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Pressure pushin' me from all sides Insecurities of all kinds Yeah, I'm a hostage to my own pride Most important things in life to me are things I know I can't buy (Pictured above: The only photo I can find with all three of their heads turned) I have a bit of a surreal thought. It occurs to me that, if your mother and I are given a lot of grace and wisdom and somehow get things right when it comes to raising you, then you will grow up with a fairly different background to me.  I've often mentioned this in my ministry and I'm sure that at some point I would have shared this with you, but I grew up with a lot of personal insecurity. When I was young, the important adults in my life spent a lot of time telling me how smart I was. They never passed up an opportunity to remind me that I was gifted.  But what I didn't often hear was that I was loved.  The other day I heard a well-known Australian family counselor say that every child fundamentally has three core needs

Dear Naomi, Welcome to the world! I can't believe once again I have the privilege of being a father.  I have been wanting to meet you for such a long time. You haven't been in the world for even two months yet and you have made us all so happy. Your siblings adore you and can't get enough of you. And your mother and I are once again filled with amazement and wonder, asking ourselves how it could be that we we have you, a precious gift beyond what we deserve. You have filled the house with new life and warmth.  I wanted to tell you a little bit about your name. You and your sister were both named after women in Bible passages that I happened to be studying around the time that you came into the world. Abigail means "my father's delight" and that was appropriate for her because she was the first one to come along and teach me what true delight meant. To me, happiness now has two distinct definitions: One for before I became a father and one for after. All three

Again he asked, “What shall I compare the kingdom of God to? It is like yeast that a woman took and mixed into about sixty pounds of flour until it worked all through the dough.” Luke 13.20-21 Why is it taking so long?? When my wife Jo is out for dinner, the kids and I like to have a pizza party at home. I’ll cook and prep everything from scratch, and the kids help by (messily) spreading on the sauce, scattering some toppings, and then watching me do the rest while they eat about half the shredded cheese that was supposed to go on the pizza.  Abby likes watching me prep the dough the day before. I mix together flour, water, salt, some olive oil, a pinch of sugar for better browning, and yeast (message me if you want the recipe!) In anticipation she watches it all come together in a messy, sticky bundle. Before I even finish washing my hands, she asks, “Is it ready yet?” “Not yet, the dough needs to rise”  Later that evening she might spot the glass bowl sitting on the kitchen counter.

Eighteen years ago, as I was heading to the exit of my disgusting high school cafeteria, my friend Chris flags me down, catches up with me, and hands me a burned CD. “Have you heard of this guy before? You should listen to his sermons.”  Chris and I were on the ultimate frisbee team together, and because we also lived around the same area of the city we spent a lot of our long commutes home talking and arguing with each other about the things that high school students found deep and philosophical. He said, “I think you’ll really like the way that this guy thinks”.  I was in my final year of high school at the time, months away from graduating and going to a Christian college, ostensibly to get a head start on my training to become a Christian minister. But I was about to find out that I hadn’t even understood the most basic aspects of the faith that I aspired to teach.  The church that I grew up in had a rule about baptism: You could not choose to be baptized until you turned twelve. T