I couldn't catch a ball if it had Elmer's Glue all over it. And my father had to be this ex-football star. He didn't know what to tell his friends, so he told them all I had Polio. On Father's Day, I used to limp for him.

I have a friend who lives in Los Angeles. In past conversations, we've discussed the differences between being a Christian in Nashville and being a Christian in L.A. In Nashville the question is not, "are you a believer?" The question is "where do you go to church?" My friend always used to tell me that if you decide to be a Christian in L.A., you have to be really serious about the decision you are making because you will be the minority. And Christianity is so exclusive. It's not popular to believe that there's only one way to Heaven.

What I've learned much about myself by now is as the quality and discipline of my quiet time with the Lord goes, so goes the rest of my life. Whether or not I'm staying in the Word daily decides how I respond to conflict, what kind of dad and father I am, and every other aspect of my life. That's probably why Satan seems to daily distract me from that most essential thing on my to do list: spend time with God.

In the thousands of stories I've collected over the years there are people who just want to know that their story matters, that their story isn't beyond hope. And people, no matter how broken a story I might read, I have always found at least a glimpse of God's hand still at work in each and every story. I have been powerfully reminded that God is in the junkyard business. He willingly walks into the messiest parts of our lives, gets his hands dirty, and begins building something beautiful out of that very thing which the world might overlook as worthless.

I've noticed that most authors who are pastors or speakers write books whose message is derived from a sermon series they did at their church. I guess my process is similar except that instead of a sermon, the genesis of the idea is found in the form of a three-minute song. And many of my songs have been inspired by the true stories and testimonies of people who've written to me from all over the world.

Father, break my heart for what breaks yours. Give me open hands and open doors. Put your light in my eyes and let me see, that my own little world is not about me.

I know I'm not strong enough to be everything that I'm supposed to be. I give up. I'm not stong enough. Hands of mercy won't you cover me? Lord right now I'm asking you to be Strong enough. Strong enough for the both of us.