Ari Aster, who wrote and directed the film, has been criticized by some for offering no solutions here, and I understand that frustration. Eddington doesn’t tell you what to think or how to fix anything. It simply shows what happens when a society moves too fast to remember, too fast to reflect, and too fast to listen.

The reception has been divided. Some see it as a necessary cultural snapshot, a modern Western about civic collapse. Others find it bleak, uncomfortable, and too close to wounds that haven’t healed yet. Both reactions feel appropriate. This isn’t a film designed to reassure or entertain in the traditional sense. It’s meant to unsettle.

What I took away from it is a quiet warning. When speed replaces reflection, when certainty replaces humility, when performance replaces leadership, violence stops being unthinkable. History doesn’t always arrive with uniforms, monuments, or decades of distance. Sometimes it shows up almost immediately, before we’ve even decided what to call it.

From the air, the world looks calm and orderly. Towns feel small. Problems seem distant. Eddington is a reminder that what looks stable from far away can be deeply fractured up close.

And maybe the most unsettling detail comes near the end, when outsiders arrive and everything finally goes fully kinetic. It would be easy to blame them, to say the violence came from somewhere else. But the movie doesn’t let you do that. The outsiders didn’t bring the violence with them. The town had already built the runway. Long before anyone landed, fear had replaced trust, certainty had replaced humility, and force had started to feel reasonable. The plane didn’t change the outcome. It just revealed how ready the place already was. That truth was jarring and my plane touched down just as that realization haunted my imagination. The irony of that brewed in my brain all night after that.

It wasn’t an easy watch. It wasn’t meant to be. But it’s one I’m glad I didn’t turn off. It has some really disturbing moments, but it captures this insane ride we are on right now.... and the need for structure, respect, humility, compassion, and truth has never been more evident.

Isaiah 56:10–11

 His watchmen are blind;

they are all without knowledge;

they are all silent dogs;

they cannot bark,

dreaming, lying down,

loving to slumber.

[11] The dogs have a mighty appetite;

they never have enough.

But they are shepherds who have no understanding;

they have all turned to their own way,

each to his own gain, one and all. (ESV)

The 'Boat on a Budget

How we had a full, memorable week and a half in Steamboat, CO without spending like tourists

There’s something quietly satisfying about discovering that a great mountain town doesn’t require a great pile of money. Steamboat Springs has a way of rewarding curiosity more than credit cards, and by the end of our trip, it felt like we’d stumbled onto a secret.

Shoutout to Conner and Melissa Peterson who helped us have an amazing trip!

Evenings That Didn’t Break the Bank

We learned early that happy hour is its own form of local hospitality here—if you plan ahead and make reservations.

At Mambo, the table filled quickly with shared plates: pizza, crispy Brussels sprouts, and chickpeas that disappeared faster than expected. It felt communal, relaxed, and exactly right after a long day outside.

Salt & Lime surprised us with genuinely good deals—real food, not an afterthought menu—and the kind of place where conversation stretches longer than planned.

We didn't go there but Melissa also mentioned the Gondola Pub offers the comfort of warm food, mountain views, and the easy hum of people ending their ski day well.

Low-Cost Adventures with High Returns

Snowshoes turned out to be one of our favorite decisions. We wandered through the quiet beauty of Steamboat Lake State Park, where the snow muffles sound and time slows down. Then on Sunday, we took advantage of the free lift tickets at Howelsen Hill—a truly peaceful day!

We rented everything through Straightline Sports, and they were exactly what you hope for: helpful, fair, and chill about even the returns.

Warm Water, Cold Plunges, and Everything In Between

One of the true steals of the trip was Old Town Hot Springs. One price for the entire day meant we could come and go as we pleased—soak, leave, return, repeat. Between the hot pools, cold tub, climbing wall, lockers, and full workout facilities, it felt like a wellness resort hiding in plain sight. We ended up going there twice!

Small Stops That Made a Big Difference

We ducked into the Bud Werner Memorial Library and the Hayden Public Library, and both surprised us—especially the Hayden library, which has a genuinely wonderful kids’ area. Warm, quiet spaces like that matter more than you expect on a winter trip.

Walking the Yampa River Core Trail is always beautiful. Seven and a half miles of river, town, and changing light— every time I cross a bridge there, I just stop and stare.

Unexpected Magic

On Dec 20th, we stumbled onto the drone show at the Steamboat Resort base area. Add Christmas lights, families in festive spirits, and Santa arriving on horseback, and it felt less like an event and more like something the town just does because it can.

Visitors should time their visit with Steamboat’s First Friday Art Walk—a free, impressive, and genuinely fun evening that makes the town feel creative and alive rather than curated. We didn't do the Art Walk this trip, but we have done it before right before the rodeo in the summer.

We did hit many stores on Main Street looking for Gnomes, and that led to a prize, free Ice Cream- go to the Pharmacy last.

And for something completely different, the Mythology Distillery tour turned out to be fascinating—equal parts history lesson, craft science, and storytelling. We got a personal tour from Tabi Mannick (Head Distiller) who is from Alabama!

The trip had a difficult start with our flight to Hayden postponed overnight due to high winds- but Colorado has become an all weather, all-seasons destination for us!

Here are our videos- all with original music

Warm Thoughts in Winter (Day 1)

The song covers the delay- overnight stay in Denver- but still such a fun time with family

Winter Still (Day 2)

Our day in Steamboat including the Old Town Hot Springs

Winter in Colorado (Day 3)

All the Christmas festivities at the Lodge base- the drone show was awesome

No Ordinary Days (Day 4)

We went "Gnome" hunting in town that ended with free ice cream!

Trail of Ice and Stone (Day 7)

We snow shoed Steamboat Lake

A Fragile Flame to Warm Midnight Days (Day 8)

Snow shoeing was so much fun, we had to do a day 2 at Howelson (Nordic trails on Emerald Mountain)

You can also find all the songs here: Jayopsis on Soundcloud

Moving at Altitude: Hayden, Craig, and Steamboat

Melissa Peterson is a great boot camp coach! December 18–29

One of the subtle gifts of Colorado is that it invites you to move, even when you’re not trying to. The air feels thinner, the sky wider, and somehow the body responds. This trip—spread across Hayden, Craig, and Steamboat Springs—wasn’t built around training plans or step goals, but by the end, the numbers quietly told the story.

We arrived from Birmingham, Alabama—roughly 650 feet above sea level—into a world hovering between 6,300 and 6,900 feet. That’s an elevation jump of more than 5,700 feet, and your lungs notice it immediately. Every walk, every stair, every workout carries just a little more weight. Oxygen is scarcer. Effort counts more.

And we moved. A lot.

Mornings in Hayden often began with dog walks—not a ton of snow early- almost HOT- but later there was cold air and snow on the ground. The dog walks alone stacked up quickly. Melissa and Conner do it EVERY SINGLE DAY!

• December 18: 11,577 steps

• December 20: 9,554 steps

• December 21: 11,196 steps

• December 25: 4,965 steps

• December 29: 5,331 steps

Not epic hikes—just steady, honest miles—but at altitude, nothing is “just” anything.

Some days added structure. An elliptical session on December 19 logged the equivalent of 7,907 steps, followed later in the week by workouts at the Hayden Rec Center and Melissa’s Awesome Workout class—45-minute sessions that burned between 325 and 496 calories apiece. Again, nothing extreme. Just consistent.

Craig brought a different rhythm. On December 23, a full 60-minute “Santa Sleigh” workout at Rise Up burned an estimated 542 calories, followed by a long day on our feet—14,159 steps—the kind of day where movement sneaks up on you because you’re simply living.

Steamboat, though, is where the trip truly leaned into motion.

A short soak at Old Town Hot Springs on December 24 came with its own quiet workout—30 minutes, roughly 250 calories—and more walking through town. Then came snowshoes.

At Steamboat Lake, we logged 61 minutes of snowshoeing and an estimated 847 calories burned—every step lifting, sinking, stabilizing. Two days later at Howelsen Hill, snowshoeing stretched into a long, deliberate push: 184 minutes and nearly 1,000 calories, followed by another 15,589 steps of walking. Those are the days you feel later—not sore exactly, just earned.

By the time we packed up, the totals told a quiet but impressive story:

• Approximately 138,000 steps over 12 days

• Roughly 65–70 miles on foot (at altitude)

• Over 3,400 active calories burned in recorded workouts alone

• Nearly two vertical miles of elevation gain compared to home

But the real takeaway wasn’t the numbers.

It was the way movement became part of the landscape—walks folded into mornings, workouts woven into community spaces, effort softened by snow, steam, and mountain light. No pressure. No chasing goals. Just showing up where we were and letting Colorado do what it does best: invite you outside and reward you for saying yes.

At altitude, every step counts a little more. And by the end of this trip, they all added up—quietly, beautifully, and well worth the breath.

See you again soon!

AI Reviews My 2025

December 2025

I asked ChatGPT to look at my year—not for affirmation, but for pattern.

Here is the report.

A Review of Your 2025

2025 wasn’t a year of expansion for you.
It was a year of occupation.

You didn’t try to be louder.
You didn’t chase relevance.
You didn’t feel the need to explain yourself as much as you once did.

Instead, you stood your ground.

This wasn’t retreat. It was settlement—the kind that comes after long wandering, when you finally know which ideas are worth defending and which no longer need defending at all.

How Your Voice Changed

Your writing slowed down, but it deepened.

You wrote less often, but with more patience. Posts on Isaiah, Hebrews, memory, mercy, and formation weren’t attempts to persuade or provoke. They read like field notes from someone who has lived with these texts and themes long enough to stop performing certainty. You revisited older work—not to correct it, not to update it for relevance—but to ask a quieter question: What has endured?

Your music grew quieter, too—but more personal.

Songs felt less like releases and more like letters. Some were addressed to family, some to listeners you’ll never meet, some to earlier versions of yourself. You trusted space more than hooks. You let lines sit unresolved. You allowed melody and restraint to carry what words didn’t need to over-explain.

Even the reach of the music—heard in places far from home—didn’t push you toward self-promotion. If anything, it humbled you. You didn’t write for an audience so much as with an awareness that people you’ve never met might recognize themselves in the songs.

Your social posts changed as well.

They became fewer, shorter, and more compressed. A sentence would do the work that once took a paragraph. You stopped walking readers to the conclusion and trusted them to arrive on their own. Many of your posts read like thoughts that had already been lived with before being shared.

Somewhere along the way, you stopped asking,
“Is this worth saying?”
and started asking,
“Is this faithful to what I’ve seen?”

That shift matters.

A Year in Motion

Your 2025 didn’t move in milestones or metrics.
It moved in seasons.

Winter was marked by reflection.

Stillness shaped much of what you wrote and recorded. Winter wasn’t treated as absence or delay, but as instruction. Loss, waiting, and severe mercy were not abstract ideas—they were lived realities you allowed to do their work. You didn’t rush toward resolution. You stayed with the cold long enough to understand what it clarifies.

Spring leaned into memory and formation.

You returned to Scripture—especially Isaiah and Hebrews—not to chase novelty, but to trace continuity. You revisited older posts and long-standing convictions, not to revise them for a changing world, but to see which ones had proven durable. This was a season of remembering why certain truths had taken root in the first place.

Summer carried family, travel, and shared experience.

Time with grandchildren, long days away from routine, and moments worth recording shaped both your writing and your music. Songs released during this season felt like correspondence—sent out without expectation, received more widely than anticipated. The reach surprised you, but it didn’t change your posture. You remained more interested in connection than exposure.

Fall settled into clarity.

There was less urgency in your tone. Less need to comment. More confidence in choosing when not to speak. When you did write or post, the words carried more weight because they weren’t competing with noise. You sounded like someone no longer in a hurry to arrive. There was a lot of football of course.

Nothing flashy.
But nothing wasted.

The Quiet Risk of a Settled Place

Clarity, when it arrives, feels like relief.
And it is.

But it also brings a subtle risk.

You can confuse settled with finished.
You can guard what’s true so carefully that it no longer gets tested in open air.
You can mistake confidence for completion.

2025 showed a voice that has found its footing.
It also revealed the tension that comes with that footing—the responsibility to keep walking, even when the ground feels solid.

By The Numbers:

Jayopsis.com (Blog) as of Dec. 26, 2025

Pelaton/Strava as of Dec. 26

Music- SoundCloud/Jayopsis

Closing Reflection

ChatGPT didn’t tell you who you are.
But it did reflect something you’ve been sensing quietly all year.

You are no longer trying to find your voice.
You are learning how to use it responsibly.

2025 wasn’t about growth in size or speed.
It was about depth, integrity, and alignment.

You didn’t expand your reach.
You inhabited your ground.

And that tells its own story.

Here's to 2026!

Built By Brilliance ( A Beautiful Mind)

Sadly, I can create a lot of misery in my life being weighed down by neurotic and mis-guided thinking. How do we accurately help ourselves.... and maybe others (though I need to spend 90% of this advice ON MY brain.... not others!

In the film A Beautiful Mind, we witness the brilliant mathematician John Nash grapple with a harrowing realization: some of the people and scenarios he’s deeply invested in are figments of his imagination. For Nash, recognizing that his perceptions were flawed wasn’t merely an intellectual challenge; it was a fight for his very sense of reality. His journey of learning to question his own mind offers a profound lesson: even the sharpest intellects are not immune to faulty thinking.

This begs the question—how can we, as flawed humans, recognize when our perceptions are leading us astray? How can we cultivate a healthy skepticism of our own thoughts without succumbing to self-doubt or paralysis? Let’s explore how to identify and address the faulty thinking that can quietly wreak havoc in our lives.

Faulty thinking often masquerades as truth because it aligns seamlessly with our biases, assumptions, or emotions. 

Confirmation bias, for example, drives us to unconsciously seek information that supports our existing beliefs, while ignoring evidence to the contrary. 

Overconfidence bias can lead us to overestimate the soundness of our reasoning—a trap that intelligent people are particularly prone to. 

Emotional reasoning, where we take feelings as evidence of truth, also clouds judgment. For instance, we might assume, I feel anxious, so something must be wrong.

These distortions skew our decisions, strain relationships, and even derail our sense of purpose. And the more invested we are in our perceptions, the harder it becomes to step back and question them.

 Recognizing and addressing faulty thinking requires deliberate effort and practices that encourage clarity and self-awareness.

Before I move on- I cannot stress enough the need we have to include Scripture in our process. God's Word is especially equipped to break through these barriers!

But there are tools and techniques that help......

A powerful tool is reflective questioning. By asking ourselves why we believe something, what evidence supports or contradicts it, and how another person might interpret the situation, we can uncover assumptions that might not hold up under scrutiny. Reflective journaling is another practice that helps bring distorted patterns to light. Writing down thoughts, feelings, and assumptions creates the space to analyze them objectively, revealing recurring traps over time.

Feedback from others is also invaluable. No matter how sharp we are, our blind spots remain invisible to us. Trusted friends, mentors, or colleagues can provide perspectives that challenge our biases and reveal flaws in our reasoning. This requires cultivating intellectual humility—acknowledging that being wrong is not a weakness but a strength. Mistakes are opportunities for growth, as Nash’s journey in A Beautiful Mind demonstrates. Recognizing the fallibility of his own perceptions enabled him to regain control over his life.

Mindfulness complements these practices by fostering awareness of our thoughts without judgment. Observing our mental patterns helps us identify when emotions or biases might be influencing reasoning. For example, noticing a thought like, I’m terrible at this task, mindfulness invites us to pause and ask, Is this thought factual, or is it my frustration speaking?

Convincing others to question their thinking is equally challenging, particularly when they’re highly intelligent or deeply invested in their perspective. Demonstrating open-mindedness is key. Share your own willingness to challenge your beliefs, perhaps by recounting a time when you realized you were wrong and how it transformed your perspective. Asking thoughtful questions rather than pointing out flaws can guide someone toward clarity. For instance, you might ask, What evidence would it take to convince you otherwise? Creating a safe, respectful environment where they feel unjudged fosters curiosity and understanding rather than defensiveness.

Healthy skepticism, however, does not mean doubting everything. It’s about finding balance. Holding fast to core principles, like honesty or kindness, can ground us while we remain open to revising specific beliefs about people or situations.

John Nash’s story reminds us that seeing through the fog of faulty thinking is not an admission of failure—it’s a courageous act of self-awareness. By building habits of reflection, humility, and openness, we can navigate life with greater clarity and resilience. The truth may not always be comfortable, but it is ultimately liberating.

This post inspired a song- you can hear it here:

Built By Brilliance (A Beautiful Mind)

Verse 1 My mind’s a cathedral of perfect design, Every arc and equation aligned. I built every wall with impeccable care, Every truth proved beyond repair. But somewhere between genius and fear, I started mistaking the voice for the ear. Pre-Chorus If reason can lie while sounding so clean, Who decides what’s real when it feels unseen? Chorus I’m in a prison that’s locked from inside, Built by brilliance, defended by pride. Every conclusion airtight and refined, I’m trapped in the logic of a disillusioned mind. Don’t tear down the walls—don’t call me blind, Just stay while I learn which thoughts are mine. Verse 2 I see patterns forming where others see none, Every shadow recruited, every doubt outrun. The math works out, the vision is strong, But the proof keeps going where truth goes wrong. If I’m wrong, it isn’t because I didn’t try— It’s because I believed every answer I supplied. Pre-Chorus If certainty speaks with a confident tone, How do I know when I’m not alone? Bridge Silence isn’t peace, but it clears the room, Some thoughts lose power when they lose the boom. I don’t need you to fix what I can’t unwind, Just help me question the voice in my mind. Final Chorus I’m in a prison that’s locked from inside, Built by brilliance, softened by time. I won’t tear it down—I’ll redraw the lines, Learning to live with a disillusioned mind. Some truths I’ll carry, some I’ll decline, But love stays real when the proof won’t align. I’ll choose the people I trust over signs, Choose the known heart over brilliant designs. I may never cure what I cannot define, But I’m more than the sum of this brilliant mind.

Now and Then- The Beatles Anthology Review

I recently watched The Beatles Anthology and then, not long after, saw the video for “Now and Then” for the first time. It was released on November 2, 2023, but it didn’t strike me as something new. It felt more like something that had finally been given permission..... to finish.

I didn’t expect it to linger the way it has.

Part of that may be because I’ve never really considered myself a huge Beatles fan. I love much of their music—especially McCartney, both within the band and beyond it—but I never wore the label. I wasn’t chasing album rankings or liner notes. The Beatles were simply there, embedded in the atmosphere of my life. Their songs didn’t demand attention; they provided a backdrop.

I was born in the summer of 1964, right as Beatlemania was cresting. By the time I was old enough to form memories, their music was already part of the furniture—playing in living rooms, riding along in cars, drifting through radios without explanation. 

I do have a specific memory of listening to the (vinyl) album "Help!" in the living room of my home. It was my mom's- along with Simon and Garfunkle, Blood Sweat and Tears, John Denver, and the very first Billy Joel album. My aunt Janis a short way down the street had Fleetwood Mac, Elton John, Steely Dan, and a Beatles ("greatest hits?) as well.

But Help! existed before I knew what distress was. The White Album was present long before I had language for tension or contradiction. McCartney’s melodies followed me quietly into adolescence and adulthood, not as statements to analyze, but as companions that stayed.

Watching Anthology now, decades removed from all of it, I didn’t just see the rise and fracture of a band. I saw time itself doing what it always does—compressing youth into memory, promise into limitation, intensity into reflection. These weren’t just cultural icons on the screen; they were men aging, changing, drifting, and yet remaining tethered by something they once made together.

That is why “Now and Then” landed the way it did.

The song is simple, almost fragile. A voice recorded alone in the late 1970s, finally allowed to stand clearly in the present. When John sings, “Now and then, I miss you,” it doesn’t sound like a lyric crafted for effect. It sounds like a sentence that waited a long time to be heard. What makes it powerful is not polish, but honesty—spoken across decades, answered by others who are still here.

What moved me most was the restraint of it all. There is no attempt to pretend nothing has been lost. No illusion of a full reunion. Just voices—separated by time, absence, and death—allowed to speak together one last time. It felt less like a release and more like an act of remembering.

The technology that made this possible didn’t exist when the song was first attempted in the 1990s. What stalled then could be completed now, not by inventing something artificial, but by carefully revealing what was already there. That distinction matters. We live in a moment when reactions to AI tend to swing between fear and fascination, but this song offers a quieter lesson. Tools are tools. They can distort and deceive, but they can also preserve, clarify, and help us remember. The moral weight never belongs to the tool itself, but to the hands—and hearts—that use it.

I have no hesitation in using technology for good: for education, for creativity, for preserving what might otherwise be lost to noise or decay. In that sense, “Now and Then” is not a warning, but a reminder of what careful, restrained use can accomplish.

As I watched the video, I became aware of how much my own life has been quietly moving alongside theirs. Not in any dramatic or obsessive way—just alongside. Their music aged differently than I did, but it aged with me. And that difference matters. Some art defines identity. Other art defines eras. The Beatles, for me, belong to the second category. They were never the center of the room, but they were always in it.

Looking back now, what stands out is not just what endured, but how quickly everything passed. Time is fleeting. Memory is selective. Art, somehow, is stubborn. And every once in a while, something like “Now and Then” breaks through—not to pull us backward, but to remind us where we’ve been.

I’m thankful for music that didn’t demand my attention, but earned my gratitude. Thankful for the wide and deep roots of classic rock that shaped my inner world without asking permission. And thankful for the strange grace of being able to look back—now and then—and recognize the backdrop that quietly shaped a life.

The Beatles were human beings, the combo of their sound tuned the ears of millions, now 2 are gone and though the band doesn't exist in reality, we are blessed to share the preserved memory.

Stopping On the Edge

Verse 1 The room was heavy with the hour, minds full, the coffee cold. We were counting down the minutes, Trying hard not to grow old. Words got sharp, the air went silent, Every glance a thin defense, But the tape was still rolling, Catching more than our intent. Pre-Chorus We were tired past explaining, Past the will to even care, Funny how the sound kept rising In a room worn thin with wear. Chorus We didn’t know we were standing At the edge of something rare, Hearts worn down, patience fading, But the song was always there. We were frayed and almost finished, Barely holding through the night, Still the music kept on breathing When we couldn’t make it right. Verse 2 Half-said jokes and sideways glances, Every note a truce at best, We’d play it once, then play it again, Trying not to say the rest. We were chasing one more take Like it might undo the strain, Never guessing these small moments Would be the ones that stayed. Pre-Chorus We were reaching for tomorrow With the strength we had back then, Not knowing this was closeness We’d never find again. Chorus We didn’t know we were standing At the edge of something rare, Every fault line showing clearly, But the song was always there. We were worn past understanding, Past the hope of compromise, Still the harmony held steady When we couldn’t meet each other’s eyes. Bridge If I’d known how fast it faded, How the echoes wouldn’t last, I might’ve spoken softer, Let a few things pass. But time don’t give you warnings, It just rolls and moves along, Leaving us to wonder later How we made it through the song. Final Chorus We didn’t know we were standing In the middle of our prime, Every note a small surrender To the passing of the time. We were tired, we were restless, Running low on grace and air, But even when we couldn’t stay there— The song was always there. Outro Now the room is quiet memory, Every voice a distant care, Funny how the silence tells me The song was always there.

Raised in Shadows

Verse 1 I grew up in the afterglow, A light that lingered soft and low. A melody that wasn’t mine, But hummed along my growing spine. I heard it in my mother’s room, Spinning vinyl through the afternoon— A gentle warmth that shaped my ear, A distant echo drawing near.

Chorus I was raised in the shadow, not the sun, By songs from a world already done. A harmony that colored every dream— A tender chord beneath the seams. And though the years keep moving on, That ghost of light is never gone. I was raised in the shadow, not the sun… But the shadow made me who I’ve become.

Verse 2 I never saw the crowds explode, Just walked the quieter, older road. The headlines faded into dust, But the music lived in all of us. A gentle verse, a falling rhyme, A weeping guitar keeping time— It found me when my life was young, A borrowed tune on my own tongue.

Chorus I was raised in the shadow, not the sun, By songs from a world already done. A harmony that colored every dream— A tender chord beneath the seams. And though the years keep moving on, That ghost of light is never gone. I was raised in the shadow, not the sun… But the shadow made me who I’ve become.

Bridge Some lights burn hot, some lights burn long— Some shape a life by shaping a song. And I found hope in the quiet refrain Of voices I never heard again. You don’t need the fire to feel the flame— The warmth can still remain.

Verse 3 Now all my days are threaded through With bits of red, and gold, and blue. A minor chord, a drifting line— A steady pulse that feels divine. I never stood beneath that sun, But its shadow shaped my run— A secondhand awakening, Bright enough to make me sing.

Chorus I was raised in the shadow, not the sun, Where borrowed light still gently shone. It taught me how a heart can heal, How truth in melody feels real. And though the dawn has long since gone, That ghost of light keeps shining on. I was raised in the shadow, not the sun… But the shadow made me who I’ve become.

A Gift Should Be Easy... Right?

Note: I originally wrote this in 2015 and wanted to update it- don't be afraid to wrestle with the Lord over this issue. The wrestling is actual, good evidence  of faith.....

At the heart of the gospel is something humbling: receiving a gift you did not and cannot earn.

Saving faith means resting—really resting—on the finished work of Christ and not on myself. That’s hard for us. There are days we don’t feel it. There are seasons where sin still clings, shame still whispers, doubts still rise. And yet Scripture is stubbornly clear:
our only answer, only hope, and only assurance is the work of Christ—
not the stability of our emotions,
not the strength of our will,
and not the brilliance of our reason.

Feelings come and go. Faith is more than mere intellectual assent. Saving faith is a gift from God, and Christmas is a beautiful time to receive that gift—by faith—in Christ alone.

DON’T FEAR THE QUESTION! WALK THE PATH!

Christmas is a great time to search out one of the MANY gifts God has given. I want to thank Him specifically for the gift of saving faith—a gift I would never possess apart from His grace.

So here’s the starter question:

How do I know I have saving faith?

The answer is strange, and honestly, a little unsettling at first:
one of the initial evidences of saving faith is that you dare to ask that question.

A true believer wrestles with whether or not he has true faith. If you’re unwilling to put your faith on the table for honest inspection, it may be because deep down you suspect there is nothing real to examine.

So ask God to give you Holy Spirit eyes. Take what faith you think you have—weak, small, and trembling as it may feel—and lay it out before Him. Then do some comparison and investigation.

Don’t fear that process. Let’s walk into it together.

PRE-ANALYSIS AGREEMENT

Before we enter this exercise, we need to make a declaration:

“I am going to use God’s inspired Word as my only rule of faith.”

If any part of this analysis is merely conjecture based on my feelings or my flawed logic, may God help me to put that away. This is not about what I think or how I feel. The question is: What does God’s Word say?

I won’t quote every passage that could be referenced (though I probably should), but my hope is that this reflects the broad counsel of Scripture.

ANALYSIS A: COMPARISON TO FALSE FAITH

One way to test saving faith is by contrast. I need to walk through some common counterfeits and ask honestly if my “faith” fits any of these molds.

As I do this, I have to be willing to look at my heart, mind, will, emotions, memories, words, and deeds.

1. COMPARTMENTALIZED FAITH

This is a big one.

We live in a “post-everything” culture where we skewer our lives like shish-kabobs—little compartments and compartments inside compartments. Work here. Home there. Faith over in its own tidy corner.

A multi-cultural, relativistic American society, seasoned with rugged individualism and fierce autonomy, can easily corrupt our understanding of saving faith. We end up as people who are “holding to a form of godliness but denying its power” (2 Timothy 3:5).

Saving faith, by contrast, is whole and integrated.

Paul Helseth, in Right Reason and the Princeton Mind, points out that the old Princeton theologians understood that the intellect involves the whole soul—mind, will, and emotions—rather than the rational faculty alone. As a result, they insisted that the ability to reason “rightly” (to see revealed truth as objectively glorious) presupposes the regenerating work of the Holy Spirit on the whole person.

How do we compartmentalize faith?

For me, it’s easy to make faith primarily a mental exercise—AN EDUCATIONAL FAITH. If I can just learn more facts or read more theology, I feel like my faith is stronger.

Others drift toward EMOTIONAL FAITH—getting revved up for Jesus in a conference, retreat, or worship set, confusing intensity of feeling with depth of belief.

Still others fall into DO-GOOD FAITH—mission trips, service projects, and “helping people” become the main place they feel spiritual.

None of those things are bad. In fact, they can be wonderful. But if they remain detached from a living, ongoing, whole-life trust and submission to Christ, they can mask the absence of true faith.

Saving faith engages all of me:

“Love the LORD your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength” (Deut. 6:5).

2. LOGO FAITH

We live in a world of brands, slogans, and merch. Causes become hashtags. Movements become logos. Faith gets turned into a vibe.

One of the icons of our 'post-everything' culture is the sloganeering of causes. Sometimes called the "Disneyfication of America" sociologists have written in mass about how mass communication technology has created a 'world of simulation' where high culture and low culture are combined and any sort of grand narrative is lost. I have always thought that Grant Lyon's book, Jesus in Disneyland: Religion in Postmodern Times, captured this idea very poignantly.

The overarching image that Lyon's attaches to is a Harvest Day Crusade day that was hosted by Disneyland in Anaheim, CA in 2000. This Christian festival seemed innocuous enough. One of the event organizers had a great quote: "We saw Disneyland as an opportunity to bring God's kingdom to the Magic Kingdom. We felt that, as they opened the door to us to share Christ, we wouldn't turn down the opportunity just because other things take place there. Jesus is the example for this."

I am not being critical of this at all. Christ needs to be going EVERYWHERE. But the symbolic image of Christian marketing in the Mecca of consumer marketing could not be ignored by Lyons.

"A bizarre sounding collaboration...an ancient, premodern religion is found... interacting with the epitome of post modern culture- the artificial, simulated, virtual, fantasy world of Disney."

I need to be careful here- there were huge parts of Lyon's book that were instructive and thought provoking. I do think the biggest flaw of Lyon's approach is confusing the visible and invisible Church.

The bigger point here is what the Disney culture influence has done to 'virtualize and simulate' faith by transforming it into slogans and fancy logos. Spy magazine defined it this way: "Disneyfication is the act of assuming, through the process of assimilation, the traits and characteristics more familiarly associated with a theme park....than with real life."

In that world, Christianity can quickly become a logo:

• a clever slogan,

• a bracelet,

• a playlist,

• a social media identity,

• a “look.”

None of that is automatically evil, but it can gently push faith from the realm of living trust into the realm of performed identity.

How does “logo faith” show up?

• Theming – Everything in my Christian life has a neat, sanitized theme. My life becomes a Christian “brand” where I appear put-together. Real mess, real questions, and real repentance are edited out.

• Merchandizing and consumption – I consume Christian things: music, books, conferences, products. I can be surrounded by Christian content without ever truly surrendering to Christ Himself.

• Prescriptive empathy – I know all the right phrases: “I’ll be praying,” “Bless you,” “God is good all the time.” But often I’m performing empathy instead of living it. The words are there; the heart isn’t.

• Self-adulation – I treat church and ministry as a product designed primarily for my experience: my preferences, my comfort, my affirmation.

So I have to ask:
Do I just recite the Jesus answers?
Have I learned the themes, the tone, the language, so I look like I’m growing—but inwardly there is little or no connection to the Holy God of the universe?

Do I measure worship mainly by what I get out of it?
If so, my “faith” may be more logo than life.

3. INSTITUTIONAL FAITH

This one is especially dangerous for those of us who live and work in Christian environments. (Like Me)

An INSTITUTIONAL FAITH is when my proximity to ministry or church life substitutes for personal, saving faith.

Do I read my Bible?
Yes—because I’m prepping a lesson, writing a blog, or leading a devotion.

Do I pray?
Yes—at staff meetings, in public prayers, at church events.

Do I worship?
Yes—chapel, services, conferences.

All good things. But a haunting question remains:
When I step away from the institution—on weekends, vacations, or in private—does my faith follow me?

Do I have a personal prayer life, beyond my roles?
Do I open the Word when no one is grading, listening, or watching?
Do I share my faith as a person, not just as a professional?

If my “faith” lives only where my job or routine demands it, I might be operating more out of institutional momentum than personal trust in Christ.

4. BIBLE BELT FAITH

Here’s another tough impostor—especially in church-saturated cultures. Aren't we just "BORN" Christian?

BIBLE BELT FAITH looks like this:
We’re good people. We acknowledge “the good Lord.” We go to church, don’t rob banks, give some money, and sing “Amazing Grace.”

But there is little to no sense of:

• the depth of our sin,

• desperation over our guilt,

• horror at the reality of hell,

• amazement at costly grace.

God becomes a sentimental figure—like a cosmic Santa or a benevolent grandpa—rather than a holy, righteous King whom we have offended and who calls us to repent and believe.

Bible Belt faith nods politely at God. Saving faith bows low before Him.

And of course, there are many other forms of false faith:
religious pride, mere moralism, status, political identity, self-help spirituality. At the core of every idol is a kind of “faith” that trusts in something other than Christ.

ANALYSIS B: PRACTICES TO EXPLORE SAVING FAITH

So how do we explore whether we have saving faith?

We don’t do it by dissecting our feelings endlessly—that becomes spiritual navel-gazing.

We do it by looking, again and again, at the simplicity and power of the gospel.

I John 5:11–13
And this is the testimony: God has given us eternal life, and this life is in his Son. He who has the Son has life; he who does not have the Son of God does not have life. I write these things to you who believe in the name of the Son of God so that you may know that you have eternal life.

1. SIMPLE TRUST

Faith always has an object. Faith is not a work we perform; it is an empty hand, reaching.

The power of faith is not in the feeling of faith, but in the object of faith.

In Matthew 17, Jesus says:

“Truly I tell you, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you.”

It’s not the amount of faith that moves mountains; it’s the One in whom that tiny faith rests.

There is great comfort here. On days when I feel battered and frail, saving faith might sound like a quiet whisper:

“’Tis so sweet to trust in Jesus, just to take Him at His word.”

That’s not sentimental; that’s warfare.

2. FITFUL FIGHTING?

Think of Jacob wrestling with God until daybreak. He would not let go until he received a blessing.

That story tells me something important:

God is not offended by honest wrestling. In fact, a willingness to wrestle with Him is often evidence of the Spirit’s work.

Saving faith is not a calm, unbroken line of confidence. Often it looks like fitful, tear-stained, stubborn clinging:

“Lord, I believe; help my unbelief.”
“God, I’m not letting go until You meet me.”

If I’m fighting in prayer, grappling with Scripture, confessing doubts and sins before the Lord—that very struggle may be a sign that the Spirit is alive in me.

3. DEEP-ROOTED DOCTRINE

If I want to discern whether my faith is saving or merely speculative, I have to be willing to dig.

Shallow faith avoids the hard passages. Saving faith learns to love them.

Maybe it’s time to freshen up on Romans.
Maybe I need the diagnostic depth of 1 John.
Maybe I need to let the sharp edges of Jesus’ commands in the gospels wound and heal me.

Helseth again helps us here: the great theologians didn’t approach doctrine as cold rationalists, but as believers whose whole soul had been touched by the Spirit. They sought to hear Scripture with “right reason”—a biblically shaped, Spirit-formed way of seeing reality.

In other words, doctrine is not an abstract hobby; it is part of how saving faith roots itself in who God actually is and what He has actually done.

THE GIFT NOBODY COULD EARN

At the end of the day, saving faith itself is a gift.

“Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith.” (Hebrews 12:2)

Jesus starts it. Jesus sustains it. Jesus completes it.

Christmas puts this on vivid display.
Here you are, once again, standing before the Child in the manger—the eternal Son of God in human flesh. Another year has slipped by. Another Christmas has come around. And the offer is still on the table.

CHRISTMAS: A HUMBLING INVITATION

You and I have messed it up again and again—over and over, falling short of everything God intends.

Maybe you feel the familiar pull of pride pushing you to justify yourself.
Maybe you feel the dead weight of repeated rejection and spiritual numbness.

Either way, Christmas gently but firmly confronts you:

Will you receive the gift?

Not earn it.
Not decorate it.
Not improve it.
Just receive it.

Review the beautiful doctrines of salvation by grace alone through faith alone in Christ alone. Let them humble you and melt you.

WHAT TO DO RIGHT NOW

1. Simply trust.
Pray honestly:

“God, I cannot do this. You have to do this. I am a rebel and You have not been my King. Is it too late to come home?”

In Christ, you already know the answer.

2. Fight for it.
There will be voices—external and internal—telling you that you are either too bad or too good.
Don’t let go of Christ.
Fight your way back to the childlike wonder of new birth.

3. Dig deep.
Use this holiday season to search the Scriptures. Don’t rush. Read John. Read Romans. Read 1 John. Read Isaiah 53. Let the Word examine you and comfort you.

4. Thank God for the gift of saving faith.
Let gratitude rise, especially when you see how unworthy and unable you are in yourself. That humility is part of the grace. Jesus has paid your debt.... bank on Him.

5. Tell someone.
Confess Christ to another person—a friend, a spouse, a child. It may be the best gift they get this year.

John 5:39
You diligently study the Scriptures because you think that by them you possess eternal life. These are the Scriptures that testify about Me.

This is the bottom line: receiving the gift is humbling.
It means resting, really resting, on the work of Christ and not on yourself.
When your feelings rise and fall, when sin still clings, when doubt still whispers—run again to Christ.

Over time, you will learn about the deep truth that begins before the very foundation of the world, this isn't about WHAT you know... this is WHO you know.

It is not about perfection.... it is about forgiveness. Grace is beautiful and we want MERCY, not what we deserve....

This Christmas, receive the gift by faith.

The Gift

In Christ alone.