On our very first date, Kim and I agreed to live on a lake.

As we began the process of getting to know each other, we got talking about our ideal place to live. For some reason, Idaho was mentioned. (When you grow up in a small town in Illinois surrounded by cornfields, almost everywhere feels more exotic.) We talked of mountains and potatoes (obviously), but pine trees and lakes took precedence. 

We both agreed that living on a lake surrounded by tall pine trees would be an ideal place to settle down. (We didn’t necessarily know it would be together.)

The two of us dated for five years before getting married, and that vision of lake living stayed with us. We never lived on any of the four lakes that make up the heart and soul of Madison, Wisconsin, in the twenty years we called it home. We did spend hours and hours walking along those lakes, dreaming and scheming together, trying our best to figure out how to make it happen. 

We were also open to other lakes in other locations. We just knew it needed to be bigger than a pond, something large enough to accommodate a pontoon boat. We tried on lots of places, including Idaho, where we finally visited for the first time while celebrating our twentieth wedding anniversary. After all those years, we couldn’t shake the dream of living on a lake.

We never anticipated it would be a Great one.

Sheboygan didn’t hit our radar until one day during the height of the pandemic. A friend of ours knew our dream. He took note of the fact that we often took vacations near the ocean because we loved the sound of the waves, and suggested we check out Lake Michigan (which looks a lot like an ocean when you’re standing on the shore, unable to see the other side).

The idea had never occurred to us. We pulled up a map and surveyed the cities east coast of Wisconsin. What about Sheboygan? I had spoken there once, and remember enjoying a few moments I had to spend sitting by the lake. We googled it, and learned it was known as the Bratwurst Capitol of the World and the Malibu of the Midwest because of its unique geographical qualities that provide ideal surfing conditions.

That kicked off a magical and miraculous journey, a long story made short by saying we now live in Sheboygan. On a lake.

This painting celebrates Sheboygan, the funny-sounding city on the shores of Lake Michigan, known for brats and surfing. But it also represents our prayers.

Saying a prayer is like launching a message in a bottle into the ocean. Once a prayer leaves your heart, you lose all control. You hope it reaches God, but once it floats out of sight, it’s easy for doubt to creep in: Did it get lost? Swallowed by a shark? Did it reach its destination only to be rejected or forgotten? You might be tempted to wonder how you could have been so foolish to trust in such an uncontrollable, unpredictable, mysterious method. Did you think this would actually work?

Our prayer to live on a lake was a message in a bottle. It floated out there for two decades.

The dream felt more and more foolish as the years wore on and our business took longer to grow than we’d expected. There were times I thought the dream was lost at sea. There were moments I wished it really was, because I was so weary from wondering what happened to it. I figured it would be easier, and less painful, to have never dreamed the dream or prayed the prayer at all.

Maybe you have a prayer like that, a message in a bottle that you’re certain is lost. I can’t tell you how your prayer will be answered, but I know for sure it’s not lost. It’s definitely not forgotten. 

Somehow, our prayers find our way back, with answers washing up on unexpected shores at unexpected times. But it’s always at exactly the right time and delivers exactly what we need, even if it looks different than we imagined.

God will not let you miss your future. 

It takes faith to release a prayer into the great unknown, and that faith is always rewarded.

I pulled out a notebook and pushed aside the bowl of creamers and the container of jellies.

My family was at one of our favorite breakfast spots, our go-to place for celebrating big milestones. This day was decidedly less joyful, however; more of an escape from a nightmare we recently experienced.

A few miles away, our house was an island in an apocalyptic landscape. A week before, a hurricane force straight-line wind mutilated an idyllic stand of 150 pine trees into an ugly riot of splintered, uprooted sticks, violently strewn about.

Amidst the aftermath, it was hard to imagine anything good coming from it. But Kim and I have adamantly taught our kids to ask an important question anytime a storm sweeps through our lives: What does this make possible?

I took a sip of coffee. With all the faith I could muster, I reminded my kids that God was working even then, and He was going to turn the mess into something magical. Opening to a blank page in the journal, I declared that it was time for our family to dream again.

What new possibilities did this sudden and unexpected clearing make possible for our backyard?

Slowly, ideas bubbled up. It started with a list of fruit trees and visions of the delicious bounty they’d someday provide. Maybe a strawberry patch. Some raspberry bushes. Someone suggested a vegetable garden. Then a BB gun range made the list.

I don’t know who said it, but eventually, we added “movie nights.” 

A vision grew of this new open space being occupied by a group of friends gathered to watch a movie on a huge screen overlooking the lake with the moon rising up from the horizon. Dubbed “Moonrise Movie Nights,” it became a dream that sustained us for the many months it took to clear the trees, receive fifty-five dump trucks worth of dirt onto our property, and wait for the grass seed that was planted to transform from something reminiscent of a teenage boy’s chin into something that looked like a real lawn.

Weeks of research on the best options for a screen, projector, and sound system led to our first trial run as a family. That necessitated adding a few more cords and cables to the setup. Along the way, we picked up a retro red cooler for drinks and an old-timey popcorn machine on a cart.

On the eve of Independence Day, a year and two weeks after the storm, we held our first official Moonrise Movie Night. I was giving an informal tour of my studio to the group of friends who had joined us. Recounting the history behind one of my paintings led to the recollection of the evening’s origin story. I got a lump in my throat realizing how far we’d come.

As the darkness fell, we gathered around the screen on blankets and lawn chairs, with popcorn and bomb pops, to watch The Muppets. The weather was perfect. Halfway through the movie, the moon made her dramatic appearance. Bold and red at first, like the sun, then slowly glowing white as she ascended, tossing diamonds onto the calm lake below.

It was a fitting culmination of a dream come true.

I share this story in case you’re in need of hope. It could be that a storm has swept through your life recently. Believe me, I know that right now, it might look more like a mess than anything resembling magic.

But perhaps the stage is set for something new to rise up.

My experience has shown me time and time again that God loves bringing forth streams from the desert and turning storms into something stunning.

Have faith. Now might be the time to turn the page and start dreaming big.

This is a picture of Kim and me at the Cornerstone music festival, very early on in our dating years. Together with friends, we camped out with thousands of other Christian music fans in the middle of a field during a sweltering stretch of Illinois summer.

Here we are showing off our “hardcore” faith represented by sun-kissed cross “tattoos” made with two Band-aids.

Nine years of Catholic school provided a decent foundation for my faith, but it didn’t really come alive until the year after I graduated high school, about the time this photo was taken. I was on fire for God, excited to learn all I could, and eager to change the world. 

Like the tough face trying to overcompensate for the not-so-tough biceps,  I projected a strong faith.

I look back on this photo and I see a pure faith. But not a strong one.

I have often wondered where that kid went; the strong, self-assured, faith-filled warrior. I feel like I used to be so much more on fire, more certain, and have fewer doubts. 

I’m not sure was really any of those things, but I definitely was a lot more naive. I was like Luke Skywalker, who, after getting some brief instruction from Obi Wan Kenobi and a few days of training from Yoda, announced he was ready to go off and fight Darth Vader and tear down the Empire. “I’m not afraid,” he boldly claimed.

“You will be,” replied Yoda.

Just like Luke, Kim and I were serious and sincere about our faith, and yet we had no idea – how could we? – how much it would be tested. 

In my late twenties, I felt like all that passion got burned up. I was left drifting, afraid, and confused. Building a business was harder than I expected. I’d wondered if I’d taken a wrong turn somewhere because I didn’t feel as certain as when I’d first begun. I was worn down by years of burdensome debt, flirts with bankruptcy, a series of steps forward followed by two steps back. Kim and I were inundated with doubt over whether we’d ever be able to have kids, afford a home, or make a living with our dreams and talents. Discouragement led us to wonder if we were merely deluding ourselves.

But each time we encountered a challenge, like the time our hand-me-down van needed major repairs that would deplete our checking account or the time we spent two days and several hundred dollars to make $7.92 in sales at a craft show, we were faced with a choice:

Abandon ship, or keep pressing on.

Again we were like Luke, when he began to rely less on himself and trust more in the Force. We pressed on, not because we knew the way forward, but because we believed in a God who did. We chose to believe in His promises rather than the negative voices in our heads. We chose to doubt our doubts and believe our beliefs.

And those small choices were little nudges that kept us on course, even though we weren’t sure where we were headed.

Choice by choice, we became stronger.  

Now, with a little more mileage on me and more journey to look back on than when this photo was taken, I can relate to Yoda. 

I know what it means when they say that faith is tested during hard times. I see now that those choices are the journey. They are the reps that make you stronger.  Even now, when I feel weak, I know the truth that I am exceedingly stronger than I ever was back then.

Instead of rolling my eyes when I look at this photo (which is extremely tempting), I appreciate the brilliant flash of youthful hope and the belief that anything is possible. It’s important. Just as a space shuttle uses over ninety percent of its available fuel just to achieve orbit, our passion gives us the rocket fuel we need to get started.

Eventually, we did figure out how to make a living at all this. We did get out of debt. We did start a family. And we recently bought our dream house on a lake. None of it would have happened were it not for the naive passion of that skinny kid in the big glasses flexing his non-existent guns. Or the God who never once rolled His eyes at him.

Those sun-kissed tattoos faded long ago. But in another respect, they’ve become permanent, and more real.

I don’t know where you are in your journey right now. Maybe you are overflowing with confidence and eager to begin your new thing. Good! Use that passion to fuel you, for it will take you far. Things might not turn out as you’d expect, but that’s ok. You’ll figure it out. Just keep going and trust in the One who planted that dream in your heart.

Maybe you have run out of gas and feel like you’re drifting in orbit somewhere. Good! Use this time to appreciate the view and realize how far you’ve come.  You’re farther along than you think and stronger than you feel.

Maybe you are the Jedi master, who can relate to this because you’ve been through all the stages. Good! Pass the experience you’ve gained on to others. But don’t squash the enthusiasm of those first starting out. They don’t need your bucket of ice water telling them how naive they are. Amplify their energy by using your hard-earned wisdom to nudge them gently in the right direction.

It’s been said we are all the ages we’ve ever been. We’re still the cocksure teenager, the uncertain young adult, and the sage with wisdom gained through experience. 

All of them matter. All of them serve a purpose. 

The way to honor them all is to keep going.

Big dreams don’t come true the way you think.

At least not the way the movies have taught us. You know, with magic wands and pixie dust and a few clicks of your ruby slippers.

The best ones come little by little, over a long period of time, and often appear like they’ll never come true at all.

You may recall me mentioning a few weeks ago that we were outbid in our effort to buy our dream home. In a near miraculous turn of events, that home is now…ours! What the what?!? In January, our family of five will be moving to Sheboygan, the Malibu of the Midwest and official Bratwurst Capital of the World.

There are a dozen reasons why it was time for us to leave Madison, our home of twenty years, but at the top of the list was buying our dream house on a lake. Little did I know when I birthed this dream several decades ago, the lake would turn out to be one of the Greats, known as Michigan.

Perhaps I will someday share in greater detail all the twists and turns that transpired – it’s a pretty remarkable story –  but for now, I just want to share one lesson. Interestingly, it can be summed up by a sweatshirt I saw in a store this week. It was emblazoned with the phrase, “Never forget I am ALWAYS in control.”

And the lesson is: No, you aren’t. 

And neither am I.

Kim and I are initiators; we like to think of ourselves as self-reliant. We have a hard time owing people and are happy to climb the tree ourselves and get our own damn apples, thank you very much. This is a good trait to have when you encounter closed doors. Instead of accepting defeat, you look for another door, or a window that might have been left unlocked, or a dog door you might be able to squeeze through if hadn’t just eaten that whole bag of Cool Ranch Doritos. But self-reliance is also a way of feeling in control and avoiding dependency. 

And if there’s one thing I’ve learned in 2020, the year everything went sideways, is that dependency is the goal, not a weakness, at least from God’s perspective.

It’s a lesson I should have learned sooner than I did. Me forcing things has never worked. Not once. It doesn’t matter how hard I shake the tree.

Honestly, this year probably would have destroyed twenty-five-year old me. What saved me, and ushered in a Corona blessing of all Corona blessings, was my relationship with God. Morning after morning, day after day, I returned to Him out of pure necessity, because the current events were just too much. I felt ashamed that I had to keep coming back; that I wasn’t strong enough to go a few days without His assurances. After all, that had been my modus operandi for years: Spend a little time with him, get fired up, run off to change the world all by myself, fail miserably, lose my way, get discouraged, yell at the sky, and return at last for another pep talk and reminder of who’s really in charge.

I am a slow learner.

Without fail, the times I’ve handed over the steering wheel to a superior storyteller, the One who knows me best, is when things get good and open doors appear out of nowhere.

I have journal entries about this dream house dated from 1999, complete with pencil-drawn floor plans and notes about tall pine trees. They seemed like pure fantasy back in 2008, when we were eight years into our dumpy apartment, with barely any perceptible progress having been made. There were many times I wished I could have my memory modified so I’d forget about my dream completely because it seemed too foolish, too impossible, too big.

But I never once got the sense that God wanted me to give it up. On the contrary, I always sensed Him telling me to be patient and trust in Him. Which is a hard thing. Surely there must be a tree I could shake somewhere to hurry this along. (Believe me, I tried.)

It turns out I had inadvertently dreamed myself into dependency.

The dream was simply too big to accomplish on my own. I realize now that my temptations to minimize it or abandon it altogether was merely an attempt to maintain some sense of control.

This dream was an apple tree too big for me to shake.

As this year unfolded, I could sense supernatural things were happening. Kim and I never got a clear glimpse of the entire picture. Instead, we were given arrows. And so we followed them. One by one, even when they felt like they were leading to dead ends. (I see now that I can trace the arrows back a very long time.)

The side of me that wants some measure of credit would like to exclaim, I put good into the world and good came back! I was patient! I was persistent! I was wise with my money!

I may have been all of those things, but those things weren’t enough. God orchestrated this remarkable turn of events in the middle of a pandemic – during which there was a time I thought we might lose everything – to prove to me that not only am I not enough, but that I don’t need to be.

You can know of a person without really knowing them. Awareness of God is not the same as a relationship with Him. It takes time, and it can get messy. But the mess is where the magic is. Sometimes you have to get into the mud before you can finally see clearly. This blessing is the fruit of two decades worth of building a relationship with this mysterious God, trying to do what He says, but mostly just trying to let  Him change me. 

He’s not done with this fixer-upper, that’s for sure. But He is good, faithful, ever-present, and patient, which I am especially grateful for because of how many times I questioned all of those qualities.

Maybe you have a dream in your heart that’s yet to come true. Maybe it feels like a lost cause, a foolish wish from an unrealistic dreamer. I once heard the saying “There are no unrealistic dreams, only unrealistic timelines.” There could be some truth to that.

I wonder, are you trying to force it? Are you trying to make it come true all by yourself? Before giving it up, it might be worth giving it over to the One who knows the reason you have that dream in the first place, and also knows the best version of that dream for you. If you have dreamed yourself into dependency, you are exactly where you need to be.

Turn it over to the Master Storyteller and follow the arrows.

And remember, providence doesn’t usually come all at once in bunches. More often it arrives just in time, apple by apple.

My wife took the beautiful photo that inspired this painting.

There was something about this dandelion that captivated me.

He’s reaching the end of the line. He is weary, but remains proud and steadfast. Some called him a weed, disrupting the status quo and infecting the neighborhood. But he knows the truth. He has run his race, and is now ready to give it all away, to multiply himself by scattering the seeds in order to bring forth new life. And in the midst of his sacrifice, with the sun setting on his last day, light shines through as a symbol of the grace within. 

I call this piece “Good Friday” because it reminds me of that seemingly dark Friday, centuries ago, when all hope seemed lost and that evil had won.

As I write this, the United States is in turmoil over the results of the Presidential election, which went all 2020 on us. Because of course it did. Most of the polls were way wrong, but one thing is certain: it is a nation more divided than either side probably realized. 

I think it’s fair to say that both sides hoped for a decisive result and this is everyone’s worst-case scenario. And yet here we are. Regardless of the outcome, half the country will be elated and the other will be plunged into despair. What intrigues me is how thin a line it is between them.

As I think back to that original Good Friday, I consider how preposterous it would have seemed for anyone who lived through its heartbreak to hear it labeled as “good.” Such a declaration would seem ridiculous, possibly even blasphemous. It sure didn’t seem good at the time. But for those who believed, it actually turned out better than good.

During times of great uncertainty, I find it helpful to return my attention to things I know are true. I don’t know about you, but I feel like I may be able turn pro at this by the end of 2020, I’ve had to do it so often.

Let’s starrt here: I know that the sun rose today. 

I know that there’s a good chance it will rise again tomorrow.

I know that I could make a list of 100 things to be grateful for and it would remain incomplete.

I know that, contrary to the media narrative, the things we have in common are infinitely greater than that which divides us. 

I know that the quality of my life has almost nothing to do with who happens to be President.

I know that I am not called to worry about things I can’t control.

I know that I am called to focus on the things I can.

I know that asking the question, “How can I help?” is the best place to start.

And, if I’m honest, I also know that nothing about the political climate we find ourselves in seems good.

And yet, I am confident that this moment – and indeed, this year – will prove to be Good, in the end. I grant that may seem ridiculous, perhaps even blasphemous.

A big part of what will make it so is how we choose to respond in this moment. We can have our say by seeking to heal divisions that so deeply divide us. Not by trying to win others to our way of thinking, but through what always works: kindness, humility, and love.  

And by trusting that the same God who called light forth from the darkness is still in control and is working all things…for good.

Every so often in my life, things are going along swimmingly. I know where I’m going, the path is clear, progress is being made. Everything makes sense and the future is bright. I like when life is like that.

But then, seemingly overnight, everything goes dry. Sand has obscured my path, and I feel like I’m in a barren wasteland, uncertain of which direction to head. I wonder if all the progress and clarity I’d experienced was merely a mirage, because suddenly all signs of life are absent.

I am stranded in the desert and all hope is drying up.

Perhaps you’ve felt this way recently. Maybe you feel this way now.

Growing up in the Midwest, I didn’t have a lot of experience with deserts. Acres and acres of cornfields, yes; barren expanses of desert, no. To me, deserts were hot, sandy, stretches of nothing, save for an occasional cactus and those ominous cattle skulls. Of course, they can be those things. Officially, a desert is a dry, desolate and barren area of land. It often looks dead, void of life and hope.

But that’s only if you’re not looking closely enough.

Deserts are harsh, but not lifeless. I took the picture that inspired this painting whilst exploring the Saguaro National Park a few years ago. It was spectacular, and unlike anything I ever experienced growing up in Illinois. The signs of life aren’t as obvious as in a jungle or forest, but they are there, just hidden.

I can’t help but draw some parallels to my roots in the agricultural heartland. Consider planting: After you cover a seed with soil, is the moment you see its first green shoot emerge from the earth the first time growth happened since you buried it? Of course not. It was always in the process of transforming, it just wasn’t immediately visible. When you see rows and rows of tall sweet corn or endless fields of amber waves of grain, it’s easy to forget that in the springtime, those acres of soil seemed barren and lifeless even though they’d already been planted.

Similarly, it can take several months to visually notice the effect of pregnancy. But cells began multiplying and growing rapidly since the first moment of conception.

In deserts, life is always on the move. We just aren’t always able to see its progress.

When we feel stranded in the desert, we need to remind ourselves that all is not lost. It’s hard to be patient and stay hopeful when all evidence seems to suggest otherwise. Please know that when you find yourself in the desert, you are not deserted. God is always working, even when He seems silent or absent. 

It’s hard to believe a plant so hostile and forbidding could produce a bloom so magnificent.

Hang in there. Good things are happening, right this moment, and will spring forth in time.

Keep a sharp eye out for proof of life.

One of my favorite parts of being a parent is showing my kids cool things and watching their eyes light up: Let me show you how to make this drawing look even more realistic. Wait ’till you see this tiger up close. You are not going to believe this thing called the ocean. Watch what happens when we heat up these popcorn kernels…

Just last week, we watched The Wizard of Oz. My oldest had seen it, but it was brand new to the two littles. What a delight it was to see it through their eyes, with each bend on the yellow brick road leading to something new to marvel at. 

When we’re young, it’s easy to see wonder. It’s everywhere. It’s in rainbows and dandelions and toasters and the way your grandpa made it look like he could slide his thumb right off his hand.

That the world is filled with magic is an obvious fact to a child. But that perspective can fade as we grow older. We’ve been around long enough to see how things work and we begin taking things for granted.  We may not be able to explain how the magician’s trick works, but we know it’s a trick just the same. Perhaps we’ve been at the wrong end of the actions of someone who hurt us, and so we try and numb the pain by erecting walls around us.

In times like these, it’s easy to feel like wonder is in short supply, or even gone extinct.

But has it?

I believe that wonder is alive and well. Maybe our cold hearts just need to see with new eyes.

This crisis has been difficult in countless ways, different for each one of us. The way through this is with eyes of wonder, which is all around us, waiting to be found. It could be that we’ve been looking in the wrong place.

Friend, look around. Look at the people helping people with humility and kindness. Look at the courage and selflessness of healthcare workers on the front line. Look at the innovations springing up to solve problems in creative ways. Look at our planet bursting forth with signs of new life. Wonder is abundant!

Now more than ever, I am convinced that God is a loving parent bursting with anticipation to show us cool things and eager to see our eyes light up. He is like a great magician, revealing one trick after another, leaving me breathless and wondering, How did he do that? Today is a day I am celebrating what I believe to be his best trick ever.

Maybe the reason we feel like wonder is missing is that we’ve let go of his hand, distracted instead by never-ending newsfeeds of doom, trusting in uncertain scientific models to grasp some sort of certainty, and peering into an unknowable future with an anxious heart. 

This is the entire reason my wife Kim created Wonderhunt: To help people find the wonder hidden right under their noses. It was born out of a dark and desolate time in her life when God took her by the hand and said, “Did you notice this?… Wait ’till you see this…I can wait to show you this…” And slowly but surely, day by day, she began to heal and was reawakened to the miracles hidden in plain sight.

If you could use a little more help seeing wonder and finding joy, I hope you will consider joining her in the latest installment of Wonderhunt, which starts tomorrow. It might be the catalyst that changes everything.

But most of all, I hope you will grab hold of your Father’s hand, and let him show you cool things. There’s a lot of wonder to be seen.

This is an adapted excerpt from A Chance of Awesome: How Changing the Way You See Changes Everything, which is currently available as a free download. I made a few tweaks here to fit our current situation, and it goes quite nicely with the recent Coffee with Kim & Jason episode on faith.

When you were a child, were you ever afraid of the dark? I sure was. From horns and hair to scabs and skeletons, thinking about what lurked among the shadows was an all-you-can-eat buffet for my imagination.

I might not have made it through childhood without that humble but powerful life-saving device known as the night light. Although small in size and wattage, it did a remarkable job of keeping the creepy-crawlies at bay. Without it, I’m sure I’d have been digested in the belly of a slimy beast from the netherworld known as Underthebed.

Many lives have been saved by the simple night light. Perhaps it wouldn’t have been needed if we’d only believed our parents when they told us that there aren’t any monsters under the bed; they’re only in our imaginations. But alas, parents are never very convincing.

Perhaps that is because grownups also deal with monsters. They just live in a different place. You see, as we get older, the monsters move out from under our beds and move up, into our heads.

Think I’m nuts?

During this crisis, how many terrible things have you considered? What anxious thoughts have you entertained? These fears keep us up at night, and they can wreak some terrifying results.

Our parents were on to something when they tucked us into bed and tried to calm our fears about the monsters. Specifically, the part where they told us that the monsters exist only in our imaginations.

Think back to when you were five years old. Maybe you had a window in your bedroom. And maybe just outside that window was a tree. By day, that tree looked like an ordinary tree. Harmless. Almost friendly, even.

But at night, that tree cast some weird shadows into your room. Right before your eyes, it somehow transformed into an enormous, ravenous T-Rex, with dagger teeth and jagged claws, ever reaching in your direction. Ominously, it eyed you, tucked into your sheets and blankets and looking a lot like a ravioli-shaped midnight snack.

Looking back with the advantage of years and wisdom, you know there was no T-Rex lurking outside your bedroom window. It was just that tree, casting shadows that made your imagination run wild, concocting spine-chilling possibilities that you couldn’t help but believe.

Our imaginations are quite good at what they do.

Those pictures of you, penniless, living in a van down by the river eating Spam out of a can have been quite convincing, haven’t they? The images of people rioting in the streets, hospitals overflowing with death, and a zombie-like apocalypse have become quite vivid indeed.

Here’s the thing: No matter how creative we think we are (or aren’t), our imaginations don’t shut off just because we’re adults now. The stuff that keeps us up at night now is still largely the product of an overactive imagination.

That’s not true, I hear you saying. The stuff I’m worried about is real-world stuff. Things like my job and my mortgage and my kids.

Okay, I hear you. But now hear this: Most of the stuff we worry about never happens.

I’ll say it again: Most of the stuff we worry about never happens.

Don’t misunderstand me. What we’re all experiencing right now isn’t great. We are facing real challenges and people are experiencing real pain. But think back over the last year – not just the last few weeks – and call to mind all of the things you spent time worrying about. I’ll bet you that most of that stuff didn’t amount to anything at all. And the less-than-ideal instances that did come to pass were nowhere near as frightening as your imagination led you to believe.

Our biggest problem right now is uncertainty. How bad is this? How long will it last? How will it affect our economy?

Uncertainty breeds fear.

And fear is often the product of our imagination turned against us. Just as they did with the ominous shadows slithering across our bedroom floors, our imaginations take kernels of doubt and the vast unknown and concoct possible future outcomes. Outcomes that more times than not give us the heebie-jeebies.

So, what’s a person supposed to do about this?

Here’s what I am proposing: First, let us acknowledge that the stuff that contributes to our uncertainty and anxiousness is largely attributable to our imaginations. Once we can accept that, let’s put our imaginations to work for us, instead of against us.

If you are wracked with fear over a particular issue, be it large or small, begin by letting your imagination do what it wants to do anyway: go negative. That’s right; pull out a sheet of paper and write down the absolute worst possible outcome you can imagine. This should come quite easily, as it is the thing that’s been stealing your peace of mind for so long. Don’t leave out any gory details, including instantaneous death by coronavirus or a new career as a bum or a bag lady.

Now, once you are scared senseless and ready to pee your pants, take out another sheet of paper and write down the best possible outcome you can dream up. It may take a while for your imagination to kick into high gear, but when it does, reach for the sky. We’re talking fantasy land, pie-in-the-sky, Hollywood-couldn’t-write-it-because-it’s-too-unbelievable type of craziness. Have fun with it.

Okay, now that you’ve balanced things out a bit, take out a third (and final) sheet of paper and write down what you imagine to be the likely outcome of your particular scenario. This will probably fall somewhere in between the first two outcomes. It might be a bit uncomfortable or unpleasant, but it will be nowhere near as terrifying as you first suspected. (Spoiler alert: We will beat this virus, and we will get through this.)

When you fall asleep at night, steer your imagination toward the good things you are looking forward to when this thing is all over: Eating at your favorite restaurant and leaving a ginormous tip, attending a concert and singing in unison with thousands of people to your favorite song, hugging a random stranger on the street, seeing full shelves of toilet paper at the local grocery store…

This activity is a simple one, but if you give it a shot, it won’t be long before a sense of peace starts to descend upon you. Writing out the scary stuff that’s in your head is like shining a light on the situation. It clarifies the facts—that tree really is just a tree—and helps us to see just how ridiculous our initial assessment of the situation was.

A T-Rex?! Phfffft. Those went extinct a million years ago!

The monsters that terrorized you years ago have much in common with the ones that kept you up last night. 

When our bedroom is flooded with sunlight, there are no monsters to be found. That’s how it is in life. With a strong faith to light the way, our fears and worries melt away. But as night falls, or our faith wavers, we are more easily frightened by the distorted shadows of our imaginations.

The night light is a symbol of faith.

May we be ever mindful that there IS someone bigger than the questions, bigger than the monsters that keep us up at night. May we remember that we have a hand to hold through all the scariness that life dishes out. And, in the darkest of nights, may we always count on that simple childlike faith to light our paths, keeping the monsters at bay better than any night light ever could.

Remember It feels darkest just before the dawn. Dawn is coming, friend. 

Until then, have faith. And practice using your imagination as a tool that guides you to a peaceful present and illuminates a future filled with joy.

This is an adapted excerpt from A Chance of Awesome: How Changing the Way You See Changes Everything, which is currently available as a free download. I made a few tweaks here, and although it can feel weird to think about enjoying much of anything right now, this is a reminder I know I need to hear more than ever. I hope it encourages you.

I think it’s safe to say that most of us are regularly experiencing a roller coaster of emotions on a daily basis as we make our way through this crisis. It probably feels like there are more “downs” than “ups,” as my son Ben would describe them. In fact, maybe you don’t see any ups at all, only a runaway train hurtling at breakneck speed off a cliff.

And that’s the question, isn’t it? Is this a roller coaster or a runaway train?

Both are experiences that will cause us to scream like that thief in Home Alone who had the tarantula walk on his face. But the outcomes are completely different.

What I try to do –– especially right now –– is own the metaphor of the roller coaster. When you get on a roller coaster, you know that you are safe. The ride has been carefully designed and the passengers return unscathed. Although the giant drops and corkscrews elicit bloodcurdling screams, you know that you are not in any real danger, and that knowledge is what makes the ride so thrilling and enjoyable. The terror becomes fun—a stress release of sorts—and you can fully give yourself over to the experience.

That’s how I am choosing to look at this moment. Instead of fearing the worst and losing faith every time I encounter a bit of bad news, I believe in my deepest being that things will work out in the end, even if I can’t imagine how. That knowledge allows me to shift the way I look at things. I am trying to give myself over to the thrill of the ride, feeling the rush at the core of my soul, fully expecting that my car will end up safely back at the station. I can watch and appreciate what God is doing in my life – what He’s doing in our world – rather than fear that I have been completely abandoned.

That’s how I think God designed life to be: a thrill ride. A series of exciting ups and downs and unforeseen twists that’s over too quickly. One that finds us rolling into the station called Heaven at the end of our ride, excitedly saying, “That was AWESOME! I wanna do it again!”

There have been many moments in my life that felt l was on a runaway train racing toward certain doom. And yet, so far, disaster is always avoided. The car rights itself; the path levels out; God provides.

It’s not that bad things never happen, but that they somehow give way to something good.

I suppose it is natural to want to go through life via the smooth road. No bumps or dips, no sharp turns or precipitous drops. We crave comfort. And yet how boring would that be?

Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on your perspective), life doesn’t work that way. There are ups and downs and moments fraught with terror.

Don’t get me wrong, I am SOOOO looking forward with great anticipation to a boring afternoon watching the Cubs play their next baseball game. But for now, it basically comes down to this: Do I believe that I am on a runaway train hurtling toward a broken bridge, or am I on a roller coaster at the greatest theme park in existence?

Yes, it is a choice. And believe me, one that has to be made daily, especially in times like these. 

I choose the roller coaster.

You?