Every book contract—at least, every book contract I’ve ever seen—includes a word count. When the author finally submits a manuscript, it cannot be a discretionary number of words but must be within the range the publisher has set. This is good and helpful for an author because it makes it simple to set goals and because it helps him progress toward a very measurable outcome. After he signs his contract he needs only to divide the words by the number of weeks before his deadline to keep up steady progress. As he writes, he needs only to look at the bottom of his screen to see how that word count is increasing. It’s easy, it’s clear, it’s objective. If only all progress were so easy to measure.

Each of us begins the Christian life a novice and each of us means to finish it a seasoned veteran. Each of us begins with character that has been shaped by the world and the flesh and each of us longs to finish with character that has been shaped by the Spirit and the Word. Each of us begins with warped desires and means to finish with true desires, with sinful instincts and means to finish with pure instincts. Each of us longs to make consistent progress.
But what may be true of writing a book is not true of living the Christian life. There is no progress indicator on our spiritual lives, no objective measure of our sanctification. A woman laying a floor can stand back and observe that she has laid 50 percent of the planks; a man finishing a basement can observe that 80 percent of the drywall has now been hung. But no Christian can assess his or her life and say “I am halfway there” or “I am three quarters of the way there.” We make progress that is far less visible and far less measurable. This being the case, we must rely on other indicators.
One way to assess our progress is to think back and consider who we once were. Caution is in order, though, as we must avoid the tendency to relish our sinfulness or to make light of our depravity. Sometimes we can almost cast a wistful eye on the past, longing for the days when we were free to follow our lusts. Looking back at our former selves and our former conduct should be painful more than alluring. Yet sometimes we best see who we have become when we contrast it to who we used to be.
Another way to assess our progress is to observe how we have come to respond differently to temptation. We will inevitably see that, while temptations still remain, many of them no longer have as great a hold on us. What used to entrap us every time now barely elicits a response. We will also see that, while sin remains, we fall into it far less often and repent of it far sooner. This is proof of the sanctifying work of God within.
Still another way is to ask those who know us—friends, spouses, children—to describe evidences of God’s grace, to tell us where they have seen God actively helping us put sin to death and come alive to righteousness. Often we are surprised and delighted to know that where we are convinced of so much failure, they may see great success. Sometimes another person’s assessment is more accurate than our own.
Yet always and forever, the best way to assess ourselves is to compare ourselves to Jesus, the one who led a perfect and unblemished life, the one who modeled what a human life can be and should be. Such comparison should both distress and encourage. It should distress us to see how unlike Christ we still are. But it should encourage us to see that we truly have grown in Christlikeness, that as we spend time with him we have become like him. It should encourage us to see that we truly are being conformed to his image, truly are modeling ourselves after his example. This comparison is the best and truest of all.
At this point in writing, this article is exactly 705 words long—progress easily measured by the little counter on my screen. And at this point in life, I myself am somewhere between justification and glorification, somewhere in the long process of sanctification. I may not know exactly how much progress I have made, but by God’s grace I know I am farther along than I once was. And, by God’s grace, I know that by tomorrow I will be farther along than I am right now. For I know and believe the great promise that the one who began his good work within me will bring it progressively and then finally to completion.

May the God of love and peace be with you today.

(Yesterday on the blog: All Will Be Well)
Discipled by Algorithms
I think it’s increasingly important that we acknowledge the centrality of algorithms in modern life. “We live in a personally curated and expertly crafted world of information, driven by algorithms that often wield significant influence over our lives and our outlook on the social and ethical issues of our day. The world you see online is often very different than what I might see, which in turn makes it difficult to address many of the root problems of our day.”
Four Ways the Church Can Welcome Kids with Special Needs
This article offers four simple ways a church can welcome kids with special needs (and make their families feel comfortable being there).
The Forgotten Gift of Evening Worship
There are lots of good reasons to consider evening worship services, with the strongest reason probably being their long history in the Protestant tradition. “In this season of fresh starts and resolutions, here are some biblical, historical, and practical reasons you should cherish the gift of evening worship.”
Sovereign
Susan Lafferty: “In the weight of urgent prayer, a passage of Scripture whispers in my thoughts. Rising gently. Firmly. Pressing through the questions and concerns. A hymn of praise. Penned by Paul. About the Sovereign One.”
For Those Disheartened in Serving
Amber Thiessen has an article for those who may be growing disheartened in their serving.
If You Want to Be Content, Stop Looking Back
Lydia Brownback: “‘Why? Why? Why?’ The seemingly endless questions of a three-year-old test our patience at times. But even in those moments we rejoice because those whys reveal a budding interest in how the world works. And asking why about the world isn’t just for kids—it’s for all people at every age, because curiosity about creation points to the Creator.”
Flashback: Would It Be Okay For Me To Be Angry With God?
It felt like a test—a test of my faith, a test of my convictions, a test of my love for God. Soon, very soon, after I learned that my son had died, I received a message from an old acquaintance.

When we have sorrow or suffering, our question should not be, “What have I done that God is punishing me for?” but, “What is the mission of this messenger of God to me?” —J.R. Miller

The young woman entered her parent’s home for what she understood would be the final time. The funeral had been solemn but still sweet, for she knew that her father had at last joined her mother. It had been a good many years since death had parted them, but now they were together in the grave and together in heaven.

The door squeaked just a little as she opened it, but beyond it there was only silence—no familiar voice to greet her and no familiar arms to hug her. The house had already been packed up and most of her parent’s possessions already distributed. There remained just a few family treasures and meaningful knick-knacks that she wished to take as her inheritance and to keep as her own. Among them was a little chest that her father had indicated should go to her. Intrigued, she opened it and saw that it contained just one simple seed.
When she returned home she went straight to her garden and pressed the seed into the soil. She watered it diligently and ensured there was plenty of sun to warm the ground. And then she waited. She waited through the spring rains and summer’s first heat. The day came when she saw just the smallest hint of green breaking through the soil, then a shoot, and then the beginnings of a plant. Before long the seed had produced a lovely little shrub. And while it was pretty enough and brought joy to her heart, she knew the type and knew that it was capable of growing much better and taller and lusher. Yet no matter what she tried, she simply could not get it to reach its full potential.
Months turned into years and the day came when she was offered the opportunity to make a life for herself in a land far to the south. She embraced this opportunity, but could not bear to part with the plant her father had bequeathed to her. So she diligently loosened the soil around it, careful not to damage its roots. She lowered it into a pot and then ensured its safety through her long journey. When she reached her new home and got settled, she went out to her new garden and planted it in her new land.
She was amazed to see that almost immediately the shrub grew taller and wider. Almost immediately the shrub bloomed with a host of beautiful, fragrant blossoms. Almost immediately the shrub was utterly transformed. And as she stared in wonder, she understood that her plant had always been meant for the south more than the north, for her new land more than the old. In its old garden it could survive and grow, but merely to a certain degree. It was only in its new land, in its real home, that it could truly thrive, that it could display its true potential, that it could be all it was ever meant to be.
And so it is for those of us who have had the seed of the gospel planted in our hearts. It sprouts and grows and takes root. It blossoms and produces blooms that are truly beautiful. Yet all the while we know, we understand, and we grieve how sparse and few and paltry they are. Even as we make every effort we lament how poor our efforts are and even as we bear fruit we lament how little fruit we bear. Even as we rejoice in every one of God’s blessings and celebrate every evidence of his grace, still we long to be in that new land, that new home, that new place where we can—where we will—truly thrive, where we will display our fullest potential, where we will be all that God has made us to be.