I woke up grumpy, and events didn't help. Between the sound of my alarm and the sound of the keys as I type this, were a whole list of things I grumbled about: bad hair day. Car's in the shop. Had to cancel an appointment (because the car's in the shop). Forgot my keycard for work. Forgot my lunch. Forgot to eat breakfast. Can't remedy forgetfulness, because car's in the shop. But here's the thing: God loved me as much this morning as he ever has.

Like their non-believing neighbors, Christians in America have stuffed their calendars full. Sure, the names of our activities might be different than theirs, but busy is the norm. In fact, we often measure people's commitment to Christianity by their commitment to church activities–the more they show up, the more "Christian" they must be. We encourage people to Overbook for Jesus, ignoring the reality that it just doesn't work.

Our society is a short-cut, quick-fix, one-and-done kind of culture. In fact, if we could get a pill to fix everything that was wrong with us, we'd take a shortcut to the pharmacy & grumble about the line, and complain that it'd take a few hours to see results. We want fast; we want easy, so I'm going to give it to you. Here's the fastest, easiest way to becoming a spiritual Super Star:

"Is this really what I'm supposed to be doing with my life?" "I see what other people are doing, and I wonder if I'm really making any impact at all." "I felt good about my life until I realized she was the same age as me, and had done so much more." I've had a lot of conversations like this lately, and been on both sides of the issue. The angst is everywhere, so we think of it as a normal part of Christian life. However, generations of believers across the globe would find it foreign.

A few days ago, I had lunch with a dear friend. As usual, conversation started with banter, dancing in rhythms established decades ago. Then, as can only happen in time-cured friendships, the inside jokes quickly but imperceptibly gave way to meaty authenticity. Later, driving away from the restaurant, I reflected on the treasure God gives us through spiritual friendships–the treasure He's given me through my friendships.

If your church is like most, there were 3 categories of people who visited this weekend: current church family, prospects, and the Chreasters (or Holiday Hoppers, or C-E's, or whatever you call those people who only show up on Christmas and Easter.) Chreasters are the ones who'll make your attendance skyrocket those Sundays without any spiritual dividends. They're there because of tradition, or family, or folk theology, but there's an unspoken agreement that they won't bother then church and the church won't bother them the other 50 weeks of the year. Maybe this year, we should break that agreement.

I don’t know if there’ll ever be an end to black-suited Latter Day Saints bicycling their way through two-year missions, but I have noticed a new cadre of Mormon missionaries lately, sans bicycles. You may have, too, if you read lifestyle blogs, watch television, or follow U.S. politics. Mormons, the polygamist cult that fled to Mexican-owned Utah (because it was a place no one else wanted) after being expelled from a series of mid-western states, are now trying a different tactic: being normal. Or rather, just a tad bit better than normal.

I'm currently reading a biography of William Tyndale, the Reformation hero who lived (and died) to translate the Bible into the language his fellow Englishmen could understand. Until then, the church allowed only the Latin version, and held a monopoly on scripture. The common person's knowledge of God was limited to the church's instruction, and those instructions often had little in common with what God said about Himself in scripture. Tyndale's passion was putting God's own Word into the hands of "the plowboy"–the average person. Tyndale's lifework gave people access to scripture, and is life has it's own lessons. Here are William Tyndale's secrets to leaving a legacy.

The Bible teaches that we should be humble. At the same time, God demands all our worship and talks about Himself in a way that seems a bit like (if one wasn't scared to say so) bragging. What's up with that? Is God a hypocritical narcissist?

This weekend, hubby & I went to a conference where a speaker made an offhand comment: "We've heard lots of sermons on how to be Christian in the world. I'd like some on how to be Christian on Facebook." It's been a while since I wrote on the topic, so I took that as a prompt. Here are some thoughts.