When my dad was six months old, my grandmother placed him too close to the fire. Life as a sharecropper in the 1920’s provided little more than the necessities. So, when the blankets caught fire and severely burned my father’s feet, they lacked the necessary resources to adequately address the crisis. With feet permanently disfigured my father sat out in life.

Recently I heard someone refer to forgiveness as a talent and from my perspective that’s got to be one of the craziest concepts I’ve come across in quite some time. If that were the case, then only those fortunate enough to have been blessed with that talent would be capable of sustaining meaningful relationships. And from the number of successful relationships in this world there has to have been a whole lot of forgiveness going on. That reality would be especially bad news for someone like me because, honestly, I mess up a lot.

When I was but a wee lad, I remember overhearing my dad talking to a good friend who owned a trucking business. Apparently, one of his truckers hadn’t paid attention to the height on an overpass and had destroyed the rig. For a six year old boy this was riveting stuff, as he described the process of getting that truck out from under the bridge.

I’ve been having a difficult time lately. Nothing major, it’s just that life has seemed really hard and feels overwhelming. Now, I know what I’m experiencing is nothing compared to the trauma many of you are going through, but it does remind me how circumstances can color our view of life if we don’t maintain the right heart attitudes.

I can’t believe the price of gas. I never dreamed I would pay more for a gallon of gas than I do for a gallon of milk. The squeeze to my pocketbook has me thinking of alternative fuels and hybrid cars. Living outside of town leaves me with a lengthy daily commute and I’ve got to find a more economical way to get to work. At the same time, I know with my current vehicles I’m stuck, because my cars run only on petroleum products.

I’ve been praying for Governor Spitzer this week. How well I know the trauma of painful disclosures. For those of us who have recovered from this sort of crisis, Spitzer’s and other public discoveries remind us so vividly of what we’ve overcome and what we’ve learned.

Valentine’s Day can be a difficult time for those who have recently entered into recovery. It can serve as a painful reminder of what your relationship failed to be. At the same time, remember the prospects for a fuller future; Valentine’s is great. As those of us who have traveled this road can attest, the marriage we now experience is far better than what we once had. I encourage you to stay the course and see what can happen.

As I was answering questions during our last radio program, I realized that we’ve done a poor job of explaining the root of anger. Generally, it seems much is written about managing anger, but not as much about the roots. I’ve also been guilty of that trend, so let’s remedy the situation.

Shortly after I came to faith, my Sunday school teacher said he was reading a little booklet entitled, My Heart—Christ’s Home.¹ It is a beautiful allegory of how Jesus knocks at the door of our heart; when we open the door, He comes in to make a home.² I experienced mystery when I invited Jesus into my heart. I could not define the mystery until later when my formal spiritual formation began, but initially there was a definite awareness of the beginning stages of transformation as Jesus took up residence within me.

How can you find peace in the chaos of betrayal? It’s the question of the ages. How do you escape from the relentless intrusion of painful memories, or the fearful thoughts of what might yet happen. Uninvited, these thoughts crash in on our consciousness. At best, they leave us unsettled and at worse, incapacitated, grasping for a sense of stability, longing for times past where all seemed well and secure.