Following Jesus In Digital Spaces #2 : Choosing Your Arguments

 Like so many people, I wrestle with how to use social media well. I am certain I am not the only one. It can be a wonderful and terrible tool, which is true of pretty much anything people create. 

This is part of a series of videos (and a transcript) from a friend at church (he's also been a fellow elder for years). Tom Gordon taught history at Northwestern Michigan College for 30 years. He not only knows a lot about history, he has learned what it's like to navigate conversations on college campuses (and at church) when strong opinions and emotions enter the room. I have found his insight to be challenging, thoughtful, and very helpful to my spiritual and relational formation before, and it's about to happen again.

You can see the first episode here.  

Episode 2 — You Don’t Have to Attend Every Argument

One of the quiet pressures of social media  is the feeling that we’re supposed to respond to everything.Every headline. Every opinion. Every post that feels wrong or upsetting.

But here’s something freeing: Just because an argument is happening online doesn’t mean you’re required to join it. Most of us have tried. We jump into a thread hoping to bring clarity…

 and a few minutes later, we feel tired, tense, or disconnected. Not more loving. Just depleted.

What I notice about Jesus Christ  is that He didn’t chase every misunderstanding. He didn’t answer every accusation. Sometimes He spoke. Sometimes He walked away. Sometimes He stayed silent. Not because He didn’t care — but because He knew who He was and what He was called to carry.

That’s discipleship. Learning what is yours to engage… and what isn’t. So here’s a simple practice for this week:

When you feel pulled into an online argument, pause and ask: Is this mine to carry? If not…you’re allowed to scroll past. You’re allowed to breathe. You’re allowed to save your emotional energy for the people actually in your life.

Sometimes faithfulness looks like speaking. And sometimes it looks like restraint. This series isn’t about disengaging from the world. It’s about staying rooted in Christ while living in it. 

No perfection required. Just wisdom.

Grace and peace, friends.

Learning To Jump Again: The Songs ("Oh Death, Oh Life")

Some of you have read my self-published book Learning To Jump Again, which started as a personal journal of grief after my father died. I eventually made it public in hopes that it could help others as they grieve the loss of a loved one. 

Within that book were some poems, for better or worse.When my friend Avery introduced me to the AI music-making website Suno, those poems definitely changed for the better.

As I have revisited those years of deep mourning, I have found some thoughts bubbling to the service that I think have been simmering there for a long time. Since poetry was a meaningful expression for me then, I took that path again. And since I was enjoying trying to find a soundtrack to go with it....well, here we are :)

So, here is the seventh song, with lyrics first and a link to the song second (the first song is here; the second one is here, the third one here, the fourth one here, the fifth one here. and the sixth one here.)  

"Oh Death, Oh Life"

https://suno.com/s/K0gxwsiSDDOdtIKa

Oh life, the strife 

keeps coming to our door.

The challenges and hardship, 

I don’t need them any more.

The body blows of grief and pain

They take my breath, then come again

Oh life, the strife, 

Keeps coming to our door.

 Oh death, the breadth

Of what you repossess,

You keep on taking from us

And leave us with what’s left,

Of friends we loved, and family

You just can’t seem to let things be,

Oh death, the breadth

Of what you take from us. 

[Chorus] Oh life, oh death

You both take our breath

You just won’t stop,

Day after day,

And I, for one, 

Would like to say

Oh life, oh death,

Please give us back our breath.

 Oh life, the good

That must be understood

As sunshine after rain,

Forgiveness after pain

Joy after the heartache

And love for its own sake

Oh life, there’s good,

That must be understood

 Oh death, you think you won

But you moved us to the Son

Away from all that brought us pain

Into an age of so much gain

With friends we loved, and family

And a God who won’t let things be

Until everything is new

And reconciled, and true

Oh death, you think you won

But you moved us to the Son.

[chorus] Oh life, oh death

You both take our breath

With moments so amazing

They direct where we are gazing

From the strife and all we’ve lost

To what happened on the Cross 

Jesus restoring all our loss.

Oh life, oh death,

in Heaven’s time, 

and in Heaven’s way,

Please, take our breath away.

Following Jesus in Digital Spaces #1: Who Are You Becoming?

Like so many people, I wrestle with how to use social media well. I am certain I am not the only one. It can be a wonderful and terrible tool, which is true of pretty much anything people create. 

I am going to start posting videos and text from a friend at church (he's also been a fellow elder for years). Tom Gordon taught history at Northwestern Michigan College for 30 years. He not only knows a lot about history, he has learned what it's like to navigate conversations on college campuses (and at church) when strong opinions and emotions enter the room. I have found his insight to be challenging, thoughtful, and very helpful to my spiritual and relational formation before, and it's about to happen again.

And God knows, I need it. 

Here is Part One on YouTube. https://youtube.com/shorts/z7mdczik604?si=0MVHRxG0cBOYmeS3. 

Hey friends — Tom here. Quick thought today.

Most of us don’t wake up in the morning thinking, “I’d like to become a reactive, anxious, easily offended person.” But here’s the quiet truth:

Every time we scroll, post, argue, or react online, we’re practicing becoming someone. Social media doesn’t just show what we believe  - it trains our nervous system. When we’re emotionally stirred up - angry, afraid, or overwhelmed - our brains shift into defense mode. We get faster. Sharper. More certain.

Not usually wiser. Not usually kinder. And most of us know that moment.

You read a post. Your chest tightens. Your fingers start typing. Later you think, “That didn’t feel like the person I want to be.” That’s not a failure of faith. That’s a nervous system doing what nervous systems do.

And Jesus keeps asking a different question than the internet does. Not: “Are you right?” But: “Who are you becoming?” That’s discipleship. We’re being formed all the time — whether we notice it or not. Our habits shape our hearts. Our attention shapes our loves.

So here’s a simple practice for this week: Before you post. Before you reply. Before you hit send. Pause for three seconds and ask: Is this helping me become more like Jesus - or just more reactive?

Sometimes the most faithful thing you can do online is slow down. Sometimes it’s curiosity. Sometimes it’s silence. And sometimes it’s choosing relationship over being right.

This series is about learning how to follow Jesus in digital spaces with wisdom, gentleness, and courage.

No perfection required. Just presence.

Grace and peace, friends.

The Therapy Sessions #7: "You Were Never To Blame"

As I mentioned in the first post in The Therapy Sessions series, it's hard to describe what it's like to be blindsided by memories of the legacy of childhood trauma while in my 50's. I've got Jesus, good therapists, a loving family and a supportive church community, but... it's a lot.  

My second post/song noted that for the next several songs, it's worth noting that the ages of 8, 9 and 10 were the epicenter of trauma.  On the other end of the spectrum,I've learned it's not unusual for men my age to remember this kind of stuff in their 50s. 

My third song looked at how a child can form views of themselves based on trauma and not reality. This song was a loving song to remind Little Me of who I really was.

The fourth song had more to do with navigating that legacy as a man in my 50's. It's been a wild ride, y'all, but I'm getting onto solid ground.

The fifth song was meant to capture a child-like me asking God some sincere questions about why God allows life to unfold the way it does.This song is quiet, contemplative, hopefully capturing some hopeful sorrow.

The sixth song was not quiet.  Part of trauma recovery is being honest about anger and the weight of all that happened, and, well, sometimes the day in front of us gets overwhelming. This song let me vent.

Today's song is another perspective from adult me as I look back on Little Me and speak truth to push out the lies.

Perhaps your life experience looks, in some fashion, similar to mine. If so, I'm sorry. That's really hard. If you care to read what I write or listen to the songs I post, may they remind you that you are not alone; that our history is not our destiny; and - to quote Samwise Gangee -  "There's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo, and it's worth fighting for."  

"You Were Never To Blame"

https://suno.com/s/grhd2tRjpJwIhWOA

How does a boy, only nine, maybe ten,

Targeted by others who would sin

Prepare for the people, who would circle again?

With no means to defend

For a boy who was nine, maybe ten.

How does a boy, only nine, maybe ten,

Ashamed and confused by the hands of grown men,

Try to make sure it won’t happen again?

With no means to defend

For a boy who was nine, maybe ten.

Chorus

9 year old boy, you were never to blame,

They branded your soul with their own shame.

You made it through by forgetting the pain—

And their own darkness, told you your name.

How does a boy, only nine, maybe ten,

Already collapsing before it begins,

Show anyone else what kept happening then?

How does a boy, only nine, maybe ten, 

Know he wasn’t the problem—the problem was them

And one day there’ll be light, but it’s dark until then…

Chorus

You carried the silence as long as you could,

Believing that darkness was stronger than good.

But truth has a voice that burns through the shame—

It calls to the boy, and it speaks your true name.

Chorus

None of their darkness, can tell you…

Your name is…

Beautiful Boy.

The Therapy Sessions #6: "I Just Want This Day To End"

As I mentioned in the first post in The Therapy Sessions series, it's hard to describe what it's like to be blindsided by memories of the legacy of childhood trauma while in my 50's. I've got Jesus, good therapists, a loving family and a supportive church community, but... it's a lot.  

My second post/song noted that for the next several songs, it's worth noting that the ages of 8,  9 and 10 were the epicenter of trauma. These were not exclusive years, but they will show up more than once. On the other end of the spectrum, watch out for songs that reference my 50s. I've learned it's not unusual for men my age to remember this kind of stuff in their 50s - and it's not unusual for men to remember this kind of stuff.

My third song looked at how a child can form views of themselves based on trauma and not reality. This song was a loving song to remind Little Me of who I really was.

The fourth song had more to do with navigating that legacy as a man in my 50's. It's been a wild ride, y'all, but I'm getting onto solid ground.

The fifth song was meant to capture a child-like me asking God some sincere questions about why God allows life to unfold the way it does. If you listen to all the songs, you'll see I'm not trying to stick with one style. I'm getting Suno to help me find the mood that matches what I'm feeling. This song is quiet, contemplative, hopefully capturing some hopeful sorrow.

This one is not. Part of trauma recovery is being honest about anger and the weight of all that happened, and, well, sometimes the day in front of us gets overwhelming. This song lets me vent.

Perhaps your life experience looks, in some fashion, similar to mine. If so, I'm sorry. That's really hard. If you care to read what I write or listen to the songs I post, may they remind you that you are not alone; that our history is not our destiny; and - to quote Samwise Gangee -  "There's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo, and it's worth fighting for."  

"I Just Want This Day To End"

https://suno.com/s/Pk2gQ7ZbFz07uhsC

Today was not fine because 

Peace was not mine 

And I was ready, so soon

To try the next day, 

since at least around noon 

 

Today was not right because 

I thought I saw the light 

But I was ready, once again 

To try the next day instead, 

Perhaps as early as ten 

 

[Chorus] I just want this day to end, 

I find I’m too tired to pretend

 But broken things are trying to mend, 

So tomorrow, maybe, I’ll try again. 

 

Today was not good, because

 I’ve been in a mood 

Because trauma’s no fun 

And I wanted a new day 

Sometime around one. 

 

Today was so hard, because 

I let down my guard

 And tried to remember

A boy, so tender, and used. 

I just want this day to end,

 I find I’m too tired to pretend

 But broken things are trying to mend, 

So tomorrow, I suppose, 

I’ll try again. 

 

Today was so dark, 

As I grieve for the mark 

On my heart, and my soul, 

For the terrible toll. 

And now this day’s too long 

For all of my sorrow 

Yet again 

 

 I just want this day to end, 

And I just need it quiet inside my head

But this time the darkness will act as a friend,  

And tomorrow, I suppose, I’ll try again.

I’ll try again.

 

And tomorrow, I think that, I’ll try again.  

 And tomorrow, I need to try life again

UP NEXT: "You Were Never To Blame"

The Therapy Sessions #5: "Dear Jesus, I've Got Questions"

As I mentioned in the first post in The Therapy Sessions series, it's hard to describe what it's like to be blindsided by memories of the legacy of childhood trauma while in my 50's. I've got Jesus, good therapists, a loving family and a supportive church community, but... it's a lot.   

My second post/song noted that for the next several songs, it's worth noting that the ages of 8,  9 and 10 were the epicenter of trauma. These were not exclusive years, but they will show up more than once. On the other end of the spectrum, watch out for songs that reference my 50s.  I've learned it's not unusual for men my age to remember this kind of stuff in their 50s - and it's not unusual for men to remember this kind of stuff.

My third song looked at how a child can form views of themselves based on trauma and not reality. This song was a loving song to remind Little Me of who I really was.

The fourth song had more to do with navigating that legacy as a man in my 50's. It's been a wild ride, y'all, but I'm getting onto solid ground.

This one needed to be quiet and gentle. If you listen to all the songs, you'll see I'm not trying to stick with one style. I'm getting Suno to help me find the mood that matches what I'm feeling. The next one is going to be noisy; this one is not.

Perhaps your life experience looks, in some fashion, similar to mine. If so, I'm sorry. That's really hard. If you care to listen to the songs I post, may they remind you that you are not alone; that our history is not our destiny; and, to quote Samwise Gangee, "There's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo, and it's worth fighting for."  

"Dear Jesus, I've Got Questions"

https://suno.com/s/8wOQshlcDA7BjX8T

Dear Jesus, I’ve got questions,

Some thoughts, and a few suggestions

And there might be a confession,

But we’ll see

I wonder why so much is bad

In a world where so much makes me glad?

And in the memories that I have

Why did so many have to be so sad?

I wonder why you didn’t end

The hypocrisy and the pretend

More quickly, with more time to send

Someone to help me mend

And just for me, for Little Me

Looking down on us, did you also see

The many things I tried to flee?

So why did you just let them be?

My thoughts are jumbled, to be clear

But I think I see a pattern here:

Confusion, questions, pain and fear.

I see at least that through my tears.

My suggestions won’t surprise you, Lord

I’ll bet you’ve heard these ones before

What if you found a way to store

My past behind a massive door

Until I was safe to explore

What happened.

What if you found a way to mend

The broken, and to send

All sins so far around the bend

We would not deal with them again.

What if you found a way to show

That when we harvest what others sow

You’re right here with us, down below

You’re right here with us, in our woe.

What if you found a way to heal

With love, and hope, and make unreal

The legacy of wounds that steals

So that in the end, you’d finally deal

with all that is so sad.

What if you finally rebuild

all of creation, reconciled,

Free of the curse; no one defiled

God’s all in all, and so this child

Can rest.

I’ll lay my questions down

I’ll lay my worries down

If You’re healing all things in the end

If Your love gets the final word

I will rest now.

I will rest now.

The Therapy Sessions#4: "When I Hit 58"

 As I mentioned in the first post in The Therapy Sessions series, it's hard to describe what it's like to be blindsided by memories of the legacy of childhood trauma while in my 50's.  

My second post/song noted that for the next several songs, it's worth noting that the ages of 8,  9 and 10 were the epicenter of trauma. These were not exclusive years, but they will show up more than once. On the other end of the spectrum, watch out for songs that reference my 50s.

My third song looked at how a child can form views of themselves based on trauma and not reality. This song was a loving song to remind Little Me of who I really was. 

Perhaps your life experience looks, in some fashion, similar to mine. If so, I'm sorry. That's really hard. If you care to listen to the songs I post, may they remind you that you are not alone; that our history is not our destiny; and, to quote Samwise Gangee, "There's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo, and it's worth fighting for." 

"When I Hit 58" 

(https://suno.com/s/FOCDrAn7J6c4Ffjq)

I used 54 as a time to keep score

Of the therapy sessions I used to explore

What I had kept hidden behind all those doors

But I started to open them, at 54.

I did not expect 55 to arrive

By clearing the shelves I had stocked full of lies

About how to be manly and tough and alive

So I started restocking, at 55.

Throw into the mix, now that I’m 56

The sin-stained ruins I’m starting to fix

The trauma-brain reflex I’m trying to kick

And it’s starting to click, now that I’m 56.

Fifty-four showed the cracks,

Fifty-five brought me back,

Fifty-six let me breathe

With new habits I need

And the years still ahead

Aren’t a thing that I dread

’Cause Jesus once said

He gives life to the dead.

I think it’s a given, when I’m 57,

the mix of my life will still have too much leaven

but I’ll get with more clarity glimpses of heaven

but still be uneven, when I’m 57.

It would be great, when I hit 58

If congruence and wholeness would flood through the gate

And forgiveness and mercy would never abate

And God would make clear that love conquers hate 

And it’s never too late

though long was the wait

for a boy who was eight

That would be great, when I hit 58.

Up next: "Dear Jesus, I've Got Questions"

The Therapy Sessions #3: "Beautiful Boy"

As I mentioned in the first post in The Therapy Sessions series, it's hard to describe what it's like to be in my 50s and be blindsided by unveiled memories of the devastating legacy of childhood trauma. It raises so many emotions, and questions, and instability. 

My second post/song noted that for the sake of the narrative that will show up in a few songs,  the ages of 8,  9 and 10 were the epicenter of trauma. These were not exclusive years, but they will show up more than once. 

These songs are a journal of pain, healing, despair, hope, anger, mercy..... I tried to capture real moments, all of which matter in the journey toward healing.

Perhaps your life experience looks, in some fashion, similar to mine. If so, I'm sorry. That's really hard. If you care to listen to the songs I post, may they remind you that you are not alone; that our history is not our destiny; and, to quote Samwise Gangee, "There's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo, and it's worth fighting for." 

This song is one of my favorites. First, the musical genre is in my bones. Second, I wrote the lyrics in an evening in which I felt a desperate need to validate the imago dei in me, the idea that I had value, worth and dignity given by God that cannot be taken by anyone.

BEAUTIFUL BOY

https://suno.com/s/dggGDnBjCzxFCPiQ

Beautiful boy,

You were young, you were sweet, you were fun.

Those who mocked you and hurt you

Taught you lies you believed one by one.

Beautiful boy,

You were true, you were good, you were blue.

Those who used you and bruised you

Told a story that just wasn’t true

Beautiful boy,

You were kind, you were gentle, you shined.

It’s not your fault that you forgot

Given the troublesome times.

Beautiful boy,

You made it, and you’ll be a man,

With a heart being mended

By the touch of His hand.

What was broken will heal,

What was lost He’ll reveal,

Through His mercy and love,

Beautiful boy.

Beautiful boy, you were lost,

But He carried the cross

To find you,

And love you back to life—

Beautiful boy.