Why Ken Ham Doesn't Speak for Me

Last night there was a much-ballyhooed "Evolution/Creation" debate between Bill Nye and Ken Ham. People were posting links on Facebook and talking some good Christian vs. Atheist smack. I didn't watch it; I was too busy being annoyed.

Perhaps you don't know who either of these two men are. Bill Nye is the former host of Bill Nye The Science Guy, a Disney-endowed, bow-tied Mr Rogers for the science-minded millennial generation. I wouldn't have known who he was, except I've been told I look like him. This offends me. I'm far more handsome and I've never worn a bow tie.

Ken Ham is the Founder of Answers in Genesis and the Creation Museum. He's an outspoken advocate of Young Earth Creationism and a literal translation of Genesis 1. He's from Australia. Perhaps that's why he likes to hear himself talk.

Bill Nye was there to represent science. Ken Ham was there to represent Christianity. I wouldn't put my stock in the credentials of either of them. Bill Nye has a bachelors degree in Mechanical Engineering from Cornell and three honorary degrees, including one, impressively, from Johns Hopkins. He also has a patent pending on ballet toe shoes (no kidding). Ken Ham has a bachelors degree in Applied Science from Queensland Institute of Technology, and two honorary degrees from Baptist universities. He raised $27 million for his museum. Neither qualifies as an expert in anything other than self-promotion.

Bill Nye denies the existence of God. He believes in the Big Bang, but has no explanation for what caused it. He says we'd be better off forsaking any religious teaching and focusing solely on science. Hamhockey.

Ken Ham denies the Big Bang. He thinks the earth is 6000 years old, that humans hung out with dinosaurs, and that anyone who believes otherwise is a heretic. He has frequently attacked Christians who interpret Genesis 1 as a long period of time. "In many ways these sort of people are more dangerous to Christianity than the atheists," he says. Hogwash.

I love the subject of how the universe began. I find it fascinating to think about and discuss, and every time I do, my faith increases. I'm no expert, but I've read enough on the subject to at least be able to define some of the arguments and form an opinion. There are way too many points to even begin here, but here's what I believe: The universe started with a Big Bang, the earth is really old and finely tuned for life, and a Creator God is the only explanation for any of it. This is a belief system called "Intelligent Design." I also believe the Bible is a majestic and glorious book which always leads to ultimate truth. This is called historic orthodox Christianity. Ultimately, I believe Intelligent Design to be the scientific description of God's universal truth found in the Scriptures, which leads to a personal God, who is Jesus Christ. This is called robust Evangelical Christian faith.

This is why the mere prospect of this debate annoyed me so much. It's a stunt. Nye is a media-friendly atheist with a face a child need not fear. Ham is a media hound and self-appointed spokesman for God and Evangelical Christianity. With Ken Ham speaking for us, Christians risk seeing the beautiful and powerful arguments of more nuanced biblical interpretation buried in the wasteland of pop cultural hash. The public will equate what Ken Ham believes with what all Christians believe, much like they have done with Phil Robertson, or Pat Robertson, or any number of Christian "celebrities" who garner more attention than they merit.

Furthermore, it offends me that Ken Ham finds Intelligent Design to be the enemy of God and often goes "ham" on his fellow believers. I'm fine with those who believe in a Young Earth, but by making Old Earth vs. Young Earth a test of orthodoxy, Ham castigates many of today's most influential Christian theologians, scientists and apologists. (A brief list includes JP Moreland, JI Packer, Hugh Ross, Tim Keller, John Piper, Michael Behe, William Dembski, Hank Hannegraff, and even CS Lewis). http://www.reasons.org/articles/notable-christians-open-to-an-old-universe-old-earth-perspective

So while Ham believes that an Old Earth interpretation of the Bible will lead our children straight to faithlessness, atheism, and hell, in truth, it is Ham and his divisive spirit which risks losing a generation of thoughtful young people who want to believe in a God big enough to handle whatever discoveries science throws their way. As a father, youth pastor, and Christian, I want to teach kids to investigate, not just debate. God can handle it, and so can our kids. In fact, they are the hope for the next generation of scientists who will glorify God with their amazing faith and discoveries.

I'm sure there are opinions as to who won last night, but I think we all lost. Most of today's religious news will focus on Ken Ham and Bill Nye. There are ten thousand more representative stories of our faith being worked out on the planet today. But it's okay. No matter what your opinion of origins, the world has been around a long time and this too shall pass. I remain fully confident that God, who created the heavens and the earth (not to mention strange fellows like Ken Ham and Bill Nye), can handle our most rigorous questions and our silliest posturings. To think anything less of him is baloney.

Venting My Way to Mental Health

Despite my good intentions (explained in my previous blog) to become more like Jesus in 2014, I confess it's not working. I must have woken up New Year's Day on the wrong side of that Sleep Number bed I was in, because I've been feeling grumpy since this new venture started. My son Thomas calls it the "Grumpy Hat." Maybe it's the fact that the Steelers aren't in the playoffs. Maybe it's the polar rain-filled vortex hovering over my house. Maybe I have a weasel nesting in my shorts. I don't know, but I've not been feeling very charitable towards you or the world lately. The sarcasm has been building up behind the dam of my lips, and it has nowhere to go. So, in order to clear my head and dispel this fog of agitation and animosity towards all things living and dead, I'm going to offer my TOP 12 CURRENT PET PEEVES. I'm hoping I can vent myself into a state of bliss or at least ignorance. If this doesn't work, I'm going to punch my exercise ball and eat two gallons of ice cream. So here we go. I'm taking the parking brake off, baby!

12) Colonial Jewelers Radio Ads. Why do you try to be my friend? Why do you insist on making it seem like we've met, and my life is better because of your jewelry? Please stop. Truth is, I haven't bought jewelry in 25 years, and anyone dumb enough to pay more for your box is just paying more for your box.

11) Steven A. Smith. Other than his ten dollar vocabulary, insistence on using his middle initial, and self-admiring diction, what do we know about this guy, and why does ESPN feel the need to get his opinion on everything? "Let's hear what Steven A. Smith has to say about the next coaching hire for the Cleveland Browns? Let's hear what Steven A. Smith thinks about the origins of the universe. Let's hear what Steven A. Smith thinks about the early release of the Hobbit Trilogy boxed set?"

10) Mel Kiper Jr. So when did Dracula become a football analyst? With a haircut from the crypt and all the winsomeness of an IRS agent, this guy manages to turn 21-year-old athletes into widgets and make the NFL draft as much fun as an audit. I'll be happier when this joyless version of Grandpa Munster becomes Mr. Irrelevant himself. By the Teeth of Transylvania, I sure hope there's no Mel Kiper III!

9) Paper-Pushing School Administrators. We've been playing basketball at 6am at your school for 15 years without incident. Now you tell us we can't play because there's a problem with our paperwork (which we completed online)? Hey Roz, we were here long before you were, and we'll be here long after you're gone. Stop messing with our harmless outlet for exercise and competition before I throw down a sick reverse windmill dunk over that bee-infested bonnet you're wearing.

8) Bored FCPS Higher-Ups. (See number 7 above) Whose bright idea is it to move principals to new schools every year? What happened to the days when principals established themselves in a community and built relationships over time with families, faculty, and the random old guys playing basketball in your gym? Is consistency and stability not a good thing? Sheesh, I didn't think they were serious in 5th grade when they offered us the chance to be "Principal for a Day."

7) Confused Baseball Hall of Fame Voters. Some of the people in the BBWAA must have taken a foul ball to the head. You didn't vote for Greg Maddux? He pitched for 23 years, won 355 games, and had a lifetime ERA (in the steroid era, no less) of 3.16. He won at least 15 games a remarkable 20 years in a row. He faced 20,421 batters in his career, and just 310 of them saw a 3-0 count. He was a pitching savant. The only reason you may not have voted for him is that, a) You doubted he was human, or b) Your pencil lead broke after you cast your vote for Greg Gagne and Jacque Jones.

6) The Wendy's Red-Headed Ad Campaign. I don't know who was in the focus group when they developed this series of unfunniness, but they must have been high on bad chili and Frostys. The new Wendy Girl's smug, fast-food-elitist attitude and lousy jokes really get on my nerves. I'm tuning you out and going to Chipotle, Honey, because there's nothing remotely funny coming from your mouth except fake cheese and a horrible script. You wouldn't make it 15 minutes with Geico.

5) Ben Roethlisberger Rapist Jokes from Steeler Haters. How many ways can you work an insult into his name? Yes, the guy became a caricature of the entitled predatory athlete. Yes, he was a slimeball. His actions were despicable and he deserved more punishment than he got. But he seems to have found his better self and changed his ways. He's married, has a second child on the way, and has been eating humble pie for the past four years. He's a good teammate, kind to the press, and trying hard to restore his image. Last time I checked, King David killed a guy and got a second chance (I could make a Ray Lewis joke here, but I won't because I'm not you). So move on, Hater. The ship of your clever puns has sailed, along with the Ravens receiving corps.

4) Dr. Kevin Hornsby, MD. If you listen to Sports Talk 980 out of DC, you'll know who I'm talking about. It's the local radio version of the awkward moment when you are watching football with your teenage son and your Presbyterian mother, and the "double bathtub in the backyard" and "men at the age to get things done" commercials come on. "If you are a man, listen to me," Dr Hornsby implores. "I'm so sure you'll have a positive reaction to the medication, right here in my office, that if you don't, you'll pay nothing, guaranteed." Holy Eiffel Tower, who wants that? A positive reaction right there in the office? With people watching? Isn't that the nightmare of every boy who's ever had a sports physical?

3) Basketball Coaches Who Play Only 6 Players. By the Hair Grease of Pat Riley! It's an average JV team in an average sports county, not the NBA Finals! Hey John Wooden, your reward for winning games at this level is the small print under the varsity box score. So for the sake of my Linsanity, give the rest of the guys on the team more than 3 seconds of playing time, if you even know what 3 seconds is. They might surprise you.

2) Frederick County Planners and Commissioners. You know, if there's anything we MUST HAVE around here, it's another Super Monster Inter-Continental Mega Walmart across the street from the Entirely-Sufficient, Newly-Remodeled Walmart we have now. Oh, and let's build a WHOLE NEW TOWN on a twisty, dangerous, overpopulated road the width of my driveway, right down the street from the elementary school that already has 371 portables. This makes perfect sense. And good heavens, for the sake of all that is good and right in the world, DO NOT let that church in Urbana put a cross on the side of their building! What are you trying to do, ruin our pristine county and create unfathomable traffic problems?

1) Grumpy Bloggers. Seriously, didn't your mother ever tell you, "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all"? Maybe you should take your Grumpy Hat off and wash your keyboard with some Jesus soap, you sarcasm-laced scoundrel.

Wow! My brain was on fire, but I feel better now. The fog is lifting. I can go back to being Mr. Nice Guy...

New Year; New You

2013 was a great year for me. I enjoyed it very much.

I traveled far and wide, including a mission trip to Ecuador, weddings in Arkansas and LA, and a conference with some buddies in Indy. The church has continued to grow, and I've had the privilege of leading our excellent and influential youth ministry into the prime of its life. I celebrated my 25th wedding anniversary with the world's best wife at a nice hotel in Annapolis. I watched my kids drum, play, sing, strum, shoot, swing, score, win, lose, laugh and grow. I read some good books, saw some quality movies, and got addicted to the Walking Dead. I didn't get too old to play basketball. Heck, the Pirates even made the playoffs! Yes, it was a fantastic year!



I like the new Facebook feature called "Year in Review." It takes you on a quick trip down memory lane, featuring your most popular posts and pictures from the year. What a hoot! It reminds me how fun this year has been and how blessed I am. The picture above is in mine. It's from a retreat with the high school kids this summer. It was good to have hair again, if just for a few minutes.

But I confess I've also been a bit sad about the passing of another year. Maybe it's the sugar crash of the post-Christmas diet, or this depressing weather. Or maybe it's the lack of progress I see in certain areas of my life. I'm not sure. But it gives me a reason to pause and reflect on what I want this year to be like. What do I want to accomplish? How do I want to change? (I know, everyone makes resolutions. How cliche`!) So bear with me as I jump into 2014 by asking myself the two best questions I can think of:

How can I know Jesus better a year from now?
How can I be more like Jesus a year from now?

Those are two pretty good questions, don't you think? They are really the only questions that matter that much. If a year from now, I know Jesus better and am more like him, that would be wonderful. I wouldn't so much call this a "resolution" as I would call it a pursuit. A pursuit of my Lord, and a pursuit of my best self. So as I've pondered these questions, I've come up with a plan to help me meet my goals. I won't give all the details, but here are some words from my journal that will help.

Daily, Weekly, Monthly, Quarterly
Accountability
Simplify
Serve
Exercise
Encourage People
Encourage My Family
Lead, Become, Stretch, Fulfill

These words are the core of some disciplines and rhythms that will help me grow closer to Christ this year. The Bible is a big factor. So is prayer. I'm hoping God will grant me the discipline necessary to follow through on my desires. It would be great if my progress was so obvious that you noticed it.

Perhaps you have goals for 2014 also. I would encourage you to think of them through the lens of those 2 questions I mentioned. How can I know Jesus better a year from now? How can I be more like him? That will make for an outstanding 2014 for you, and all who know you. Here's to the year ahead, to becoming what Jesus wants us to become, and to making 2014 a year worth reviewing.

Mr. Keating Goes to Public Education

"Let me be really clear: Great teachers are wonderful. They change lives. We need them. The problem is that most schools don't like great teachers. They're organized to stamp them out, bore them, bureaucratize them, and make them average."
- Seth Godin, Linchpin

I'm offering a few brief thoughts on public education today.

My wife teaches second grade. She is good at it. She possesses--has always possessed--an extraordinary social gift. She connects with kids, spreads love, makes people feel valued, creates inclusion, and spawns the desire to please. She has the God-given ability to inspire children to believe in themselves and want to learn. It is the very essence of effective classroom teaching. Without even trying, she is a teaching genius.

She works in an environment in which these essential qualities are overlooked, and worse, buried under the demanding expectations of test scores, conformity, and bureaucracy.

I'm not sure whose fault it is--parents, politicians, the faceless entity known as Public Education? I'm not casting blame, I'm making an observation, and a biased one at that. I'm a simple-minded observer. I know that Karen is a great teacher. I also know that she feels like a failure much of the time, unable to complete her work in a reasonable amount of hours, under constant demands of prodigious amounts of record-keeping and educational gobbledygook, forced to attend a multitude of meetings labeled by initials that no-one can explain, judged by the test scores instead of the personal success of her students. Every day she faces incredible challenges to keep up. She gets up at 4:30am and goes to bed after 11:00pm. She is never finished. I admire her more than she knows.

She taught many years ago, before we had children, and she's been back at now for about eight years. Each year the job gets harder. Each year it changes just for the sake of change. Each year it requires more loyalty to technology and less to common sense. Each year it becomes less about the teacher as a human, and more about the teacher as a factory worker. The creation of curriculum flows ever more upward and loses touch with the needs of each child. The pressure of meeting the political demands of a failing system flows downward, squashing people who simply love to teach under its weight. I have a brother who is a principal, and a sister-in-law who is a teacher. Both are, like my wife, exceptional at what they do. I think they would agree that public education has become widget-making instead of art, and what is lost in this Faustian transaction is the intrinsic value of the social genius who can unleash the dreams and talents of each unique child under her charge.

Remember John Keating? He was the Robin Williams character in Dead Poets Society whose unorthodox style inspired his buttoned-up prep school boys to pursue Carpe Diem instead of Carpe SAT. They learned to love poetry and dream big dreams while studying engineering to please the establishment. Well, Mr. Keating is dead. He didn't last at Welton. He would never get hired in Frederick County, and if he did, he'd be exhausted from the bureaucratic beat-down.

I wonder if, at some point, the whole system will break down. The world is changing. There's no longer a need to create a society of corporate minions. The days of working 40 years for one company in order to build your pension are over. The new world favors movement, creativity, art, and entrepreneurship. It favors those uncontrollable, outside-the-box thinkers whose gift isn't good test scores, but new ways of thinking and seeing the possibilities. It won't favor those who succeed within public education, but those who succeed in spite of it. I don't know how or when it will happen, or what it will look like, but I believe it's inevitable. Great teachers cannot be kept under wraps forever. Mr. Keating will rise again.

It's good they stink

I have my Sundays back!

The life of a youth pastor revolves around Sunday--at least it does for me, since our youth ministry meets on Sunday evenings, and of course we have church in the morning. Every fall Sunday since I've been at Mountain View, I've felt the frustrating tug of my other career -- being a Pittsburgh Steelers' fan.

Yes, I know it sounds trivial, but one of the challenges of the life I've chosen is that Sunday afternoons in the fall do not allow me to watch much football. Both my location (Maryland -- few Steeler games on TV) and schedule (Sundays very full) make it difficult to indulge one of my primary hobbies. With the Steelers being so good the past 10 years or so, I've constantly wrestled with getting ready for youth group while wondering what my beloved team is doing.

Imagine the inner tension. There have been many times when I've had a meeting after church, or had to leave home at 4:00, just as the rare televised game was beginning. There have been many nights I had to turn the TV off in our youth room--right in the middle of the 4th quarter of a close game--because it was time to start worship. Two years ago, I heard about the fateful Tebow playoff pass to beat the Steelers from one of the kids checking his phone during my sermon. Twice in the past six years, I've had to make a difficult choice between watching the AFC Championship Game or teaching a lesson about Jesus. (The game won once; Jesus won once)

But this year that's not an issue. The Steelers are bad, really bad. They won yesterday, but they are 3-6 and have little hope of making the playoffs. They have lost to perennial also-rans like the Raiders, Titans and Vikings. Their defense had the all-time worst day in franchise history against the Patriots. It's embarrassing. It's sad.

But it's also a bit of a relief! You see, this fall, instead of worrying about what the Steelers are doing, I've been set free. With defeat mostly assured before the game starts, I've been more focused on my work. I've been able to get fully prepared. I've been able to hang out with students without being grumpy or distracted. I've been able to look a taunting Ravens fan in the eye and say, "How was your week." I've been "in the zone"--and not the red one, unless you mean the words of Jesus printed in my Bible.

So for now, it's good the Steelers stink. It makes me a better pastor and maybe a better person. Here's hoping next year's NFL draft will make me a worse one.

The Pirate Child

First of all, if you are not a baseball fan, please humor me for a few moments. Surely there is something from your childhood--an experience, a hobby, a passion of some kind--so precious to you that you cannot imagine growing up without it. It's part of who you are, your history and your identity.

Then imagine that it disappears, becoming a source of pain, disappointment or embarrassment, or getting buried so deeply by the passage of time that it doesn't even feel like it ever really existed.

For me, this was Pittsburgh Pirates baseball. I was a Pirate child.

I grew up in the 70s, and more than anything else--from the time I was a little boy--I loved baseball, and particularly, the Pittsburgh Pirates. My first game ever, at the age of 6, was Game 5 of the 1971 World Series. I don't know why my dad got tickets--he wasn't even a fan--but he did, and my two brothers and I missed school to watch Nelson Briles pitch a 2-hit shutout against the Baltimore Orioles in the cavernous Three Rivers Stadium. It was like entering Oz. I was hooked.

The next year, as my card collection was growing even faster than I was, I was sitting in the left field bleachers, enjoying my friend Kim Steiner's 7th birthday party, as Roberto Clemente stood proudly on second base, enjoying his 3000th hit. Even at age 7, I understood the significance of his accomplishment and the nobility of his character. I learned the agony of allegiance quickly when a wild pitch cost the Pirates the pennant that year against the hated Reds, and learned it even more deeply when I heard the devastating news a few months later, while putting away the Christmas tree on New Year's Day, that Clemente's plane had disappeared off the coast of Puerto Rico.

I cannot separate my childhood from the Pirates. It was a glorious time to grow up in Western Pennsylvania. The Pirates were really good, winning the division six times in the face of worthy rivals such as the Big Red Machine and the Carlton/Schmidt/Bowa-led Phillies. Their team boasted such iconic stars and zany personalities as Steve Blass, Willie Stargell, Al Oliver, Dave Parker, Manny Sanguillen, and their gravel-throated narrator, Bob Prince. I loved the Steelers and their four Super Bowls, but nothing, NOTHING, was more important to me than the fortunes of my beloved Buccos. As the decade drew to a close, and Stargell's arcing home run fell into the bullpen at Memorial Stadium, giving the Pirates a fantastical come-from-behind World Series victory and second championship of the decade (1979), I was in heaven, my life and meticulously-kept scorecard complete at the impressionable age of 14.

That night, basking in the glory of my hero's greatest moment, I did not know--could not possibly have known--how badly things would unravel and how misery and humiliation would replace pride for a very, very long time.

The Phillies won the World Series in 1980. Stargell retired in 1982. In 1985, the city was humiliated by drug trials involving in-stadium cocaine purchases by numerous members of the team and even the team mascot, the Pirate Parrot. By the late 80s the team faced a changing economic landscape, and fears of a departure to another city were real. There was a brief respite in the early 90s--three division titles--but that period ended with a crushing, pennant-losing bottom-of-the-9th single to left in Atlanta, and the free agency departure of stars Bonds and Bonilla. My oldest son, Jonathan, could hear my agonizing wails from inside his mother's womb.

That night, I knew it would get bad, but I had no idea how bad. Beginning in 1993, the Pittsburgh Pirates embarked on a period of ineptitude unprecedented in professional sports history. One bad season turned into two, into five, into 20. There were bad drafts, horrible trades, inexplicable free agent signings, bored managers, poor effort, and the most inept period of upper management in the history of upper management. Every spring I pinned my hopes on self-deceiving propaganda--a litany of players so bad it produces retrospective groaning laughter--and every year my hopes were crushed, usually by the middle of May. Twenty consecutive losing seasons culminated in legendary late-season meltdowns the past two years that left me without the heart to carry on.

Early this season, after a miserable opening week and a team batting average of .100, I shared my anger on Facebook. I couldn't go through this any more. I was finished. For real this time. I had been the hopeful, loyal apologist and optimist when none could be found, but I'd had enough. I no longer wanted to be associated with losers. These weren't the Cubs, and they weren't loveable. They were the Pirates, and they humiliated me and all who followed them.

From that very moment, things changed. The team began to win. They won big games. They climbed in the standings. They won with spirit and style. They pitched better than anyone, hit just enough to be dangerous, and out-managed most. They developed a team chemistry second to none. Now it's September 2nd, and the Pirates just won two out of three from their competitive rivals in front of sellout crowds. They have a legitimate MVP candidate (Andrew McCutchen), a roster filled with true big-leaguers, and a real chance to win something. They are only 3 wins away from ending "The Streak" and are actually tied for first place. Now I watch the games at night on my iPad, and chat about them with my boys, now all older than I was when the Pirates last won anything, in hopes that it's not too late for them to rewrite their Pirate memories.

The Pirates are formidable; they've won a lot of games, and they've won me back (it wasn't hard--I'm so easy). I feel like I felt in 1978, the year before the Pirates won the World Series, when the baseball universe was filled with anticipation and good cheer. I feel like a child again.

I hope whatever you have lost from your childhood--joys and memories buried by failure, misery, humiliation, embarrassment or just the passage of time--springs back to life and makes you feel like a Pirate child again.

The True Audience

Yesterday afternoon, Rafael Nadal and John Isner, two of the world's top tennis players, squared off in the championship of a tournament in Cincinnati. They spent a few hours hammering serves, diving for balls, and smashing great shots in front of thousands of people in the stands and hundreds of thousands of TV viewers. It was a spectacle. Professional tennis is a great spectator sport.

Meanwhile, I was playing tennis with a good friend in Urbana. We are the same age, and he always beats me because he stinks a little less than I do. I joked to Joel, my opponent, "You know, each of us has the advantage when the other guy is hitting." We were playing in front of no one, moving like three-legged deer, hitting the ball with the authority and confidence of inebriated monkeys. It's a good thing no one was watching. Old man tennis may be a spectacle too, but it's not a spectator sport.

This morning I'm reflecting on the power of being watched, and I'm asking myself a few questions: Is my life a spectator sport? Is anyone watching? Does the size of the audience matter? Does my level of play--the consistency of my life--remain the same whether I am alone with God or in the company of many? I think they call this integrity.

As a pastor, I know I am being watched. People expect certain responses and behaviors. They watch my interaction with others, or with my family, and they form opinions, good and bad, about my character and my worthiness for "ministry." I don't know if it's fair, but it's normal and I've come to expect it. People who know me well realize how normal and screwed up I am, but I confess that there are times I find myself acting a certain way just to impress strangers who might be watching. I want to please the crowd and make it look like I am something more than I really am. It's stupid. Poser.

On the other hand, there are lots of times when I fail to live up to my own expectations in the privacy of my own heart. Those are the days when my integrity is more embarrassing then old men playing bad tennis. While nobody else may see the nonsense being played out on the court of my interior life, I see it. And more importantly, my Heavenly Father sees it. He is the truest, most discerning audience of all. And while he convicts me of my failure and desires my improvement, he also loves me in spite of it all. His mercies are new every morning. I am thankful that he watches me not with judgment, but with forgiveness, compassion, and maybe even a sense of humor. It's an audience I can play before without fear, no matter how bad I look.

I hope you can play better than I do, and I hope you hear the encouraging applause of your biggest fan no matter how well or how poorly you think you are doing.