Tag Archives: grace

Alt text: A dark silhouette leans over the jagged rim of a deep hole, shouting downward into the shadows, framed by cold rocky walls and a muted golden-gray sky.

Shouting Down the Hole

If you’ve ever been depressed and tried to tell someone about it, you know the look.

There’s a half-second pause. Then the pivot. “Have you tried getting outside more? Maybe some exercise? Honestly, when I’m feeling down, I just…” And you nod along, waiting for them to finish, already certain that whatever they’re about to describe isn’t the thing you’re living in.

It doesn’t really matter who you tell. Everybody’s got a version of the same advice. Have you tried thinking positive. Have you tried a gratitude list. Have you tried just… not being so hard on yourself. All well-meaning. Almost all of it some flavor of have you tried thinking your way out of it.

And then there’s the church version.

Tell a fellow Christian and the same advice shows up with a spiritual upgrade. “Have you been praying? Have you been in the Word? When I hit a hard season, I just lean into God and…” Same pivot. Same quiet certainty that what they’re describing isn’t what you’re experiencing. Except now there’s a sharper edge to it: if their fix doesn’t take, the unspoken conclusion is that the thing that’s broken must be your faith.

And that one cuts deeper. It’s hard enough to be handed advice that doesn’t fit. It’s worse to walk away feeling like you’re failing God on top of it.

We don’t talk enough about the difference between sad and depressed.

Really it’s a spectrum, not two tidy boxes. A lot of us taste some version of depression at some point — a brutal week, a grief that won’t lift, a stretch where the color drains out of everything. That’s real, and I’m not here to wave it off or rank anyone’s pain.

But sad, even heavy sad, tends to be temporary and responsive. It moves when your circumstances move. It answers to time, prayer, community, and the resilience God built into us.

There’s a far end of that spectrum, though, and that’s where this post lives. The kind that doesn’t lift when the situation improves. Sometimes the kind that was never tied to a bad situation in the first place — it just shows up. The kind you can’t reason or pray or grit your way out of, no matter how strong your faith. That end isn’t simply more sad, and it isn’t a contest over who deserves sympathy. It’s a different thing entirely.

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Resentment Keeps Graduating

If you’re reading this, there’s a decent chance you already know resentment is bad for you. You’ve heard the metaphor about drinking poison and expecting the other person to die. You’ve nodded along when someone said “unforgiveness is a prison.” You get it.

And yet.

This post isn’t for the general population. This is for those of us who have a particular, persistent relationship with resentment. The kind where it’s not something you occasionally feel. It’s something you fight. Regularly. Like a recurring boss battle in a video game where the boss keeps coming back with new abilities.

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A figure running on a treadmill that curves into a large wheel, resembling a hamster wheel and suggesting endless motion without progress.

Approval Addiction: The Performance Treadmill

Hi, my name is Justin, and I’m an approval addict.
There, I said it.

If you’ve ever found yourself rehearsing a conversation in your head for hours, wondering what someone thought of you after a meeting, or feeling inexplicably deflated when your work went unnoticed, you might know exactly what I’m talking about.

Some people call it people-pleasing. Others call it conflict avoidance. Some frame it as a performance treadmill. The hamster wheel. Different names, same thing: a deep, sometimes desperate need for others to validate that you’re on the right track. That you belong. That you’re wanted.

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The Stick That Stuck

What’s brown and sticky? A stick.

It’s a dumb joke, but it’s one of my faves. I am a dad after all.
It also happens to be the best metaphor I’ve found for something that has taken me years to name: the way our strengths and weaknesses are bound together, inseparable, like two ends of the same stick.

This post is a short introduction to the idea. My wife says I need to write a book, and she claims it will be a NYT best seller. She also married me, so her judgment is questionable. For now, a blog post will have to do. It’s a simple way to show how this little metaphor can help us live with more honesty, humility, and hope.

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