I wrote this poem called “The Calvinist” to capture a glimpse of God’s sovereign intersection with the life of a sinful man. There is no part of life where the greatness of God does not penetrate deeply. I want to help you feel that.
The call of God creates sight in us. It’s the work of God in our hearts to awaken us before his word.
The Christian life becomes impossible. That is, it becomes supernatural.
We make a god out of whatever we find most joy in. So find your joy in God and be done with all idolatry.
God is not a killjoy; he just opposes what kills joy.
Out of the freedom from worry that God’s generosity provides comes an impulse toward simplicity rather than accumulation.
Don’t ever think that the sin of your past means there is no hope for your future.
Our obedience is God’s pleasure when it proves that God is our treasure.
Where feelings for God are dead, worship is dead.
We are far too easily pleased.
We have a name for those who try to praise when they have no pleasure in the object. We call them hypocrites.
The deepest and most enduring happiness is found only in God. Not from God, but in God.
Homosexual behavior has been exploited, and reveled in, and celebrated in art, for millennia.
There are two basic restrictions on marriage in the Bible: Number one, she should marry a man. Number two, he should be a Christian.
Neither Muslims nor anyone else truly worships the true God if they reject Jesus as he really is in the Gospels.
Woe to us if we get our satisfaction from the food in the kitchen and the TV in the den and the sex in the bedroom with an occasional tribute to the cement blocks in the basement!
I’ve always wondered, am I a writer who preaches or a preacher who writes? I don’t know. I love them both.
My joy grows with every soul that seeks the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ. Remember, you have one life. That’s all. You were made for God. Don’t waste it.
We are more than a collection of appetites – we are of God.
Our lives become trivial. And our capacity for magnificent causes and great worship dies.
My mother, who grew up in Pennsylvania, literally washed my mouth out with soap once for saying, ‘Shut up!’ to my sister. She would have washed my mouth out with gasoline if she knew how foul my mouth was racially when she wasn’t around.