Designed to detonate our faith, our enemy’s fiery darts are lies from the pit of hell. They’re crafted with malice. They can be effective, but they need not be. With faith in God’s promises, they will bounce harmlessly off our shields of faith. Raise yours. Be the warrior God is making of you, resist the crafty one, and God will quench his flaming arrows.

What do your fiery darts look like? Mine are doubts about God’s love for me, intrusive thoughts, and temptations to flash my pride, anger and selfishness. What trips you up, and how does our enemy exploit your weaknesses?

More importantly, what counters his lies and is essential for our resistance?

“Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God so that at the proper time he may exalt you, casting all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you. Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour. Resist him, firm in your faith, knowing that the same kinds of suffering are being experienced by your brotherhood throughout the world.” (I Peter 5:8-9 ESV)

Just yesterday, I spent more than hour on hold with three different customer service representatives for a large communications company. I was trying to help my mom by managing her account with them. My emotions were high, and I was getting asked the same questions. Because the world’s wolves seek to steal from our loved ones, companies fill security gaps with one-size-fits-all measures that tend to protect them more than their customers. We all have to rely on verification texts to thwart scammers.

All I wanted was for them to switch the verification text to my cell phone because my mom is unable to find the ones they send her. They wanted me to change my cell to their carrier, but their service doesn’t work in my little Sierra Nevada hamlet. It’s not anyone’s fault. It’s just a gap. I raised my voice a few times and apologized. Toward the end, I was so frustrated that I began talking about legal measures. The third person with whom I spoke, a supervisor, apologized. I apologized … again. When we we ended the call, he said something like, “Have a blessed day.”

I experienced instant conviction. A split second later, these lyrics played in my AirPods: “Let there be gentleness and self-control, bear your fruit in my life, Oh, Lord …” The fiery dart, powered by pride and tipped with selfishness and anger, pierced me. I failed to raise my shield of faith. It was on the ground somewhere, discarded, cast off, forgotten. I repented. God forgave me. The enemy of our souls was routed and fled. He won the battle, but he will surely lose the war. God promises it. Next time will be different, I tell myself.

This morning, I lost a smaller battle. When I say lost, I didn’t raise my voice (as much) but I was prickly at times when the representative of another big company seemed unsure of herself while repeating essential information I’d given her. I wanted to verify the details of an order for my mom. I did better this time, but I need to raise my shield higher and more quickly. Next time, I will. When is your next time?

Our enemy’s gunning for us. Even now he’s strategizing and forming little darts. As always, they’re tipped with evil and malice. He’s clever and ruthless. What weakness will he exploit in you? Are you ready?

Arm yourself with your sword—the Word of God. Rely on his proven promises. Strengthen yourself with spiritual discipline, shield yourself with the impenetrable faith that comes from trusting in Almighty God. He is faithful; the devil is a liar. I’ll do the same, brothers and sisters. God protects his children from the lies and accusations and traps of the fiery enemy. The deceiver shoots at us; God shields us.

We will all go through things. Times of peace and strife, ease and difficulty. If you are his child, God will shape you with gentle pressure that sometimes feels overwhelming with heavy circumstances. But know this—the God of all grace will strengthen and uphold you and will deliver you in his time.

Peter goes on to exhort his readers with this promise: “And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you. To him be the dominion forever and ever. Amen.” (I Peter 5:10-11 ESV)

Trust in the Lord. Resist the devil. Our God of grace will:

Restore you.

Confirm you.

Strengthen you.

Establish you.

Put on your armor, stand fast, be strong in the Lord and in the power of his might. Take joy in the fight.

It is done. It is finished. Jesus did everything.

He made the world and all that’s in it. He made me. He made you. Jesus is the maker and remaker of all things. He’s the master builder. I just made a fence. It’s flawed and faulty like me, like you. It’s also sturdy and strong. It’s supported by the firm foundations of concrete, metal posts, 2x4s, and rust-proof screws. And each cedar picket strengthens the one next to it.

Like this fence, we’re strong—but only because our master builder is rebuilding us.

“And I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ.” (Philippians 1:6 ESV)

God always finishes what he starts. He is faithful and so is Jesus. When Christ uttered those three words as he breathed his last, he did so with triumph, with absolute victory over a world of sin and death. The words mark our deliverance. Our Savior ransomed us from condemnation by the ultimate judge by satisfying God’s holy standards.

“For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.” (2 Corinthians 5:21 ESV)

Like I say, I simply made a fence. God, through Jesus, applied our manifold offenses to the spotless record of his sinless precious son. In doing so, he began building masterpieces of men and women like us. We’re poor, paltry sinners who one day will be made princes and princesses in Christ’s kingdom.

It’s just a matter of time. But we know that life is challenging. Let us be taught to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom, as the writer of Psalm 90 exhorts us. Let’s help one another know we are just men and women, and God is our refuge and strength.

Our master rebuilder is at work in us. He’s building fences to shield us from the evil one and the world and to protect us from ourselves. Be encouraged, brothers and sisters! We need only to shine like the morning sun through the pickets.

“In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven.” (Jesus, Matthew 5:16 ESV)

Stand fast. ❤️‍🩹

I’ve been toying with quitting Facebook for years. Last night as I lay in bed, I did a search for “quitting Facebook for Christians.” I hope-scrolled and landed on a 40-day fast article. It was all I needed. I deleted my FB app and sighed with relief.

Curious, I looked up a 1987 calendar. Yep, one nine eight seven. I’m that old. A little old for a FB fast maybe. I verified a Wednesday in August. It’s perhaps the most special day of my life—or will be someday. August 5, 1987. My spiritual birthday. I returned to 2026 and counted 40 days forward.

Wow. It’s what I thought: This August 5th will mark the end of the fast and 39 years to the day since I responded to God’s call to follow Christ. I didn’t plan this coincidence. Is it a coincidence? God is sovereign. 8/5 also marks a special day for my brother, friend, former roommate and best man—his baptism and faith in Christ.

Nearly four decades ago, I stood up and went forward. I knew I would. God had been working on me for longer than I knew. So had my shipmate and Navy instructor. He taught us about laser safety, but his heart was for sharing Christ.

When I stood outside the church that night, I knew everything had changed, that I’d never be the same. Someone at the altar may have warned me that the liar would try to convince me that nothing happened, that I was unchanged, that God was a myth, that I could return to my old life, that the world was my oyster.

Facebook is like any other good worldly thing—it can and is used for evil. It’s not neutral. Its algorithm is designed to hook us by feeding us what we think we want. What we want is connection; what we get is content that feeds our addiction and fuels Facebook.

As a pseudo-influencer, I got from Facebook what isn’t good for me—little dabs of dopamine with every like and “love” emoji and complimentary comment. Living like that is no way to live.

So, I’m done for now. I pulled the IV. Forty days and counting. I feel better already.

LIFE is different now. It’s like this meadow mist. Fresh and new every morning. What I cared so much for, I couldn’t care less about. All has changed, seemingly. I have new joys, new affections that are precious to me. I now love people. Especially older slower wiser ones.

What or who changes us? God. What we lack relationally, he supplies. And he blesses us with those who’ve learned to love rightly.

God often uses trauma to transform us. And in doing so, he fans the flames of true and better loves. He doesn't simply swap affections—the shabby for the shiny—he drives them out by refilling us with his loves.

“Do not love the world or the things in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him. For all that is in the world—the desires of the flesh and the desires of the eyes and pride of life—is not from the Father but is from the world. ” (I John 2:15-16 ESV)

The Scottish theologian and astronomer Thomas Chalmers described our attempts to not love the world thusly. (I enjoy using words of smarter men … like thusly.)

“There are two ways in which a practical moralist may attempt to displace from the human heart its love of the world—either by a demonstration of the world's vanity, so as that the heart shall be prevailed upon simply to withdraw its regards from an object that is not worthy of it; or, by setting forth another object, even God, as more worthy of its attachment, so as that the heart shall be prevailed upon not to resign an old affection, which shall have nothing to succeed it, but to exchange an old affection for a new one.”

Chalmers posited that the solution to our love problem is not trying to simply subtract them. He used an “empty” beaker to illustrate that one shouldn’t remove wrong loves and leave a void; they must be displaced with better ones. And the swap requires much more than the efforts of a determined sinner. It takes the power of a loving God.

When someone draws significance from position or power or role and is suddenly unable to pursue a lesser love, he will feel lost. Through illness and age, his significance will have no source and he will wither. His life’s impact will be evanescent (Chalmers), not eternal. The impact he’s made in the world will have sounded to whatever degree—great or small—but will fade and cease like the reverberation of a resting bell.

Life built on lesser loves will likely become empty for most and a misery for others. We don’t consider this when we’re indulging in love for the world.

There is only one escape—to ask God to fill you with new affections, his loves. For forever joy and peace, it’s wise to nurture new and better loves in the here and now. God alone is the source of all that is true, good and beautiful, and as fallen creatures, we need his loving hands to shape and reshape us.

Best new affection? A genuine love for God. God is loving, wise and good. Why wouldn’t we? Our bodies are failing and life here is short. And if you’re a child of God, your life is not your own.

“You are not your own, for you were bought with a price” (1 Corinthians 6:19–20 ESV)

New loves can be precious. Fresh affections can be like a second breakfast with true brothers on a long and hard journey. Lesser, shabby, worldly loves are like The Ring, and we’re like Gollum. We will sin. A bitter thought against a loved one, a wrong attitude against a brother or sister or stranger. With new affections, willful sin will become deeply grievous.

Do you hate that you love the world? Ask God to create new affections in you. He can do it the “easy” way or the hard way. (Tough love can hurt.) But his way will always be the best way. It will lead you to better, brighter, joyful new loves.

If you’re his child, it will happen. When it does, you’ll know you’re further along in your journey to complete and sanctified joy. You’ll be free to enjoy a second breakfast.

“And I am sure of this, that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ.” (Philippians 1:6 ESV)

Take heart, fellow sinner, Jesus has overcome the world. Draw near him. Taste and see. He can make all things new.

Please pray for someone close to me. I won’t name him and he has no social media presence and little online ability.

We had a nickname for him as kids. I’d forgotten about it until two days ago. It came flooding back in a moment of anguish. I’d called and referred to him by his adult name for decades. Then he became “poor so and so” a few months ago. When my heart broke last Thursday, it just came out. I said his little boy name again. I love him.

He’s facing the fight of his life—mentally and physically. His spiritual life, if quickened by God, would help heal him the most. As he is, he has no anchor, no sure foundation on which to rest his mind, body and soul. He has little or no hope. He has nothing to hold to and is bereft of the Savior who can scatter demons.

As George MacDonald, a 19th-century Scottish minister, wrote: “Never tell a child… ‘you have a soul.’ Teach him, you are a soul; you have a body.”

This child, now a man, desperately needs to understand this wonderful truth. He is a soul. So am I. So are you. As such, he’s a hated target for the enemy of souls. That’s what this is, you know. This fight is a spiritual battle for the heart and mind of a soul.

The destroyer has had his way with him all his life. He’s used addiction, dependence, fear and misplaced anger to enslave him and deprive him of peace and healing. He’s used his past sins to torture him. It’s tragic, and it’s ripping me apart. I hate what the enemy has done and is doing to him.

Please pray for him. Pray to the only one who can truly set him free. Pray that God will clear his muddled mind, drive away his despair with amazing and complete cleansing grace, and illuminate his damning darkness. Please pray for him. Pray for peace, healing and rescue. God can rescue anyone. He rescued me.

I pray that God will draw him to his perfect fatherly embrace, that he will heal his mind and heart, that he will apply Jesus’ unearned (by us) all-sufficient merit to his account, that he will pay his debt in full. As he did mine through Christ when he conquered death and hell—and the lying enemy.

I pray that God stills his storms and washes him clean with a perfect peace, that he lavishes him with real love and forever joy as a forgiven and adopted child, as he did for me. I pray that he and I will become true brothers. Forever.

(2021) She was terrified, but you wouldn’t know it. When the nurse came to take her for potential cancer surgery, my wife towered over her escort. When she rose to be led, her years in dance and music—and her strength took over.

I hugged her, told her I loved her, and promised that I’d be waiting for her post-procedure. I was glued to my cell phone and tried to rest. God had mercy on me, as always.

Five plus years ago, a urologist told us weeks before that her tumors were likely cancerous. Surgery and pathology would answer the question. I already had the answer to my cancer question. Mine was positive, but would be removed by surgery a month or so later. We both could become cancer survivors. But just then, we knew nothing.

I pursued Emily in 2011 because I was drawn to her firm grip. We were introduced at a mountain farmer’s market, and her strength was the first thing I noticed. I thought that someone had taught her how to do a real handshake—not the macho-man compacter one. Just firm, simply sure, just right.

I noticed Emily’s strength in different ways throughout our fourteen years of marriage. It’s been 14 years as of yesterday, by the way.

She’s braved equestrian friends’ injuries and deaths, a cousin who left this world on his own, and a husband who may have almost died of heat exhaustion near a river in July. Her only husband. Me.

My wife is a tower of power with the grace of a monarch.

When she finally found me by the water nearly a year ago, she would’ve dragged me out of there, if she could. She could only watch the search and rescue guys cart me off on a stretcher. But she did so like a queen. Like a loving and strong wife.

We’re committed to finishing this life and race hand-in-hand. And I’m committed to being the best husband and leader I can. My physical posture is terrible compared to hers, but my spiritual standing is identical—saved sinner, hungry beggar, loved child.

Happy Anniversary, [pet name redacted]. Yep, I said it but didn’t post it. I mean it though. I love you and our little pet names.

Your [redacted]

Yesterday, after a morning of striving with family from 1,700 plus miles away, I had to lay down, to rest my weary and worried soul. I felt devastated and defeated. I prayed and asked aloud: “God, do you love me or hate me?”

I rested some and then got up to do some chores. I went in and out of the house to load the truck. It was windy. I drove to town.

An hour and a half later, I pulled up to see our little dog Maggie tooling down the driveway to greet me. With relief, I invited her to jump into the cab. I loved on her. I felt spared. I felt loved. I knew what had happened. I just didn’t know exactly how.

She’d slipped out while was going back and forth to the truck. But how did I fail to notice her? I was preoccupied and thinking only about myself.

It was the wind. It made Maggie’s self-spring successful. I checked the cameras. Within a minute after driving off, the door blew open a foot or so. She came out and began looking for me. She walked around the house searching. The she waited.

What’s the biggie about the doggy getting out of the house?

Maggie is a nervous little thing. She chases stuff. She gets uber-worried when the pack is not intact. A few months ago, a neighbor found her “on a toot,” as my mother-in-law calls it, in the midst of one of her emotional benders.

Maggie struggles with separation anxiety. Badly. In fact, she’s clingy and worried for days after staying with my wife’s parents while Emily and I are on trips.

God spared us potential heartbreak yesterday. He spared me from having to tell my wife that I’d lost the dog. Now we get to tell her mom a fun little story instead. It feels like a mercy, what I call one of the many “mini mercies” of my life during this season.

Does God love me or hate me? You know the answer. So do I. It’s LOVE.

It just that when life feels hard and the hits keep coming and it’s stormy and windy, it can feel like a real question. Yesterday is the first time I remember ever asking it.

The truth is that God loves his children WITH the hard stuff and through our storms. Our souls’ Cap’n aims to steer us through the wind and waves with love and because of it. We’re all on a journey that he creates and engineers.

If you’re God’s child and he’s your Captain, your course and destination is a sure and loving one: Heaven. Stand fast, sailor.

YOLO: You Only Live Once. So eat, drink and be merry. What you do matters not. If this is true, how we live is meaningless. If we don’t get past the grave, what’s the point? All is nothing. It’s worse than nothing; it’s irrelevant. We are irrelevant.

YOLO? Not so much. Thankfully, it’s a four-letter lie.

You and I and everyone who’s ever lived—on this earth and beyond—are made in God’s image. We are all lovingly crafted by the Creator of all things, not to live as we will, but as we ought. We are made to live like him, to bear his likeness, to glorify him.

God is love and perfectly loving. He is free from all our weaknesses in the here and now. Our bodies age and wither. We fail and flail. He thrives. God is hale, hearty and whole each and every day. But take heart, he created you for this too. For LIFE.

LIFE: Living in Freedom Everyday

It’s a delusion (and a deception) to buy that this life is all there is. If it were, God would be irrelevant too. He wouldn’t be. God wants us to believe him, not the lie of YOLO. After all, it was whispered first by a snake. It’s a logical conclusion of the first lie.

If our deceiver can’t convince us that we can be as God, he tries to convince us that we can live as if there IS no God, no right and wrong, no such thing as good and evil.

YOLO is BS—Blatant Silliness. (I’m still a seventh-grade Sunday School teacher.) You thought I was referring to something smelly in a field. (I’m trying to say no to my junior high self.) My point is this:

Our enemy wants us to believe that THIS is all there is, that it’s as good as it gets and that we may as well party and indulge our every urge and splurge.

It’s tripe, balderdash and bunk (fun British words).

If this life is as good as we can make it on our own, a whole lotta people are spinning their wheels ‘round and ‘round and everybody look at what’s fallin’ down. A life lived by our own devices will leave us empty and burdened with eternal regret rather than blessed with forever joy.

Look around you. What do you see?

I see someone who seemingly thinks that the good life comes with toys. Or pricey things. Or valuable stuff. Or by doing whatever floats his boat whenever he feels like his boat needs floated. I know. In some ways, I was like this.

When life is lived for self, it’s easy to blame others for a gaping hole in a heart and a lack of joy.

YOLO? If this how to live, I’ll pass. And so will the grumbler, if the Savior draws his heart. I pray he will. I pray this daily because I love the guy. And I know that God can love him perfectly. He can fill every hole in his YOLO-hoodwinked heart. Jesus has beaten the liar and the lie.

YOLO stands no chance next to YHWH.

How do we do LIFE? We live free in an enslaved and broken world. Living free begins with believing the truth about abundant life. This is not all there is. Life is much more than fast cars, bucket lists, hopeless romances and relationships, fame and fortune, “the good life”, hefty houses and mortgages, yada yada.

LIFE is about living for eternity, with purpose and FREEDOM.

We think that if we meet and marry “The One” after convincing ourselves that he or she will make us happy, and then years later we doubt and question whether that other sinner was The One after all. Here’s a timeless truth:

No person is The One. Only God can be our all in all.

God is not interested only in your happiness, but in your eventual holiness. The one person you think can make you happy cannot. Nor can he or she help you become holy—unless God uses them to do so through his power. “Matches made heaven” often lead to a hell on earth. Why?

Because “perfect marriages” don’t exist any more than YOLO does. No one’s perfect and neither is life. It’s messy. We’re all messy. All people and all lives brim with stuff that stifles peace and makes happiness hard. Our brokenness goes back to the garden.

Living free begins with believing God when he says through Jesus Christ, his Son: “I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.” (John 10:10 ESV)

and

“So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed.” (John‬ ‭8‬:‭36‬ ‭ESV‬‬)

and again,

“If you abide in my word, you are truly my disciples, and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.” (John‬ ‭8‬:‭31‬b-‭32‬ ‭ESV‬‬)

What does LIFE look like? Ask God to show you. He made you in freedom.

If he’s calling you, he’s calling you for LIFE. You know it’s true. Do Christ’s words stir your heart to live beyond YOLO and toward YHWH? Do they make it glow? Try this:

“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” (Matthew‬ ‭11‬:‭28‬-‭30‬ ‭ESV‬‬)

LIFE can start now. Right now. LIVE free.

Don’t buy into The Wizard of Oz. He’s a faker, and the film’s message is flimsy. The story’s “believe in yourself” theme is as empty and shriveled as the melted witch.

Instead, believe not in yourself, but in God.

Saving ourselves is not a power within you, but it’s in the Savior. Clicking your heels three times won’t bring you home. The cure for what ails us is Christ. He’s the answer.

How do we get home from a scary world of wonder, flying monkeys, witches, good and evil? Where do we find real courage and saving sense? We imitate God, not a charlatan. Imitation of a perfectly loving Father is the only way home.

In fact, imitation can be the greatest form of worship, when done right:

Paul writes, “Therefore be imitators of God, as beloved children. And walk in love, as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us, a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God.” (Ephesians 5:1-2 ESV)

How do we imitate God?

We become sons and daughters by God’s choice, not based on any ability we have. We can’t do it on our own. We are born children of wrath. We are born-again through God’s love and amazing grace and mercy—based on Christ’s imputed merit alone.

As God’s children, we are destined for adoption. It’s all his doing, not yours, not mine. All we do is be encircled in his loving arms through Christ Jesus, as beloved children.

How do we walk in love?

With sacrifice. Our wants, desires, “deserves” take a back a seat to dying to self, to the daily, forgiving minute-by-minute, serving of others through love. How much should you and I love? How greatly have we been forgiven?

Jesus said it best as recorded in Luke 7:47 (ESV): “Therefore I tell you, her sins, which are many, are forgiven—for she loved much. But he who is forgiven little, loves little.”

We imitate only a smidgeon of how much God loves us through Jesus Christ. He has lavished us with love. No price is too high for him. What should be our response to his love and forgiveness of us toward one another?

“Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.” (Ephesians 4:32 ESV)

Are you willing and eager to forgive? As we’re sanctified, both will increase. Love triumphs over evil. Choose love. It’s much MUCH better. Love is what the wizard of Oz showed when he dropped his deception and got real.

How do we love and serve each other?

Keep bitter roots out of our hearts and minds. The Bitterroot is a beautiful mountain region in Idaho and Montana, but it’s an ugly wasteland in a Christian’s heart. It begins with bitter feelings and thoughts. Then it winds its way to bad places.

Bitterness ➡️ wrath ➡️ anger ➡️ fault finding ➡️ slander (word war)

What is word war? It’s gossip and a form of slander. When you feel yourself giving in to gossip, consider this: Would I share this about someone, if they could hear me?

Gossip is slander’s cousin, but it can lead to malice. Malice is akin to hatred.

How do we keep bitter roots from growing? Rip them up, and burn them in a fire of love and forgiveness. “Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you, along with all malice.” (Ephesians 4:31 ESV)

How do we do this?

With Holy Spirit repentance. Dig up those roots. Extract that poison. Ask God to help purge you. Sanctification is bound to follow.

Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me. (Psalms 51:10 ESV)

Behold the wonderful things God has done. And for what he will do. Why do we love and serve him?

Because, because, because, because, because

Because of the wonderful things God does and is. The Wizard of Oz has nothing on the King of kings. Charlatans pale in the light of the Good, the True and the Beautiful.

My wife longed for her husband. He was stuck behind virtual (and spiritual) enemy lines pretending to be an elite sniper in Italy and France during WWII.

“I’m helping save the free world.” That was my joke. My wife and I laughed about it, but it wasn’t as funny as I thought it was then. It’s funnier now—on this side of things.

The truth is that I wasn’t helping save anything. We married in 2012. Since then, I’ve remodeled our home, paid bills, helped my wife with her dental practice, got her a reliable vehicle. Stuff like that.

Starting about 2014, I began to slowly lose intimacy with her, connection in our marriage and with friends and family, and worst of all, with God.

What happened? I began to shirk my husbandly duties of making her feel loved and secure. Here’s how it went down:

My wife would roll in from her stressful day. She’d see me stretched out and hear sounds of digital death and destruction. (I had the decency to pause the action and say hello and ask her about her day.) What a hero.

It wasn’t like I was gaming every day. I’d work on a project, work hard, and then chill in front of the TV most days a week. I’d watch some sports, drink in more political programming, and snipe some Nazis. How noble.

Like I say, I’m no hero and am ashamed that I let things go.

Real heroes wield real weapons and do real battle, not virtual ones controlled by thumbs. Heroes carry children to safety and keep them safe. They pay attention to their families, not to their phones or computers.

The (not so) funny thing is that I wanted to be a hero. In my fake virtual world, I fought evil. In the real one, I failed my wife. It’s a weird dichotomy—nobility and nobody-ness. There are no bodies in video games, just nobodies. No beautiful trees, suns, voices, people, places or reality. It’s just make-believe.

What was real was my wife’s weariness, her longing for my attention, my care, my saving her from her enemies. She needed a hero. Instead, she got a gamer. She married a man who slowly became a virtual husband.

Then I was restarted, rebooted, and am now being reprogrammed by the ultimate coder. God is my creator, but this is no game. He doesn’t play games. He does real-life stuff. And he recreates life, if he must.

I think God could say, “We can do this the easy way or the hard way, which is the best way.” Any way he chooses, he’d be right. He’s always right.

I needed a reset, a reprioritization. God uses trauma to trim sails, I’ve noticed. He’s also really really good at turning our trauma into his triumph. When he does, everyone wins. How can the one who made us and remade us ever treat us like we’re not his? That’s not how any good father loves his children—faithful or wayward.

We mere men are the ones who ignore those we love. We do so by loving stuff we shouldn’t. And failing to provide love and care for those we should.

Video games trigger imagination, but don’t reflect reality. A gamer pretends to blow up stuff. In real life, married gamers set slow-fused bombs in their marriages. I didn’t know the damage I was doing then, but I see it now.

We men fall for fake funk. We think if we provide shelter and warmth for our families, we’re good men. These things are good. But when it’s about all we do, we neglect our roles as cultivators and gardeners.

I’ve thought a lot about my job as a cultivator—especially right after my reset. The gardener motif, though, is relatively new for me. I got it from a book by Brant Hansen, The Men We Need. It makes perfect sense.

My garden is my wife. I’m a husband. I have no children, I am a man, true, but I’m also a little boy in some ways. But thankfully, I won’t always be just a man. Created in God’s image, we are much more complex than we realize.

When the tempter tempted Eve, what was Adam doing? (Hansen asks this). Not being anyone’s hero, that’s for sure. If he’d had a couch and a controller instead of a trees and a pruner, he might’ve been sitting on his can … doing what? Playing games.

If he were doing his job, he would’ve shielded his wife from a liar. He would’ve alerted the ultimate guardian of the garden to the presence of a stealthy intruder. Adam would’ve stepped in front of Eve and countered the snake’s lie with truth.

God knew the tragedy that was unfolding. Nothing escapes him. I think he was deeply grieved. The people he created in his image were falling to doubt, pride, lust and blame. Eve distrusted God, Adam blamed God for giving him a woman, all were under attack, but only one was faithful.

Plan B? Or The Plan? If you know me, you know where I stand on the indisputable matter of God’s sovereignty. It is or he isn’t. He who made all things is perfect and loves us perfectly. This means that he’s the hero of every story. And every good story moves according to The Plan.

Nowadays, I have little interest in TV, politics, sports and fake stuff. I prefer building fires, cooking, reading real books, talking with real people, and asking my wife about her day. I care about caring. I seem to be much more analog that way now.

What changed? Me. Who changed me? Not me.

Like I say, God doesn’t ignore those he loves. He loves, so he corrects, sanctifies, resets, and he finishes what he starts. He works.

He gave me a second chance, a new mission. I accept. From now on ‘til the end of my days, instead of pretending to help save the free world, I want to help free the saved one. For reals. Let’s do this.

The lion and the lamb. What a lovely dichotomy. Strength and gentleness. Justice and mercy. Savior and Lord.

This post is inspired by a song that delights me. It’s called “Lionlamb” and features two singers, a man and woman, taking turns extolling the Lion of Judah and Lamb of God. Like graceful dance partners, they complement one another and glorify God as they herald the return of the King of kings.

Lionlamb, by Joshua Leventhal. Feast on beautiful truths in lyrics like these:

Ready your heart child, ready your heart child
The Lionlamb is coming, the Lionlamb is coming yeah
Soften your heart bride, soften your heart bride
The Wedding Day is coming, the Wedding Day is coming

And when we see Him we shall be made like Him
And when we see Him we shall be made like Him
And when we see Him we shall be made like Him
And when we see Him we shall be made like Him oh

Lift up your eyes child, Lift up your eyes child
The Lionlamb is coming, the Lionlamb is coming yeah
He’s gonna make it right child, He’s gonna make it right child
His justice, o it’s coming, His justice, o it’s coming

And when we see Him we shall be made like Him
As we see the end of death and dying
And when we see Him we shall be made like Him
As we see the end of death and dying oh-oh-oh

Think of it: Someday, we will be like King Jesus, the lion and the lamb.

We will be raised incorruptible and blessed with new bodies. We’ll no longer endure tears or fears or hurt or pain. Like Paul, death will lose its sting for us. We’ll be like Christ, the Lionlamb.

Right now, I’m just a lamb—a silly creature who’s in daily need of the sacrifice and protection of the Lamb of God and Lion of Judah. I’ll always be in need of his strength and gentleness.

Like Paul, when I’m weak, I am strong—through Christ. (2 Corinthians 12:10).

Lift up your eyes, child. The Lionlamb is coming. He’s gonna make everything right. You ready?

Steve McQueen made The Great Escape. But he was sprung by Jesus Christ who made the greatest escape. The actor just pretended to escape from a Nazi POW camp; the Savior conquered hell and death for real. And he saved Steve and me and many other sinners from the hell to come.

The King of kings provides the ultimate escape from any life of sin. Even for big-timers like Steve McQueen. I know.

I’m not famous, and I’m certainly not even a prince of cool, let alone any sort of king. But I can relate to Steve McQueen. My dad didn’t abandon me. I didn’t wonder whether my mother loved me. But I thought I could go it alone in life and didn’t need anyone.

Like him, I grew up Roman Catholic. Instead of abusive stepfathers, I had bullying brothers. Instead of a morally-challenged mother, I had a love-challenged one.

My father didn’t run off or beat me. He was a good provider and tried to live right. He followed his church, but did so like most I’ve known—in his own strength and according to popes, bishops and priests—devoid of God’s amazing grace.

In Christ alone, said Martin Luther. So did the apostles. So does God. So did my dad before he died, according to my sister. In earthly terms, he was a good father. And my mom was a good mother … until she lost a child. Everything changed then.

Back to Steve McQueen and how unlike and like we are: We both joined the military after trying to figure out what else to do. He did so to stay out of trouble. I did so as a rudderless former troublemaker. We both needed it.

Steve McQueen didn’t need his asbestos exposure in the Marines, and I didn’t need some stuff I went through in the Navy. But God knows what we both needed: Salvation and love and purpose from a loving and saving Savior.

Contrary to my previous understanding, Steve McQueen was drawn by Christ months before his cancer diagnosis, according to his wife. I was drawn years before mine.

I believe her. I also believe McQueen was chosen by God to be an adopted child way, way before that moment. Eons ago. The same for me. Before God made the world and everything else, he loved us.

According to his wife, McQueen began going to church with his pilot instructor, Sammy Mason. He did so after seeing something different about him. His friend told him what it was—he was a Christian.

My younger brother noticed something different about me. He recently told me that nearly forty years ago he’d seen a “180” change in my life. My sister told me a few weeks ago that I led her to the Savior.

I was just a hungry and freshly-filled beggar leading others to bread. In Christ, I’d found the bread of life and he gave me sea legs to brave any of life’s storms.

On Christ, the solid Rock, I stand:
all other ground is sinking sand

Steve McQueen had it all. Fame, fortune, a fawning public. He was the King of Cool. But he was bereft of the essential: Standing, love and most importantly, a perfectly loving Father and Prince of Peace.

McQueen was likely starved with an insatiable “father hunger.” Long before his Marine service and lifelong cigarette addiction, he hungered for a loving father figure. Me too.

I know about this hunger. I also know what it is to long for a loving mother. For a lost child in a man’s body in a broken world—our hunger can never be satisfied by any earthly father and mother. It’s just too much to put on anyone.

But it’s not too much to put on Christ. He’s the King of kings and Lord of lords. Nothing and no one is too big or daunting or lost for him to conquer and save.

Steve McQueen reportedly left life with a bible given to him by Billy Graham. According to his wife, he read it daily. Why? Because he had a new heart, new affections, new loves. He knew the Savior and had been adopted by God.

No more hunger, no more fear or sin, no more abusive relationships. Just peace and mercy from the Prince of Peace. Cancer killed McQueen; Christ saved him.

“The King of Cool” is just a made-up monicker for a movie star. The King of kings is the eternal, everlasting and glorious Lord of Heaven and Earth, the Bright and Morning Star, the Savior and Redeemer. He died for sinners like us.

Hallelujah.

Dimensions. As a remodeler and DIYer, I know that dimensions describe openings, door and window size, square footage, etc. Dimensions are all about height, width, length and depth. They’re essential.

What do dimensions have to do with love? Everything. God’s love for us, expressed through Christ, exceeds our comprehension. We cannot measure it.

“And may you have the power to understand, as all God’s people should, how wide, how long, how high, and how deep his love is.” Ephesians, 3:18 (NIV)

We lack the ability to understand the dimensions of God’s love. This is why Paul longed for him to give the Ephesian Christians the power to understand the deep depth, towering height, and East-West width of God’s love for them.

The closer we move to understanding God’s love, the more we know that we all fall short.

Do you feel like you don’t measure up? I do. On my own, how can I? I fall and fail in so many ways. So do you. Compared to a perfect and loving God, we all do.

How do we please him? According to A.W. Tozer, “We please God most, not by frantically trying to make ourselves good, but by throwing ourselves into His arms.”

This is why his boundless love is so wonderfully amazing; it’s blessedly so.

Imagine asking God, “Do you love me, Lord?” He smiles and says, “Oh, yes, my child.” Then like a child, you ask, “How much?” He smiles even more broadly, stretches his mighty hand high in the air and keeps going until its height towers in the heavens.

Then God opens his arms wide—wider than East is to West. Then he shows you the vastness of the deepest ocean, and says, “I love you even more than this.” And then you realize it’s the same ocean that God chose to cast your sins and failures into to forgive and forget them.

Maybe he’d say, “I loved you before time, before I made the world, before I made you. I show you my love in height, width, length and depth, but I love you more than can be measured. I love you because I choose to, my child.”

I need God’s power to understand his love for me. We all do. His dimensions of love are staggering. It boggles the mind and imagination.

Think of it: In love, God sent his only Son into the world to die for and save sinners like me. And then, in love, he rescued me from myself.

In her song “Dimensions”, musician Jess Ray describes our inability to understand God’s love and Jesus’ promise to save. I’d quote its beautiful lyrics, but songs are best heard. I recommend a listen.

This side of Heaven, God’s children don’t know much he loves them. I want to. Oh, Lord, please give me the power to understand and accept even a millimeter of your love for me.

God’s love for his children is limitless. It can’t be comprehended with dimensions. They’re not big enough. Hallelujah.

When the most important person in history becomes the most important person in a life, friends and family are attracted or repelled. I’ve seen it. Jesus Christ draws people, and in doing so, he draws lines in the sand of hearts.

Toward him or away, we all move. But no matter what we do, he saves and sends.

“Behold, I am sending you out as sheep in the midst of wolves, so be wise as serpents and innocent as doves.” —Jesus (Matthew 10:16 ESV)

When Christ sent his disciples into the teeth of the world, he warned them to be wise. Snakes are crafty. They sneak up on things and strike at opportune moments. They’re shrewd and smart.

Jesus wants us to be wise like snakes and innocent like doves. I’ve seen pigeons and seagulls scrapping and scarfing on city streets and piers and beaches. They seem snippier and snappier than snakes. They look ruthless.

Doves are different. As gentler cousins to pigeons, they coo sweetly. Maybe this is what Christ meant. Doves beautify our mornings. They soothe. They’re lovely. We need more beauty and less ugly in our world.

It’s teeming with evil. Jesus knew that wolves in robes would drag his followers in front of judges and rulers. He knew they’d be hard-pressed and mistreated. He knew everything that would happen to them, yet he sent them anyway.

He loved his own enough to die for them. Surely, they could handle some fear and roughness … with his strength and help. We can too.

Christ’s words about overcoming the world comfort me far more than any dove could:

“I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33 ESV)

Jesus promises problems and peace. How can a carpenter from Nazareth bring both? Because beneath the robe is royalty. When he rose from the grave, he defeated death and stifled its sting. As the maker of all things, he remade both.

In doing so, the King of kings routed the enemy of our souls and the world of wolves. I love Aragorn, but he’s just a shadow of Tolkien’s seeming understanding of the King over all kingdoms—the Alpha and the Omega, the First and the Last, the Beginning and the End. (Revelation 22:13)

As followers, what does Jesus want us to do until he comes again to gather us into his kingdom? To press on, pilgrims. We trust in his goodness and mercy and his perfect payment of our debt to him. Paid in Full. What three words are more precious?

Meanwhile, be salt and light. Tell the truth in love. Stand fast. Resist the enemy. Be like snakes and doves. Be wise and innocent.

I want to live this way, so that someday I’ll hear my King say, “Well done, good and faithful servant.”

Come quickly, Lord.

Yesterday, I served as an underwater “Uber.”

While snorkeling on the island of Hawai’i, I enjoyed the privilege of powering my wife Emily from the under-towish waters of the Pacific back into the calmer shallows of our resort lagoon.

I loved it. Hand-in-hand, I used my big natural flippers within my bigger fake flippers to propel us. She felt free to trust me and watch fish and other critters with calm and peace.

Emily said she knew that I knew the way back and so was able to enjoy the view and let her feet and legs float along with the ride.

I led her, and she loved it. And I love that she loved it.

I’m her God-given leader, not because I’m better than she, but because he made me for that role. Emily’s smarter than I am in some ways and in other respects, I’m more gifted.

God, our perfect father, knows best how to gift his children and enable them to fulfill their roles in helping one another serve and please him.

I think that my leading and her trusting pleased him yesterday. I think our underwater “Uber” made him smile. God loves seeing husbands and wives walk—and swim—in harmony toward him.

All we need do is trust the Captain of our souls. 🛟 And breathe.

Jesus bids us follow him. When we do, the way can be rough and rugged. His followers trod a prickly, thorny and hard path, but he’s The Good Shepherd. If he draws us, we will stumble, but he promises to save us from ourselves and to lead us home. As beautiful as our world can seem, the one to come will flawlessly beautiful. I got sand cross sandals to leave a mark, but they’re leaving blisters on my poor feet. I must break them in. Or maybe God’s using them to break me in. Strangely appropriate and just right. ❤️‍🩹✝️

I grew up in a North Texas neighborhood, and our elementary school was across the street. The woman on my right was my best little friend and classmate and lived two doors down. She and I played house in our front yard.

Her childhood friends are the others in the photo, among others. They’ve been getting together for decades. Their enduring friendships seem rare and refreshing to me.

When I see photos of their meet-ups, I see the same bright and youthful faces. Seeing their smiles encourages me. I’m not close to my male childhood friends. We live states away and grew apart years ago. We believe differently.

I joined the military, traveled and lived in different states. They stayed in North Texas.

One of the girls invited me to drop in on their gathering. She and I walked to kindergarten together so long ago. She sent me a message and shared the time and place. I thanked her and didn’t think I’d make it. I was in town to help care for my mother. I wanted to be there for Mom’s dinner and bedtime. And I was exhausted. I’m worn out.

I lay down for a bit and rested. I woke and checked on my mom. She laughed when I told her about the invite and named names. She seemed to remember most of them. Especially my bestie and also the one who told my mom a few years ago that I was her first kiss.

While Mom ate and spent time with a caregiver, I shaved and decided to drop in for the homegirl dinner date. With some trepidation, I drove to the restaurant. It’s within walking distance of our old neighborhood. I was a shy kid and a very shy adolescent.

Though still an introvert, I’ve learned to allow the outgoing elements of my personality to flicker and shine. It’s easier to love others and show I care for old and new friends. And it’s how God made me. I was made to smile and joke and laugh and now cry.

I wore a ball cap, spotted them, and slipped over to the table. There was an open seat next to my former neighbor at the head. I sat, smiled and said “Hi, everyone. How’s it going?”

Stares and silence. But only for a second. She jumped up and squealed my full name. Laughter and smiles. I crashed their dinner party, looked kind of incognito, and they recognized me. They knew me.

Hugs all around. I sat near her for a while and then went to the other end of the table to talk with the one who invited me, my kindergarten walking buddy. I worked the room. Not as politician, but as an old friend.

I learned two other things last night: A classmate’s first name is not Hud (I thought he was supercool and the girls thought he was supercute). And one of the girls (the first kiss one) did not have a mega crush on a friend.

They asked me about my mom. At least four of the eight have cared for an aging parent. A few still do. I told them how tired I am, shared a bit of my stress and hurt over my siblings. They nodded and one hugged me and said, “We get it and you.”

She gets me in another way too. She suffered something similar to my last summer health event and lingering malady a few years ago. I broke a leg nearly 12 years ago. Neither of us handle heat well now. Both of us have been broken (in bone, at least). I still feel broken, but am better in many respects. Restoration often begins with loving correction.

These homegirls refreshed me last night. They get me in my anguish over my mom. I’m glad I lay down and was strengthened with a bit of rest. I’m thankful that God restored me enough to rally to go. I would’ve missed out on two rounds of hugs and one happy squeal.

I wasn’t a huggy kid. My parents weren’t good at it and neither was I. I’m much better now. God hugs me in many ways. But first he loved me by shattering my shield. It had to go.

He broke it with circumstances and his perfect loving care. I’m thankful to my Lord for breaking me and for being broken for me. ✝️❤️‍🩹 And for the invite.

NOW it’s a holy day. Easter Sunday? The name doesn’t do it justice. It’s Resurrection Day. And for believers who know real forgiveness and deliverance, it’s the absolute best day ever. It’s the bright Sunday after a dark and gloomy Friday. Good Friday? Good for us. Blessedly good for us.

To me, Easter now means one blessed and glorious thing—Christ is risen.

He is risen indeed. What does this mean? It means that after taking on the sin of the entire world—yours and mine, after willingly submitting to God’s punishment for our transgressions, for our damning inability to please a perfect Father, his only Son lovingly accepted our death sentences as his own. He shed his blood to buy ours.

His enemy and our deceiver won nothing. Jesus redeemed everything. He conquered death and hell. When he called us to follow him, he washed away our sins and stamped our filthy records and guilty verdicts with three wonderful words: PAID IN FULL.

Jesus satisfied our sentences, bought us, and brought us from our dungeons of sin and shame. No matter what you’ve done in your life, if God draws you to his Son, he forgives you and adopts you into his family … forever. God doesn’t lose his children. Jesus said it himself, “I give them eternal life, and they will never perish, and no one will snatch them out of my hand.” (John 10:28 ESV)

Believers are bought with a price, redeemed in love and amazing grace, and cherished as children. THAT is Easter. Hallelujah.

Jesus is risen indeed. Follow him and be rescued—and risen someday. Just think of the egg hunts and green grass and warmth and beauty and love of God’s new gardens where we’ll smile and laugh with joy together.

Every day will seem like Resurrection Day. Forever. ❤️‍🩹

I've noticed something new about me.

Instead of asking God for things, I now thank him for things. Rather than seek his blessings, I count them. My perspective is different. It’s been changed.

My strength was stripped from me last summer and so much seems new. My prayers are now grateful where at times they were ingratiating. Blessings seem like mercies. They're no longer over and above, but just enough. Blessedly enough.

God has shown me that it's not about me. It's about him. It's always been about him. But he's also shown me that when it comes to his fatherly love for me, it is blessedly about me. I'm the one who desperately needs it. He doesn't need anything, which makes his love for me even more special.

Now, I just thank him for basic stuff like rest and peace and my wife and his personal letter to me and to anyone with eyes to see, ears to hear, and hearts to hold dear. His words are more than worthy of my trust because they're true. They have to be—they're backed by his promises.

I thank him now and seek connection with others. For years, I thought I was a Han Solo and didn't need anyone. I had myself, and I was more than enough. Silly man. If I were enough, I would've withstood that summer storm. Instead, I was swept away and desperately needed rescue, reset and restoration.

Now, a good day begins with a morning prayer of thanks—and promise refreshers. And music that unlocks a bit of my soul's joy and then real words with real people. Others' struggles now feel wounding to me rather than pitiable. My self-protection has been replaced with vulnerability and empathy.

If you see me around town with a smile and a finger pointing skyward, say hello and bless me with a bit of kindness. I'll do the same for you. It’s the least I can do when compared with the most he has done. My Lord died for me. I will live for him and die trying.

When my parents took us to our Grandpa Nick’s, it always went the same way. He smiled and shook our hands until they hurt and we crumpled in pain. Then he laughed and gave us bubble gum. Once my parents drove off and after a bit of grandpa time, he put us to work mowing his lawn while he drank beer.

Grandpa Nick was Domenico. And his last name was spelled with a “grave” accent on the i, as in Luscrì. I like to think that it’s a sign of royalty, but have grave doubts. Especially after discovering that one of my Luscrì ancestors may have served as a bodyguard for a brigand who resisted the deposition of an Italian monarch.

On the flip side, bodyguards are typically elite fighters. So there’s that. Plus, it would be fun to introduce myself at parties as Patrizio Luscrì (LooscrEE). And Patrick derives from the Latin name Patricius, meaning "nobleman" or "of noble birth." I'm not noble. Just trying to be faithful.

I’m not a name dropper, but this is interesting: I’m likely related to Pierfranco Luscrì, an art director who worked with Mel Gibson on The Passion of the Christ.

Domenico was born in a little mountain village in southern Italy, in the Calabria region. I know this through family folklore, and I verified it by getting a copy of his birth certificate. To do so, I hired “The Italian 007”. He secured an official copy from the comune in Platì.

Why hire an international man of mystery to uncover my grandfather’s birth details? Not to find out about the ì, surely—for a much more meaningful reason.

It was to verify something, hitherto unbeknownst to me, something that I was born with. I didn’t know about it until the summer of 2023.

Italian citizenship.

Like my grandfather and father, I was born an Italian citizen. Constitutionally, this is because of a concept known as “Jure Sanguinis”, Latin for “Right of blood.”

The Italian Constitution grants those born in Italy the right to pass their citizenship to their children—as long as they do not naturalize in another nation before the birth of the child. When my grandfather naturalized, America required that he give up his foreign citizenship and renounce his allegiance to an Italian king.

Back then, to become American one must become only American.

My father was born before his father naturalized. He was born to an Italian citizen, which made him an Italian citizen. Having been born in America, he could’ve become a dual citizen. Because I was born to an Italian citizen in America, I was a born American and can become a dual citizen. Neither of us knew it. He passed away in 2014, but I hope to tell him about it in Heaven.

So, I found out in 2023 and began my 739-day journey to research, collect vital records and documents, have them “apostilled” (certified), translated, and shipped to an Italian lawyer who had convinced a court in Florence that a woman and her grown children in my little California town were also born citizens.

It was a ton of work, but fulfilling. I enjoy history and genealogy and doing difficult things. It galvanizes me. Also, interacting with a 007 is uber cool.

I filed my case. Then I waited. And waited. And waited. While waiting I came up with silly scenarios to entertain my wife and deal with the waiting. One was to fantasize about showing up at my court in Reggio Calabria and loitering outside until an employee walked up.

I would smile and say in Italian, “Ciao, mi chiamo Patrizio. Lavori qui? Vorrei ottenere la cittadinanza italiana, per favore.” (Hello, my name is Patrick. Do you work here? I would like my Italian citizenship, please.)

Finally, early Tuesday morning, March 10, 2026, I got a surprise email message from my lawyer, Luca. It contained the Italian words, “Ciao, finalmente” and “congratulazioni!” I knew enough of my new language to feel instant excitement, disbelief and relief.

The judge assigned to my case wrote this in her decision (translated):

I was born an Italian citizen. I did nothing to earn that citizenship, but scream my first breath. I did nothing to deserve it.

God did everything. He loved me before he laid the foundations of the world and every nation on it. He breathed life into me. He gave the gift of life to my father and his father. And you too. Life is a gift. So is citizenship. One is of much more value than the other.

And eternal life is infinitely more valuable than anything else. Jesus said so himself when he taught his parables of the Pearl of Great Price and the Treasure in the Field.

Yes, I just went spiritual on you. It’s what I do. Why? Because everything has spiritual significance. Even citizenship. It has everything to do with blood and birth and family.

Heavenly citizenship is about all that. And it’s about adoption.

I was born for life and service to my family and future service to my God. Christians are blessed with an ultimate citizenship in what C.S. Lewis called a “far-off country.” Eternal life as a citizen in Narnia is just a shadow of citizenship in Heaven where there will be nary a tear or fear or failure or grief.

I’m glad and grateful that the Italian justice system ruled in my favor. They followed their constitution and the rule of law. They affirmed the truth.

But I’m much more grateful to God for providing a substitutionary penalty for my offenses against him. His son and my Lord took my punishment for me and secured a place for me in paradise. My debt is paid in full. Forever.

Ave Re Gesù. Hail, King Jesus. I pledge my ultimate allegiance to my Savior and Lord of lords.