SMITCHing

My hero is my dad. He’s not Superman, and he sure isn’t perfect, but he always showed up. He never phoned it in. He never sat on the bench. He was always in the game, and I love him for that. I learned a lot from my hero. I learned how to change the oil in a ’63 VW Bug. I learned to watch out for the pulling guard on a sweep while playing outside linebacker. I learned that I was a lousy liar, and he had a nose for the truth. I learned that what made you a man wasn’t the strength of your arm, but the rock-solid nature of your character. Even so, my dad had a strong arm. My dad also taught me with his mistakes. He taught me that the most important words a man can ever say are, “I’m sorry.” Followed immediately by, “I love you.” He showed me what it was like to do the right thing, even when it scares you to death. My dad is like a lot of dads who never earn the media spotlight because they are just dads, doing what they’re supposed to do. I have no doubt they do it because they love their...

Recently, a friend of mine asked a question on his blog: What if you wish upon a star and later find out that it was a satellite? I answered it this way: Great question. It seems to me the question isn't a silly one at all. It's actually really deep: what do we do when mysterious beauty and possibility are replaced by scientific certainty? I could take "scientific certainty" to task for being less scientific and certain than it is, but the more interesting question is what do you do when something, anything, destroys the mysteriously beautiful possibilities in life? There is a sense in which Jesus is inviting us into those possibilities when he tells us that if we have sufficient faith, we can move a mountain. Most folks get the hyperbole here, but it is still a fascinating statement. Life is full of the possibility-versus-certainty tension. Will I be happy? Will I ever have a family? What if I end up poor? Will riches make me happy? My point is this: it is the questi...