In a June essay, celebrated Nigerian author Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie mourned the decline of good-faith conversation, especially online. The post, titled “It Is Obscene,” promptly went viral.

“There are many social-media-savvy people who are choking on sanctimony and lacking in compassion, who can fluidly pontificate on Twitter about kindness but are unable to actually show kindness,” she wrote.

At the beginning of my freshman year of high school, I was somehow persuaded to sign up for cross country. The team was known for being tight-knit and fun-loving, and though I had never been much of an athlete, I figured, “It’s just running. How hard can it be?” 

I soon found out that it was not only hard but painfully hard. I enjoyed the thrill of a short sprint, but when the distance stretched into miles, running began to feel like torture.

You are the salt of the earth, but if salt has lost its taste, how shall its saltiness be restored? It is not good for anything except to be thrown out and trampled under people’s feet. – Matthew 5:13

Salt gets bad press. It is tied to hypertension, obesity, heart disease, and other ailments. The need for salt is questioned. The use of salt is discouraged. The presence of salt on many tables is more decorative than anything else. However, this was not the case when Jesus announced to his disciples, “You are the salt of the earth.”

What are you hoping for today–perhaps for a better marriage, a job promotion, or a better year than last year? Is it a genuine hope or a just a wish? Whenever I hear someone say, “Well, I hope it happens,” I wonder if they realize the power of hope. Hope is far more than a wish. The apostle Paul says that hope comes from heaven, that it is eternal (1 Corinthians 13:13).

I got into a fight in 1st grade.  She pushed me down on the sidewalk; I got up and pushed her down on the sidewalk. We were both sent to the nurse (and detention) and ended up with almost identical scars that remained through high school. We later became friends and grew to laugh about our craziness.

But, before my scar came along, my skin grew this rough, bumpy scab.  As a kid, I was intrigued by scabs:  “How’d the body do that?  And look how easily you can pick it off, see the dotted, white skin underneath, and then it grows back again…like magic.”

God calls each one of us to love sacrificially (Eph 5:2). Loving this way is hard. In our home, this call meant becoming foster parents. Being a foster parent is not easy or simple, and sometimes it is not even fulfilling (as you and I are tempted to define it). It is hard, it is costly, and it is often thankless, but we do it nonetheless. Here are three reasons why we, as a couple and now as a family, choose to do what is hard.

My wife and I were sitting on our couch talking about the upcoming holiday season, and I asked her what she wanted for Christmas. Needing some time to think, she asked me what was on my own wish list. 

I started thinking of when I was a kid and Christmas would be on its way. My sisters and I would get so excited to get each other presents. We loved giving gifts to one another and surprising each other with a very specific present. My mom homeschooled us and my dad was a soybean farmer for most of my childhood, so we similarly got so excited at the idea of treating mom and dad with what little money we had.

We all face situations that look as though they’ll never change. It’s easy to get discouraged and accept that it’s never going to work out. But God says, “I will turn things around for my people” (Zephaniah 3:9). He’s a turnaround God. He turns Red Seas into dry pathways, He turns five loaves and two fish into dinner for thousands, and He turns skin filled with leprosy into skin as clear as a baby’s. When thoughts tell you, “Your situation is permanent. You’ll never get out of this problem,” get ready.

Control.

It’s like a drug for some of us. A reachable high that never fails to satisfy, while we rock to our theme song by Janet Jackson.

If the world isn’t spinning in our all-knowing, ever-controlling hands, it would spin out of control into the dark recesses of the Universe – or so we think.  The object of our control needs our intervention. We’re only being helpful, and putting our great ideas to good use, right?

Worst case?

There are times when our controlling nature takes a hit and loses the game.

I’m not sure I fully understand the appeal of slot machines. Drop a couple of quarters into the slot, pull the lever, and see what happens. Repeat. Do it again and again. If I were to gamble (which I’m not recommending), I would gravitate toward the games that at least have some skill involved, like blackjack or poker, rather than a game that relies completely on chance. And yet, there is a certain appeal, I guess, toward spending money with the hope that there might indeed be a big payoff or at least some return for our “investment.”