There. I said it. If you want to be a Christian, you're going to have to embrace being a “loser.” Your greatest dreams must be of loserdom. You must long for it, deep in your bones. Which makes absolutely no sense at all for someone looking for the “life to the full” (John 10:10) that Jesus promised his followers.

I like to feel smart, cool, and like I know what’s going on. There’s security that comes from being “in the know.” My issue is that I often have no idea what’s going on. I have ADHD, and my mind goes in all kinds of directions at once, so that’s one factor that contributes to my cluelessness. I feel like the guy eating a popsicle in this clip from Brooklyn 99 (one of my favorite TV shows).

In my zeal to learn how to “properly handle the word of truth” (2 Tim 2:15), I can forget that these words are “living and active” (Heb 4:12), and in them, I can meet my God….This began as a post about the Telios Conference I attended, but it evolved into a reflection on “do I read the Bible without God?” Read the whole post, and you’ll see what I mean.

My wife and I had a fight on Valentine’s Day. Some people went out to a fancy dinner or a show. I’m sure some took romantic strolls in the soft moonlight. Others watched their favorite romantic comedy, laughing and crying with their Valentines, Ben & Jerry. Not me and Katy. We had to be different – so we fought.

During this year’s NFL championship, the Christian organization He Gets Us ran a commercial showing people washing other people’s feet, referencing Jesus’ example in John 13. You wouldn’t imagine the simple act of service would cause much controversy, but it’s somehow managed to upset just about everyone. Some were upset that the campaign preached love and service while spending ~$21 million on commercials rather than love and service. But the majority of the outrage stems from the ad’s content.

The ending of a championship game always throws a dagger of ice into my heart. You see athletes leaping into the arms of their teammates, having fulfilled a dream they’ve had since childhood. Just a few feet away, you see fierce competitors with their heads in their hands, watching someone else grab their dream from under their noses. Ecstasy and agony. Elation and despair. It’s a Rembrandt painting on network television, and it kills me every time. My heart hurts for the losers.

As a man, my greatest test of strength comes when my wife asks me to open a jar. Of course, I can open a jar. Enclosed pickles are no match for me. Now, if it pops off right away, I feel like I’m Mr. Olympia and hand the jar back to my wife with a casual smirk of smugness that makes her roll her eyes. But, if I have any trouble, and I mean any trouble, my alarm bells start to go off. Oh my gosh, can I not open this jar? When was the last time I went to the gym? I will not be bested by brine. But the biggest issue for me, as I fight my epic struggle of man vs. pickle, is how my wife sees me. What does she think about me? Suddenly, this isn’t about a jar but my value as a person.