True Identity

Did you know that every decision in your life is based on who you think you are? In psychology, identity is the qualities, beliefs, personality, looks and/or expressions that make a person (self-identity) or group (cultural identity). The process of identity can be creative or destructive.

If you believe that you are a person of integrity, then chances are that your choices will reflect that belief. If you believe that you are worthless, than unfortunately many of your choices will probably reflect that belief as well. But what if I were to show you how you can exchange your identity, as an imperfect human, for the perfection of God, Himself? Would you be interested in learning more?

The book of Ephesians is one of my favorite books in the Bible. I mean, who doesn't love to get compliments? Well, starting with chapter 1 God shows us a beautiful reminder of who we are in Christ. It is a running description of all that we are in Christ, and all that He has done for us through Christ. In fact, chapters 1-3 all point to this eternal truth. 

True Freedom

"It's all about me."

"It's not about you." 

Which of these two statements best represents your own personal belief system? The first statement can be applied to almost everything that Western Culture embraces. It's all about my wants, my desires, my comfort, my way, my stuff, the list is almost endless. 

The second statement is the opening line to Rick Warren's book, "The Purpose Driven Life." From the opening lines of this book the gauntlet is thrown down regarding the conflict between culture and the Bible. 

But what does the Bible say about which belief system we should choose?

The Story of the Battle of Little Big Horn

A couple of weeks ago I wrote this sentence, "It is an interesting dynamic, that history is generally not only written by the winners, but by the surviving winners. They get to selectively remember not only their decisions, but in some cases they will choose to discard facts when those facts conflict with their own pathway to glory." Today I would like to amend this opinion to add the following statement, "It is an interesting dynamic, that history is not just written by the winners, but by the surviving winners who possessed the passion and resources needed to tell their story."

Today's blog demonstrates the importance of that amended sentence. 

General Armstrong Custer, whose early career showed little promise, (Custer graduated last in his West Point class of 1861), soon made up for his lack of scholastic achievement in bravery and skill in the heat of battle. He fought in the First Battle of Bull Run and Gettysburg and by the time the war had ended he had been promoted to Major General in charge of a Cavalry division. He supposedly had over 11 horses shot out from underneath him in the Civil War and unlike most generals of that era, he led his troops from the front rather than the rear. He was also known to be hot-headed and often made rash decisions during battle as well as in his civilian life. This trait would arguably end up costing him his life . . .

Time Transporters

I'm not sure any other medium has the power to transport me back through time like music. And though I can't explain why, certain songs trigger my mind into fully replicating the entire experience, the smells, sounds, lights, people, everything that is associated with that memory is linked directly to the chords of those songs. It happens so frequently that I have started labeling those songs, though not originally I'm afraid, with the term, "Time Transporters". So this week I thought I would describe a few of those songs that hold that special place in my memories.  

I first heard the song "Sailing" by Christopher Cross, while exploring the city of San Francisco in June of 1980 with some friends, and this song seemed to be playing in every store and restaurant we frequented. I remember one morning waking up early to go jogging, (friends that have only known me since the 90's will be shocked at this revelation . . . ) and after my run getting back in my car at Fisherman's Wharf, watching the fog bank slowly retreat into the Pacific, the sun skillfully illuminating that void, and hearing this song on my car radio. Magical times.