Whom “your people” aren’t supposed to be friendly with. You know who they are. How you identify “those people” depends on who “your people” are. It’s also wise to realize that “your people” are quite likely someone else’s “those people,” whether you realize it or not.

Avoid “those people.”

Go around the area of town where “those people” live.

Don’t talk to “those people.”

Don’t listen to “those people.”

Don’t trust “those people.”

That you miss the place you are passing through.

You’re always on the way to somewhere. It might be a literal place; it could be a metaphorical place. It might be a new physical location; it could be a goal. It might be a tangible change; it could be a renewed internal state of being.

Whatever that might be for you today, in this very moment or in this season of life, don’t be in such a hurry. The destination isn’t everything. It’s what happens in the meantime that counts. All the little moments, all the unexpected and potentially insignificant opportunities to simply be alive and be present to the world around us.

Right when your success is just starting to gain momentum is a ridiculous strategy. But it often seems to be a preferred strategy of the Kingdom of God.

Right when Jesus’ ministry started to outshine John’s, as his baptism numbers started to eclipse “the Baptist” himself, what did Jesus do? He left Judea—with Jerusalem, the big city as its center point—to head back to Galilee—a mostly rural, small town province. As even some of Jesus’ own disciples would later tell him, if you really want to be successful, you leave Galilee and go show off in Judea.

Not the other way around, Jesus. Come on! Moving to a smaller market is counterintuitive and counterproductive to success.

God is not wrath. God is love. But if we refuse his love insistently enough, it can feel as if he is angry.

A few years ago I was in Rome. One of the most amazing things I saw in that ancient city was a widely dispersed but interconnected network of water fountains. There are over 2,500 of these fountains that flow non-stop with fresh spring water from the surrounding mountains. Unlimited, refreshing water. Available to anyone.

If you die of thirst in Rome it is, to put it bluntly, your own dumb fault.

And speak as if you are from there.

Jesus, having come from heaven, spoke with the accent of heaven.

Many of us Christians try to speak as if we’ve come from heaven—like an American trying to speak with a British accent because it supposedly makes them sound more sophisticated. We try to speak with divine confidence, authority, and assuredness. We try to come across as if we’ve got the truth locked down. As if we have seen all things and know all things and understand all things.

So that someone else can take a step forward?

Can you take a back seat so that someone else can drive?

Can you move to a lower position so that someone else can take the higher position?

Can you step out of the limelight so that someone else can have a moment to shine?

Can you risk a decline in apparent success so that someone else can succeed?

Can you risk losing so that someone else can win?

Can you be quiet long enough for someone else’s voice to be heard?

Can you follow so that someone else has a chance to lead?

Can you do the grunt work so that someone else can fill the more glorious role?

We like to tell ourselves that everything is earned. That the possessions or reputation or status or success or whatever we have is because we deserve them based on our hard work or character or intelligence.

But that’s simply not true. Everything good we have can be traced back to someone else. (In the Christian view, that lineage of blessing eventually leads back to God himself).

Is time. Time is a non-renewable resource.

You can find ways to make more money. You can acquire more materials. You can hire fresh talent or strike up relationships with new partners. You can woo more clients or customers. You can explore new markets.  You can dream up new solutions or products.

But you can’t make more time.

Can be blinding. Disorienting. Even a little painful as you squint and shield your eyes. Anyone who has ever walked out of a movie theater into the summer sun knows what I mean.

So it is with walking out into the light of God. It can be temporarily blinding. And it’s usually uncomfortable for a deeper reason: You can now be seen.

Having spent most of your life in darkness, being seen feels vulnerable. You are exposed. You face the very real risk of being seen for who you truly are. You fear being unloved because you have done things that make you less lovable. Or perhaps entirely unlovable.

Belief is not mental assent to a list of doctrines. Belief is trust in a person.

It’s one thing to believe facts about Jesus; it’s another thing to trust him. It’s one thing to accept doctrine about Jesus; it’s another thing to entrust yourself to him. Doctrine matters, I suppose, but I’m beginning to suspect that it doesn’t matter as much as we suppose. It at least doesn’t carry as much real-world-weight as trust carries.