I have a lot of special memories with my parents but my toughest one is, I had, as a teenager, a pretty insatiable appetite for beer. The first time I got drunk my father found me throwing up in the bathroom. I was 15, maybe 16, and the disappointment in his voice, I can hear it to this day, and the sorrow that that brought to him. He just felt like a failure as a father, and Id give anything to take that day back because that was so hard on him. In time, my life got better, and his did too, but that was really memorable, one of those memories Id like to forget.

If relationships matter most then [at the end of our lives], shouldn't they matter most now?

A few songs with Him might change the way you sing. Forever.

Christmas begins what Easter celebrates. The child in the cradle became the king on the cross. And because he did, there are no marks on my record. Just grace. His offer has no fine print. He didn't tell me, "Clean up before you come in." He offered, "Come in, and I'll clean you up." It's not my grip on him that matters but his grip on me. And his grip is sure. So is his presence in my life.

All my books come out of sermons, and I'm really a pastor who writes rather than a writer who pastors.

We celebrate the First Advent to whet our appetites for the Second. We long for the next coming.

The pulpit is no place for self-promotion. It is a great place for self-deprecation.