A slightly different version was posted at a2ObservesLent.com, a Lenten devotional site I’m editing for my church.

Lent originated as a time for believers to follow Christ in His wilderness experience—hence the 40 days from Ash Wednesday to Easter Sunday. For many modern Christians, Lent as “wilderness experience” becomes what one of my kids described as “roughing it” when I asked what Lent was about. In the “roughing it” approach to Lent, we give up things we like in order to make ourselves suffer for a while. Jesus suffered; I should suffer. He gave up His life, so I should give up my iPad. Roughing it turns Lent into a really long, really unpleasant camping trip at a wilderness resort with no running water or bathrooms. You bear it because you have to, but you can’t wait to get back to all the comforts of real life.

I don’t think that’s what the early church had in mind when they set aside time to prepare for Easter. More importantly, I don’t think that Jesus went into the wilderness with the thought that He was “roughing it.” Yes, Matthew, Mark, and Luke all say that Jesus was led into the wilderness and that there He was tempted or tested. But was He gritting His teeth and wishing the angels would come and whisk Him back to Nazareth? I don’t think so.

Christians of the fourth century used Lent as a preparation for baptismal celebrations that were often associated with Easter; Lent was a spiritual journey. Similarly, Jesus was led (yes, led by the Spirit!) into the wilderness to be tested and to prepare for His ministry. He didn’t suffer for the sake of suffering; He had a purpose. We get a clue into Jesus’ perspective when we hear His response to Satan’s temptation to turn stones into bread so that He could eat:

“Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.” (Matthew 4:4)

No doubt Jesus was seriously hungry, but in an important sense, He wasn’t starving. He had been feasting on something better than regular food—time with the Father. I can’t help but think Jesus had in mind David’s words:

Oh, taste and see that the Lord is good! Blessed is the man who takes refuge in Him! (Psalm 34:8)

I’m excited by the prospect of Lent, by the opportunity to go on a journey of preparation, to answer the invitation to taste and see for myself that God is indeed good. Yes, I will be giving up some things along the way, but not so I can rough it. No, I choose to give up one thing in order to receive something—Someone—much better.

Do you celebrate Lent? How would you describe Lent to someone else? Share your thoughts in the comments.

Longtime readers, if you still exist, will no doubt expect that this post is my reintroduction after a long absence—and perhaps it should be, but I’ll save that for another day.

No, I’ve been thinking about names. My dog has many names: she’s Haley, Pookie, Pookienem, Bronto-schnauzer, Sweetheart, Good Girl, and occasionally, when in trouble, Haley Butcher (parents, you know the drill—say the full name to get your kid’s attention; same thing here). One thing she is never, ever called: Bad Dog. As I told Isaac and Anna the other day when they were chastising Haley, “She is not a bad dog; what she did is bad, but we will never call her bad, just like I would never call you bad.”

This thought process started  a few weeks ago with a visit to the loldogs site:

I wonder how many of us are secretly, in our heart of hearts, dammitdog? Of course, we wouldn’t actually say it, at least not out loud. But if you’re like me, you say similar things in your head all the time: Stupid, Fat, Loser, Worthless, SOB…the list goes on, and many of the names are much worse, unspeakable in polite society. Some of these names come from family; it’s unfortunate that few of us grow up thinking deep down that we are Whozmysweetboymommylovesyou. (Which makes me very mindful of what I call my children!) Other names come from a spouse, teacher, “friend,” someone we dated, a bully—and often, ourselves. Regardless of the source, we internalize and repeat these names ad infinitum.

In the movie Evan Almighty, Evan Baxter repeats affirmations to himself: “I’m happy, powerful, successful, handsome.” Though it’s played as a joke, his behavior is actually on target; we could all use some daily affirmations—new names—to help us see ourselves differently.

With that in mind, here are a few names you can and should call yourself over and over. Try saying My name is

• child of God (Jn 1:12)
• beloved (Eph 5:1)
• Christ’s friend (Jn 15:15)
• chosen (Jn 15:16)
• son of God (Gal 3:26)
• joint heir with Christ (Rom 8:17)
• temple of God (1 Cor 3:16)
• new creation (2 Cor 5:17)
• saint (Eph 1:1)
• strong in the Lord (Eph 6:10)
• righteous and holy (Eph 4:24)
• citizen of heaven (Phil 3:20)
• delivered (Col 1:13)
• rooted in Christ (Col 2:7)
• holy and dearly loved (Col 3:12)
• child of light (1 Thess 5:5)
• holy brother (Heb 3:1)
• justified (Rom 5:1)
• free forever from condemnation (Rom 8:1)
• more than a conqueror (Rom 8:37)
• sanctified (1 Cor 6:11)
• God’s workmanship (Eph 2:10)

I’m going to say these aloud to myself for the next week and report back on my findings; I encourage you to do the same. Are there names or passages in Scripture that you use as affirmations? Share them in the comments below.

July 22 is the feast of Mary Magdalene in the Roman Catholic, Anglican, and Orthodox churches. Because of the popularity of The DaVinci Code, this Mary has received a lot of attention in the last few years, though most of it has been based on poor scholarship or fabrication of “facts” about her (this article in the Wikipedia gives a good run-down of the various ideas about Mary Magdalene and their origins).

Among Christians, it is commonly–and mistakenly–believed that Mary Magdalene was a prostitute and the woman who anointed Jesus’ feet; she’s also often identified with Mary, the sister of Martha and Lazarus. Much of this conflation of different women is based on a sermon given by Pope Gregory I in 591; as an aside, it’s interesting to note that one man’s misunderstanding of Scripture could have such a widespread acceptance. I remember hearing in Sunday school or sermons that Mary Magdalene was a prostitute who anointed Christ. However, the Gospels don’t support this idea at all.

So what do we know about Mary? Luke 8 tells us:

Soon afterward he [Jesus] went on through cities and villages, proclaiming and bringing the good news of the kingdom of God. And the twelve were with him, and also some women who had been healed of evil spirits and infirmities: Mary, called Magdalene, from whom seven demons had gone out, and Joanna, the wife of Chuza, Herod’s household manager, and Susanna, and many others, who provided for them out of their means. (verses 1–3)

Mary Magdalene appears to have been a woman of wealth, given that she provided financial support for Jesus’ ministry. What we know for sure is that she had seven demons, and Jesus healed her.

She appears again at the crucifixion and resurrection; according to John:

standing by the cross of Jesus were his mother and his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene.… Now on the first day of the week Mary Magdalene came to the tomb early, while it was still dark, and saw that the stone had been taken away from the tomb. (19:25, 20:1)

Shortly after, she sees the angels at the tomb, followed by the resurrected Jesus, who tells her:

“go to my brothers and say to them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’” Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, “I have seen the Lord”—and that he had said these things to her. (John 20:17–18; you can read the entire passage here)

Christian tradition honors Mary Magdalene’s role in bringing the good news of the risen Lord to the disciples by giving her the title “Apostle to the Apostles.” Mary has plenty to mark her as special:

• healed by Jesus
• traveled with Jesus, providing support and hearing Him teach
• witnessed the crucifixion
• saw, spoke to, and touched the resurrected Christ—first
• sent by Jesus to tell the others that He lives

With all this established in Scripture, one wonders why anyone feels a need to add to her life. Tomorrow Next time I’ll consider what we can learn from Mary Magdalene.

I got a package a few days ago. Packages aren’t that unusual for me, because I order from Amazon fairly often (too often!), but every time a box shows up at the door, the kids are excited–especially Isaac, who always asks if it’s for him (unfortunately, it rarely is, which makes me think that I ought to mail something to him just because). This package, however, was unexpected, and it wasn’t from Amazon, so I was excited. And, it came while Teddie and the kids were out of town, so it was doubly nice to get a surprise when I was home alone with Haley (our dog).

I have had some health problems over the last year or so that have been a little challenging (well, truthfully, more than a little–but that’s for some other time). So my sister Jennifer sent me hope. This figurine, by artist Susan Lordi, was in the box. Those of you who frequent Hallmark and other gift shops will immediately recognize it as a Willow Tree piece; I’m a big fan of the Willow Tree figurines, having given and received a number as gifts, and I even bought one for myself several years ago.

I’ve got Little Boy Hope in my office at home, sitting on the shelves so that I can see him anytime I’m in my recliner, which is most of the time since this is my spot for reading, praying, writing, and working on my laptop. Because he’s in front of books, it’s hard for me to see the balloon and the word hope, but regardless, I know it’s there.

This strikes me as particularly appropriate; the challenge of hope is that rarely does it come in tangible form like this little guy. It’s rather elusive: we know hope exists, and we catch glimpses of it, but mostly we have to take it on faith.

But what I can see, all the time, are the arms open wide, the face turned up toward heaven. That, I think, is the attitude of hope.

Even better than the figurine, though, was the note with it. At the risk of embarrassing Jennifer, I’m going to reproduce it here:

Hey My Bubba!

When I saw this the other day I knew immediately I wanted you to have it. What a wonderful word “Hope” is!!

Hope in God does not disappoint Rom 5:5

Those who Hope in the Lord will renew their strength Isaiah 40:31

And of course the Hope Paul speaks of in Romans 8–the whole chapter!

It’s a beautiful word and a reminder of God’s love and work in us and through us.

I love you very much and know God will provide.

Your favorite sister.

Thank you, Jennifer, for sending the gift of hope!

In reading The Divine Hours, this caught my attention:

Blessed is the one you choose and bring near,
to dwell in your courts!
We shall be satisfied with the goodness of your house,
the holiness of your temple! (Ps 65:4)

The “goodness” of God’s house (some translations say beauty of His house) will satisfy me; and this goodness or beauty is equated with the holiness of His temple. I don’t know about you, but this is hard for me to grasp.

When I read that God will satisfy the poor with bread, I understand it. In fact, the word used for satisfied is the same Hebrew word translated filled in Exodus 16 when God tells the Israelites they will be “filled with bread” in the morning. The word means “to be filled, sated, surfeited”–when was the last time you heard someone use that word?–or “to have in abundance.”

In my head I know that God is supposed to be everything to me, as in the Dennis Jernigan song that says “You are my strength when I am weak / You are the treasure that I seek / You are my all in all.” But believing it in my heart, experiencing it as a reality–that’s a different story. For myself, and I suspect many others, the song that better describes day-to-day experience is the catchy “Fabulous” from High School Musical 2 (can you tell we watch the Disney Channel a lot at my house?):

I want fabulous
That is my simple request
All things fabulous
Bigger and better and best
I need something inspiring
To help me get along
I need a little fabulous
Is that so wrong?

As I look at these lyrics, I think the song writers were on to something: we do indeed need something inspiring, and there’s nothing wrong with that need. God created each of us with desire, and desire by definition must be filled or satisfied. The question becomes, then, what fills me, what brings satisfaction? Or perhaps this is the better question: “How do I find satisfaction in and with God?” I have some ideas that I will share in the next few days. In the meantime, what about you? How do you find satisfaction with God?

My friend Sandy wrote today about her pushy cat Pepper, describing how she (the cat) gets in the way of being fed. Sandy writes:

But as I reflected on my demanding feline, I wondered if I do the same thing when I pray. I beg and plead with God to respond to my needs and my wants… and then I promptly get in the way. Like He needs help or something. And I wonder if my “help” is sometimes responsible for the delay in an answered prayer, if my life would be so much more peaceful if I could simply learn, like David, to wait before the Lord.

She concludes with Psalm 38:15: “But for you, O Lord, do I wait; it is you, O Lord my God, who will answer.”

Thanks, Sandy, for reminding me of my childhood cat Willie (also pushy)–and more importantly, of giving me a really vivid picture of what getting in God’s way looks like!

I was looking at the often-quoted Zechariah 4:6 the other day and noticed something new. I always hear, “Not by might, nor by power, but by My Spirit” or maybe, “…by my Spirit, says the Lord.” But here’s the complete verse:

Not by might, nor by power, but by my Spirit, says the Lord of hosts.

In most Bibles, you’ll see Lord written in small caps, like this: Lord. This variation in type is the standard denotation in Bibles that the word being translated is actually Yahweh. This distinguishes it from lord and Lord (regular type), which mean master. So, in this passage, we have both being used:

Then the angel who talked with me answered and said to me, “Do you not know what these are?” I said, “No, my lord.” Then he said to me, “This is the word of the Lord to Zerubbabel: Not by might, nor by power, but by my Spirit, says the Lord of hosts.”

When Zechariah says, “No, my lord,” he’s saying, “No, master.” And in reply, the angel tells the prophet that this isn’t the word of the master but the word of “the Lord”, Yahweh, and that Yahweh of hosts said it.

You may be thinking, “and so…? What’s here besides a lesson in typography and translation?”

God’s choices about how He represents Himself are worth noting, because they give us insight into the character and nature of God. We’re all familiar with the importance of God’s declaration to Moses at the burning bush, that He is “I am who I am,” that is, “Yahweh.” Sometimes God chooses to present Himself as “The Lord, the Lord, a God merciful and gracious.” Another time He is “Father of the fatherless.”

“Lord of hosts,” which is rendered “Lord Almighty” in some translations, speaks to both God’s might and royalty (see “the names of God” in Baker’s Evangelical Dictionary of Biblical Theology). In some contexts, the word for hosts can mean army, and so Lord of hosts is akin to commander-in-chief. Other images associated with this name of God are similar to the imagery of earthly royalty, and so it serves as a reminder of God’s rule. This name is the most frequent compound with Yahweh in the Old Testament, showing up some 285 times, mostly in the prophets.

It is striking that in Zechariah, “the Lord of hosts” occurs 46 times, sometimes repeatedly in a single verse. Look at Zechariah’s first instructions in 1:3:

Therefore say to them, Thus declares the Lord of hosts: Return to me, says the Lord of hosts, and I will return to you, says the Lord of hosts.

For whatever reason, God wants to make sure that His people get a particular picture of Him: Lord of hosts, the Lord Almighty.

And so we come to Zechariah 4:6, where we are told that what must be done will not be done by might or power, but “by my Spirit, says the Lord of hosts.” Does this strike you as a little contradictory? When David imagines the “King of glory” making a royal entrance in Psalm 24, he writes:

Lift up your heads, O gates!
And be lifted up, O ancient doors,
that the King of glory may come in.
Who is this King of glory?
The Lord, strong and mighty,
the Lord, mighty in battle!…
Who is this King of glory?
The Lord of hosts,
he is the King of glory!

As David sees Him, He is a warrior, “mighty in battle.” And yet this God of might and power–power in battle and power on the throne–says might and power are not the solution here in Zechariah; rather, it’s His Spirit.

Now, we might conclude that God is really saying, “Not by your might, nor by your power, but by my Spirit.” And that certainly seems reasonable. But it’s interesting to me that none of the translations I’ve looked at offer that as the meaning, though the The Message comes close with, “You can’t force these things. They only come about through my Spirit.”

Could it be that God is signaling a shift in how He works? Matthew Henry's commentary on Zechariah 4 supports this idea. Henry points out that when God delivered His people from Egypt, He did it through visible works of might and power: plagues, the parting of the Red Sea, and so forth. But when He delivered them from Babylon, He used the working of His Spirit on Cyrus to prompt the ruler to let the exiles return to Jerusalem and rebuild the temple.

This certainly fits with what we see in the New Testament, as well. The Kingdom of God works within, and God brings transformation most often through the subtle, gentle efforts of His Spirit. Though God still works miracles that show His might and power, my own experience has been that my life is changed most often through His Spirit. I might–and do–pray for divine intervention at times, but pretty consistently, what I get in answer is the Holy Spirit leading and guiding me to a solution to the problem at hand.

I’ve known for a long time that it wasn’t going to be my might or power that changed things; it would be a work of God Almighty. What I’ve learned now is that as I look to God to move on my behalf, I shouldn’t be disappointed or discouraged when I don’t get the miraculous manifestation of His might and power; rather, I should watch for the work and influence of His Spirit–and know that the Holy Spirit will accomplish what the Father desires.

Last night’s compline prayers included a passage by 17th-century British clergyman Jeremy Taylor:

There is no greater proof in the world of our spiritual danger than the reluctance which most people always have and all people sometimes have to pray; so weary of their length, so glad when they are done, so clever to excuse and neglect their opportunity. Yet prayer is nothing but desiring God to give us the greatest and best things we can have and that can make us happy. It is a work so easy, so honorable, and to so great a purpose, that (except in the incarnation of His Son) God has never given us a greater argument of His willingness to have us saved and our unwillingness to accept it, of His goodness and our gracelessness, of His infinite condescension and our folly, than by rewarding so easy a duty with such great blessings.

I like this because it is so wonderfully expressed–Taylor is noted more for his good writing than for his deep theology–but there’s a lot to think about here. In particular, I’m drawn to Taylor’s definition:

Yet prayer is nothing but desiring God to give us the greatest and best things we can have and that can make us happy.

These seems to fit so well with what Jesus tells us of God in the Sermon on the Mount: “If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask him!” (Matthew 7:11). And I love the way Luke presents this–note the difference: “If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!” (Luke 11:13). God wants and knows how to give us good gifts.

Taylor’s assertion, twice, that prayer is “so easy” also catches my attention–I believe he is right, but why do we make it so hard? Why do we need books and sermons and seminars on how to pray? That’s undoubtedly a question to consider in another post–a series, perhaps?–but for now I’m content to meditate on Taylor’s insights and ask that God would bring me to a place where prayer is always easy, always full of blessing, always expectant of God’s good gifts.

Most of us like personal attention, knowing that someone else has given thought to us individually and specifically. But so many Christians don’t seem to believe that personal attention can occur between themselves and God, and certainly, the lost don’t believe that such a thing exists–and they often make fun of us who not only believe in it but expect it.

Growing up, I heard about “getting saved,” and it wasn’t until I was an adult that I heard phrases like “a personal relationship with God” or “accept Jesus as your personal Savior.” I had mixed feelings about such wording, particularly the second one, which sounds a little too much like Jesus is in the same category as personal chefs, personal assistants, and personal trainers.

But, I have come to appreciate more and more the thought behind such phrasing, because it points toward the heart of what I believe Christianity is about: relationship, as opposed to religion. Even in the Old Testament, which seems to be all about law and rules, we see people interacting with God in addition to honoring and obeying His statutes. When I think of Abraham, for instance, I think first of his discussion with God about Sodom, not his willingness to obey. Likewise, thinking of Moses brings to mind his request that God show him His ways. And, of course, you can’t read the Psalms without seeing that David was intimately acquainted with God; he had a relationship, not rules, that dictated his interaction with God.

Even more so, Jesus tells us that He came to show us the Father–not God, but the Father. Relationship is inherent in the meaning of father, and in case we miss that idea, the Holy Spirit reinforces it through Jesus–“my Father and your Father”–through Paul, who begins almost every letter with “Grace to you and peace from God our Father,” and through John, who continually makes mention of “the Father” in his letters.

If God is not just the Father or even our Father, but my Father, why would I not expect personal attention? One of my biggest challenges is trying to find ways to give Anna, Isaac, and Zachary individual attention. Lately, Isaac has been asking to do more with me by ourselves–and that should hardly be surprising, right? I’m his father.

So what got me thinking about all of this? I had a wonderful reminder last night that it is all about relationship and that God does pay attention to me personally. I’ve not had a good night’s sleep in several weeks, and when I prayed with the children, I made a mental note that I should pray for sleep for myself when it was time. As I was preparing for bed, I felt the Holy Spirit prompting me to go through the nighttime, or compline, prayers in The Divine Hours. I was already getting to bed later than I had planned, and I kept thinking of things I needed to do before going to bed, and so I thought, “I’ll just ask for God to bless me with a good night as I move around the house taking care of business.” And I did that, but the Spirit kept nudging me, so finally I went to my office to sit down and get out the prayer book–and I did so rather grudgingly.

What a huge blessing awaited me! The Divine Hours sometimes includes poetry, most of which I’m unfamiliar with–but last night’s prayers included Gerard Manley Hopkins’ poem “Pied Beauty.” As I’ve noted here before, I really like Hopkins; his poems are beautiful on so many levels. When I saw the poem, I was deeply touched. Perhaps you’ve had the experience of someone giving you an unexpected gift that showed they had really paid attention to your likes and dislikes; as wonderful as the gift itself is, the realization that someone cared was even better.

That’s exactly what I felt last night. The Holy Spirit could have given up and said, “Fine, if you won’t listen to me, too bad for you!” (Though I don’t think He actually works that way.) No, He gently persisted because He loved me and wanted me to know it in a way that was really meaningful to me. What an awesome thing it is to get personal attention from the living God!

For those of you who aren’t familiar with the poem, here it is; “pied” in the title means “multi-colored,” and the poem is a celebration of God’s creativity in mixing things.

Glory be to God for dappled things–
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches’ wings;
Landscape plotted and pieced–fold, fallow, and plough;
And áll trádes, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
Praise him.

I have come to dislike resolutions because they don’t work very well for me–or apparently for most other people, based on what I read in magazines. Instead, I ask myself, “How do I want to grow in this new year? How would I like to be different in 2007?” Because I teach one-semester courses, I view my year as having three beginnings, spring, summer, and fall. And I like that, because it gives me plenty of opportunities to step back and evaluate where I’m headed and how things are going. So, as I enter January, I try to think more about the next few months rather than the entire year, and that makes the task much less daunting.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve been reminded that I tend toward criticism. Some of it is personality: I’m detail-oriented, and as I take in the details, I tend to notice the problem areas. That can be a blessing–if you’re in a situation that requires evaluation. But it’s not a blessing when it becomes the normal mode of interaction with life.

I find it easy to focus on the negative, both in myself and in others. This personality trait was magnified by past experiences. Growing up in a religious tradition that constantly evaluated who was in and out of the Kingdom made it easy to live in perpetual judgment. This, coupled with a dominating sense of God as Judge, set me up for some problems.

I think I’ve come a good ways in changing this. God placed in me a strong sense of compassion, a balance to my bent toward judgment. As I have come to see God first as loving Father, and as I have experienced fathering myself and the love that naturally tempers my judgment of my children, I have found it easier to extend that love toward others. But not so much toward myself.

It is at least interesting, and perhaps noteworthy, that Daniel means judge. When I was a teen and thought I might go into law, I took my name as a sign that I might one day be a judge. Just a few years ago, though, I discovered that I didn’t have it quite right: Dan means judge; Daniel means God is my judge. And the Holy Spirit has reminded me of that crucial difference on a regular basis since then, and He did so again just recently.

As I said, I find it hard to extend compassion to myself. As I wrote in my journal the other day, I noted how few pages had been used despite having the journal for several years. My first thought was, “It should be full by now. You haven’t been doing what you were supposed to do.” And then the Spirit said to me, “Lighten up!” And I was reminded, again, that God did not make me judge over my own life; God is my judge. And so I think, “Does God judge me for not having filled several volumes of my journal?” And I have to answer, “No.” And if He doesn’t, then who am I to judge myself harshly?

This reminds me of Jesus’ words of compassion to the woman caught in adultery. I would have found it easy to be among those who brought her to Jesus for stoning, and in times past, I’ve wondered why Jesus let her off so easy. Watch Him in action:

Jesus stood up and said to her, “Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?” She said, “No one, Lord.” And Jesus said, “Neither do I condemn you; go, and from now on sin no more.”

Let’s note for a moment what Jesus doesn’t say: He doesn’t say, “You whore! You should be ashamed of yourself!” He doesn’t say, “You know, you should be stoned, but I’m letting you off the hook this time–but I’ll be watching you!” He doesn’t even say, “What were you thinking? Why would you do such a thing when you know it’s a sin?”

No. He says simply, lovingly, “Neither do I condemn you.”

Lest we miss it, I’ll point out that condemn means “to judge worthy of punishment; to damn*. This woman was clearly “worthy of punishment”–she had violated God’s law–yet Jesus refuses to confirm or enforce I that judgment. The One who is able to judge because He is without sin says, “Neither do I.” This is an amazing thing!

I take this to heart; when I am tempted to judge myself (and I use tempted here on purpose), when I am tempted to judge myself, I remember that God is my judge. I don’t need to judge myself, because someone far more capable has already been assigned that task. The Holy Spirit does a remarkably good job of bringing conviction and correction when I need it.

There are two benefits to this approach: one, I spend a lot less time worrying about and analyzing my behavior, leading to a happier me. And secondly, when Dan is happier with himself, he is much less likely to be judging and critical of others. And that’s always a good thing.