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.

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.

Unforgiven- Clint Eastwood Movie

Have you ever seen the movie Unforgiven, Clint Eastwood’s 1992 Western?  I’ve watched Eastwood and John Wayne movies my whole life — the classic shootouts, the stoic lawmen, the cinematic myths that defined American masculinity for generations. But Unforgiven is different. It's not just another Western. It’s a slow, sorrowful reckoning with the genre itself — a dismantling of the legend of the gunslinger, and maybe a confession.

From the opening shot — a silhouetted figure on a Kansas plain, burying someone as dusk fades into dark — you can feel that this film isn’t going to glorify anything. It simmers more than it blazes. And when it finally burns, it leaves nothing untouched.

What struck me most is how the movie peels away the myth we've all bought into. There are no clean heroes here, no real triumphs. The violence isn't righteous — it's clumsy, chaotic, sickening. Even the "good guys" are compromised. Especially them.

Clint Eastwood plays William Munny, a man who has tried to bury his past sins under years of sobriety, pig farming, and the memory of a dead wife who tried to make him better. He’s not the man he used to be — a drunken killer — but the world won’t let him escape that past. It calls him back, not because he wants to return, but because someone needs him to be that man again.

What unfolds is a story about revenge, justice, and the cost of killing — not just to the victims, but to the soul of the killer. That line hit me hard: “It’s a hell of a thing, killing a man. You take away all he’s got and all he’s ever gonna have.” It’s not delivered like a sermon, just a weary truth. The kind of truth that only someone who's seen too much can say without flinching.

Watching Gene Hackman as Little Bill Daggett was another gut punch. He’s not the villain in the traditional sense. He builds his own house, smiles as he tortures people, talks about law and order while casually dismantling lives. Hackman gives the character a terrifying normalcy. He’s affable until he’s not. Brutal but rational. It was especially hard to watch knowing Hackman passed away recently — a legend in his own right, and he left it all on the screen.

Even the supporting characters are brilliant foils. The Schofield Kid — or Melk — thinks he’s ready for a life of killing until he pulls the trigger for the first time. That scene undoes him. It undid me. We spend so much time praising toughness, yet this film reminds us that the softest moment — admitting you're not who you thought you were — is maybe the bravest.

And then there’s W.W. Beauchamp, the dime-novel writer who chases legend wherever it leads — from English Bob to Little Bill, and finally to Will Munny. He’s not evil. Just naive. He craves myth, but all he finds is blood. He’s a stand-in for all of us who’ve romanticized the West, only to be confronted with what it really was: cruel, unjust, and very human.

By the end, Munny becomes what he was trying not to be. He picks up the bottle. He becomes death incarnate. He gives no speeches. He just kills. And we can’t cheer for him the way we might’ve in a more traditional Western, because we’ve seen what it costs him — and what it doesn’t give back. There’s no closure. No redemption. Just survival.

The final text on the screen is quiet, detached, and almost clinical — a note about his wife's grave, and a rumor he prospered in dry goods in San Francisco. That could’ve been written by the Schofield Kid, trying to piece together what happened. Or maybe by Beauchamp, chasing yet another legend. But the truth of Will Munny isn't something you can wrap up in a paragraph or a folk song.

What makes Unforgiven such a masterpiece is that it doesn’t give you what you expect. It doesn’t let you feel comfortable. It turns the mirror on us — the viewers who grew up idolizing the gunslinger — and asks what it is we really admire. It asks what stories we’ve believed. And what price we’re willing to ignore for the sake of a good legend.

I watched it at a good time in my life — older now, with more mistakes behind me than ahead, I hope. And maybe that’s why it hit me so hard. The idea that no matter how far we go, there are parts of ourselves we can’t outrun. That being "unforgiven" isn't about others — it's about what we carry in our own hearts.

This wasn’t just a movie. It was a reckoning.

“Any man don't wanna get killed, better clear on out the back.”

Song:  UNFORGIVEN

Verse 1 I rode through dust and shattered dreams, The man I was, not who I seem. Haunted by the blood I’ve spilled, A past I can't escape or heal. Chorus Unforgiven, walking in sin and pain, Haunting memories that never fade. No peace in the valley where the cold winds moan, A heart made of stone, and still alone. Verse 2 The boy who dreamed of guns and fame, Learned too late the deadly game. The good man fell before the fight, Lost in the dark, swallowed by night. Chorus Unforgiven, walking in sin and pain, Haunting memories that never fade. No peace in the valley where the cold winds moan, A heart made of stone, and still alone. Verse 3 Lay awake all night where shadows scream, A prisoner of my own dark scheme. The faces of the dead remain, Their quiet eyes still spell my shame. Bridge If mercy’s a stranger I can’t find, Will my soul be left behind? In a world where shadows never end, Can a broken man still mend? Chorus Unforgiven, walking in sin and pain, Haunting memories that never fade. No peace in the valley where the cold winds moan, A heart made of stone, and still alone. Outro I rode through dust and shattered dreams, Cowboy stories aren't what they seem. The heroes fade when truth is shown, And every legend dies alone.

Have You “Had It” With Your Teenage Son?

The Ministry of Mess Up, Fess Up, and Grow Up

The older I get—and the more time I spend around adolescent boys (35 years teaching, coaching, admin)—the more convinced I am that there is a unique psychological ecosystem that exists only inside the mind of a teenage male. A place where impulses override logic, where humor is currency, where embarrassment is deadly, and where the prefrontal cortex hasn’t yet been invited to the party. I call it the Beevis/Butthead mind of an adolescent boy.

Parents know it. Teachers know it. Coaches know it. Youth pastors know it. And every so often, the boys themselves know it—but usually only long after the fact.

Working with adolescent boys requires patience, resilience, discernment, and a good sense of humor. But more than anything, it requires an understanding that their minds are still under construction. They OFTEN don’t know why they do what they do. And as much as we want to believe otherwise, they truly aren’t thinking. So I eventually stopped using the phrase, “You would think…” because I realized—no, they wouldn’t think. Not yet.

When I served as Dean of Students, one young man (MANY years ago) repeatedly drew crude male anatomy around campus—on desks, bathroom stalls, notebooks, anywhere his imagination felt inspired. When I finally brought him in, I asked him, “Even in my most heathen days, I never felt the urge to do this. Can you help me understand why you keep doing it?”

He shrugged. Not belligerently. Not defensively. He truly didn’t know.

It hit me then: even he didn’t have access to the interior logic of his own behavior. He wasn’t a future criminal mastermind. He wasn’t malicious. He was an adolescent boy with a Beevis/Butthead brain.

So instead of lecturing him, I gave him a task:
Find and remove every inappropriate drawing on campus. All of it. His job for the next week was to scrub, repair, and erase the very thing he found so amusing.

I told him that depending on how well he did, I would determine the severity of the consequences—possibly even a multi-day suspension.

He worked hard. He cleaned everything. He took ownership. And I counted that week of work as a ‘served Saturday school’.

It is always MESSY- a soup of discipline and discipleship, consequence and compassion, all in one process. And it reminded me again how challenging it is to teach boys things that feel so basic:

Clean up after yourself.
Flush the toilet.
Respect your teacher.
Consider your future.

None of this comes preloaded in the adolescent male operating system.

During those years, Coach Fred Yancey became one of the most important voices in my own growth. I’d go to him with situations—frustrating, confusing, borderline ridiculous—and he always had a story. Sometimes an example of what he had done well. Sometimes a cautionary tale of what he wished he had done differently.

Over time, I realized something that no textbook ever teaches:

I don’t care what degrees you have or how many books you’ve read—there is NO substitute for a mentor.

Mentors shorten the learning curve.They keep us steady and supply the wisdom we didn’t know we needed.

And one day, standing in front of our team, he gave a phrase that summed up my entire job in the simplest terms possible:

“The ministry of mess up, fess up, and grow up.”

It clicked like a light bulb.

MESS UP

My job back then as  Dean of Students (2011-2016) was remarkably predictable. Not unlike funeral services, the work never stopped. Each morning I walked in with a short to-do list, and by 9:00 AM the list was irrelevant. Emails, phone calls, parent concerns, teachers stopping by—all related to the infinite ways boys can find to create chaos.

Dress code. Inappropriate jokes. Cheating (or as I learned to say ‘violating test protocols’).
Excessive Tardies.Social Media issues. Parking disasters.Skipping class. Family issues.

Some cases were light and forgettable. Others were heavy and heartbreaking. But in those 7 years, I never had a single day where everyone got it right. Sadly, I never went an entire year where I wasn’t working a case that ended in withdrawal. It took a toll physically, mentally, and spiritually.

And that’s the point.

We are all mess-up people. We cannot even consistently follow the clear and reasonable boundaries of school rules—how much more do we fall short of God’s? Some kids stumble in one area and excel in another, but everyone struggles somewhere.

Even the best students and the strongest athletes are works in progress.

FESS UP

Confession is not natural. It never has been.

It goes back to Eden: lying, deflecting, blaming, hiding. It’s human instinct to cover rather than come clean.

One of the most surprising things I discovered was how much I admired certain students—not for their good behavior, but for their honesty. Some of the ones who broke the most rules were the first to look me in the eye and say, “I did it. I’m sorry.” Those moments took courage. Strength. Humility. Sometimes it was even humorous. I called a student in one year to ask him about ‘violating test protocols’ and he just said, “The way I looked at it was that it was a crime of opportunity”.

I also learned to guard against the false confession, where a student tries to guess what I want to hear or take responsibility for something they didn’t do just to make the meeting end. So part of my work was coaching them in how to tell the truth, not merely in how to avoid punishment.

A good apology is learned, not inherited. And even more, so is integrity.

GROW UP

This is where the ministry becomes discipleship. I often read Hebrews 12 with my students—particularly the reminder that discipline is not punishment but love, shaping, training, and protection.

They listened closely when I pointed out verse 10:
earthly fathers sometimes get discipline wrong…
but God never does.

I reminded them that discipline is a process—“for those who have been trained by it.”

Training takes repetition, time, patience, failures, and victory- the key is never giving up!

Growth rarely looks dramatic in the moment. But I saw fruit over time. Not the spectacular kind. The slow kind. The subtle kind. The kind that shows up in better decisions, quieter classrooms, thoughtful apologies, repaired relationships, and the deepening strength of character.

This isn’t just about teenage boys. It applies to all of us.

Personally

I need to fess up before the Lord—daily. I need more self-control, more consistency in the disciplines of grace: Scripture, prayer, obedience. I am still growing up too.

As a Dad

Discipline is love. With little children, discipline is obvious. As they get older, it becomes easier to avoid… and far more necessary. If I do not address laziness, disrespect, or attitude, then I’m not loving them. Growth requires guidance. Authority must be taught, not assumed. And now that my children are adults, I have to learn a different type of relationship.

The discipline days—the repeated conversations, the hard lines, the consequences that none of us enjoyed—are mostly behind us. The energy required in those early years was immense, but I see now how necessary it was. And I see the fruit of it. What remains today is a different kind of relationship, one built on respect, trust, and love, not enforcement.

I’m grateful beyond words that we didn’t parent alone. My wife and I had partners: a faithful church, a solid Christian school community, and mentors who anchored us when we weren’t sure what to do next. That shared effort—the alignment of home, church, and school—created a network of consistency for our kids, a web of voices all saying the same thing: walk in wisdom, walk in grace, walk in truth.

I look at who my children are now, and I’m thankful. Not because we got everything right—we didn’t—but because God used that partnership to shape them in ways we could never have managed on our own.

As a Church Member

Matthew 18 matters. Loving correction matters. So does humility to receive rebuke when appropriate. Community is formed not just by shared worship but by shared accountability.

The adolescent male mind is fragile, funny, frustrating, and full of potential. It doesn’t need shaming; it needs shaping. It doesn’t need ridicule; it needs relationship. And it certainly doesn’t need adults who give up on it because the path is rocky.

Boys become men through a long apprenticeship of patience, truth, correction, and grace.

The Beevis/Butthead stage is not a problem to eliminate but a season to steward.

Behind every shrug, every stupid decision, every sloppy mistake, every graffiti sketch, and every impulsive joke is a young man who is trying to figure out who he is and where he is going.

Our job—parents, teachers, coaches, pastors—is to walk with him:

when he messes up,
when he fesses up,
and as he slowly, steadily, learns to grow up.

And this is where Hebrews 12 steadies us.
God’s discipline does not flare with irritation, nor does it fade with exhaustion. It is purposeful. Loving. Forward-leaning. He is shaping us “for our good, that we may share His holiness.”

And though “no discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful,” Scripture promises that “later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness” for those trained by it.

2 Corinthians 5:18–20

“All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ and gave us the ministry of reconciliation… We are therefore Christ’s ambassadors, as though God were making his appeal through us.”