Imagine an architectural undertaking of grand proportions. Vast arrays of room after room, and seemingly endless passageways wind on and on. Dust hangs in the air with the busyness of construction and activity. Hammers pound, shovels scrape, and ropes groan under the burden of change. Layer by layer the structure begins to take form, with painstaking attention given to each blueprinted detail. The first several weeks are a blur; the next few months a flurry of motion. Subtly, the pace alters ever so slightly. At first, it seems, it's just one hammer swing that's out of sync. The rhythm of the builders loses a little of its efficacy, but is still humming along. The edifice is taking shape now, and the purposes of various spaces can be speculated. Growth in size appears to be exacting its cost from the labor, however, as things continue to gently slow. Ebbing strength dictates more asynchronous behavior and development becomes sporadic. Eventually, all movement grinds to a halt...

Once upon a time, I heard that if I didn't have anything nice to say, then I shouldn't say anything at all. It seemed logical enough. I certainly appreciated, I thought, living in a realm of silence rather than negativity. What I couldn't see, however, was the seeping, wispy black cloud sneaking steadily through a crack in the door. I bought into the idea and it allowed a slow yet constant stream of grossness to flow into my space. With silent darkness as their incubator, the lies began to take shape and grow. Though their development was subtle, there were several points along the way when I was startled by the inundation. Spores gave way to ground cover, which gave way to small foliage, which eventually became a forest so thick that I could barely distinguish what was right in front of me. The problem, you see, was not that I wasn't saying anything nice. Rather, it was that I had become confused as to what nice was. That word had gotten thrown into a tumultuous sp...

One of my personal favorites from the message of TrueFaced is the principle that talks about God's design. Being currently stuck somewhere between underemployed and unemployed, I've had ample opportunity to give this some thought. Admittedly, I am the sort of person that would much prefer to leave the Savior out of the equation. In a practical sense, give me a paycheck and a time clock, and I will gladly give my allegiance to...myself. The writers of TrueFaced echo sound biblical counsel that speaks of the incredible purpose that we are built into. Beyond and superseding the mundane, the Father's intimate knowledge of His children allows Him to perfectly craft their development into a vibrant and integral part of His body. His ways are perfect because His knowledge is perfect. No one in the universe is more qualified to dream with and for us than our God. Previously, this concept has been foreign to me not because it did not sound alluring, but because I failed to belie...

Today, I had the privilege of playing a well-worn contemporary tune with what I believe to be an oft-confused message. In my previous existence as a legalist, I understood this message to be self-focused. Even more recently as a recovering grace pharisee, I had a warped view of what the text was really saying. In typical Western fashion, I operated as though I had intimate knowledge of the author's intent and heart attitude through the lyrics, though I had taken zero initiative to discover what that was. Today's message was just reiterating how the Gospel is relational, period. There is no skirting the issue. We as human beings are aligning ourselves either with God or with ourselves, and there is no middle ground. If we choose to ignore the relational component of the Good News, then we cheapen grace and effectively nullify the work of Christ at Calvary. We assume the form, but deny His power. It was a great reminder of the Savior's tremendous love and our inability to d...

This fall, I've been working hard at making official what has to this point only been a hobby---a recording label. As I continue to reiterate, Far Beyond Rescue is step one in trusting God with music (and everything else for that matter). Some of the subsequent steps are playing out to be, "Hey world, I've been busy recording things for nearly ten years now and I'm trusting God to do something with it in His time." As I've gone digging through my hard drive, I've stumbled across many recordings that I had completely forgotten about. Thus far, I've found over 60 songs that are what I feel to be retail-ready. With a little more work, the record label will have the entirety of its catalog available on iTunes, with music videos to follow on YouTube. One of my favorite hymns brings to light a principle I've been pondering lately in regards to singing the praises of our Master. "Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing" references the Israelite Eben...

Music has had a long history in my life, especially as it relates to what dyed-in-the-wool midwesterners would term "special music". The irony that someone singing a solo on Sunday morning is referred to in different vocabulary than the rest of the worship service says something about our skewed church culture...but I digress. One of my first memories of singing in church was a solo I did when I was just four years old. I sang a song entitled, "Pound, Pound, Pound", wherein the composer, Lowell Lundstrom , talks about the story of Noah. I remember climbing the seemingly endless four stair steps up to the podium area. I turned and faced a small sea of faces and had the first taste of gripping fear that I can recall. I timidly waded through the song, at one point forgetting an entire phrase of lyrics. Many years later, I had the opportunity to sing the National Anthem for a packed crowd at a high school basketball game. Full of self confidence, I dismissed the choir...