I am a little uncomfortable with calling myself an "earthquake survivor". When I got back from Haiti, I had my little 15 minutes of fame as all the local news channels tried to get an interview with the "local Orange County woman who survived the earthquake". It all seemed very overdramatic to me - but I realize (sadly) that people tend to be more interested in a story about someone they identify with. I did the interviews, most of them on my first full day home, because I wanted to use the attention to talk about humanitarian parole. As I saw the stories later, I chuckled at the little liberties they took to make it sound more dramatic, and I rolled my eyes at the descriptor of "earthquake survivor". It doesn't seem a fitting title for someone who doesn't even live in Haiti, for someone who came out unscathed, from someone who took a plane home to a normal life and an intact home.

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But even if He doesn’t…

Faith, trust, belief, reliance, hope. I have faith that God will. I trust that God will. I believe God is going to. As Christians today we are smitten with the thought that God will grant our prayers, fix our problems, heal our sickness, deliver us from struggle, and rescue us from tribulation. We claim it. We focus on it. We sing about it. We preach about it. We rely on it.

Perhaps He will and Perhaps He won’t. 

I live in San Diego and if you live here, you can't help but be impacted by the muder of Chelsea King. When she went missing, thousands began to pray for her return.  Thousands turned out to search for her.  Thousands now morn her savage murder.  Over the past week, probably because I am a lawyer that represents death row inmates, people have wanted to talk to me about the case.  Frequently the issue of God's role in all of this comes up and people will talk about it shaking their faith.

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Last Monday I was interviewed by Jim Wallace for the Please Convince Me podcast. If you are not familiar with his ministry, I give it my highest recommendation. Jim does an amazing job of taking philosophical, scientific, and historical evidence and presenting it in a logical and compelling way. He's a former atheist and really understands how many non-Christians really think. We had a great chat about my recent debate with James Corbett and other apologetics issues. Check it out!

Click here to listen to the podcast.

Every once in a while, we have the opportunity to give away some free stuff, and this is one of those times.  Thanks to our friends at Grace Hill Media, we have a few DVDs of the groundbreaking television program, Touched by an Angel. This top-rated show, starring Roma Downey and Della Reese as angels who brought messages from God to ordinary people, was the first prime-time show to successfully and skillfully integrate themes of faith into everyday life in a prime-time television show. Basically, it was a program that made God look good!

Now there is a new special edition DVD series called "Touched by an Angel: Inspiration Collection"  Each of these "Faith and Love" editions feature four thematic episodes specially selected by executive producer Martha Williamson. These special DVDs will be available January 26 at your local Christian store, or they can be ordered online.

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Haiti.  It is hard to imagine.

Tucked in the somewhat artificial security of middle-class American suburbia, I found my mind continually drifting back to this tragedy, trying to make sense of it.  The poverty of the area, the magnitude of the earthquake, the depth and breadth of the hardship and grief.  Because even though I could offer some theological explanations for the existence of evil and adversity in the world, there is still the reality of the personal suffering and pain.

If you think about it, the large-magnitude earthquake that struck Haiti could hit any of us.  Especially for those of us living in northern California.  So I live in this weird juxtaposition: I sip my latte and pray for Haiti.

Honestly, it paralyzed my blogging for a time.  I felt that anything I had to say in terms of faith and the arts paled in comparison to the larger issues of life and death, tragedy and circumstance, God's will and the brevity of human life.

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America's most popular reality show, "American Idol,” begins Season 9 this week.  One more season of judge in-fighting, audition train wrecks, pop divas, contestant theatrics, and some authentically talented vocalists.  And I couldn't care less.

Before you start writing your rebuttal response, let me say:  I don’t really hate American Idol.  It’s just that AI exposes some things about our society that run in both subtle and flagrant opposition to things I feel very strongly about—things like faith, art, personal expression, and even basic human principles like decency and the golden rule.  Besides, “hate” is a strong and vulgar word to me, one that I use sparingly.  So I guess when I say “hate” American Idol, I really mean to say something more akin to “cringe with embarrassment and aversion.

Traditionally, I take the week off after Christmas.  For a worship pastor like myself, this is a bit of a sacred time—to spend with family, physically and spiritually refuel from the long fall and Christmas schedule, and do a little reflecting on life.  This last week, I also fired up my project recording studio, collected all the odd and unformed lyrics I have jotted down over the past six months, and gave my right brain an opportunity to play a little bit.  (I also snuck onto my daughters' new Wii a few times, but that may be irrelevant.)

Every songwriter works in their own way.  Some like to start with a melody; others begin with a lick or a lyrical phrase or some chord changes.  There are no rules, no procedures, no single formula for writing a song.  There is only this inexplicable thing called inspiration—that seems like luck and works like magic and feels like madness.

The most gifted and hard working artists seem to be inspired all the time, but that is not true.  When there is no inspiration, it is then that skill and gifting can carry you.  A gifted songwriter can write a song whether or not they are inspired, simply because they understand the craft of songwriting.  A gifted painter can create an amazing work of art simply because they have a canvas in front of them.  And a gifted writer can write a great article simply because they are under a deadline.  All of this begs the question: Is inspiration a requirement for creativity?

As artists, we are obligated to steward the gifts God gives us, through diligent discipline.  Artists must be attentive to their craft.  In other words, having talent is not an excuse for not working hard.  Quite the opposite—the greater the giftedness, the greater the obligation to steward those gifts, to work and hone our craft.  It is a matter of the parable of the talents, applied to our talents.  And so, because I understand and practice the craft of songwriting, I can write songs that are creative.  But I don't always write songs that are good.  In fact, I am really quite good at writing mediocre songs.  So where does the inspiration come in?

Jeremy Begbie states that "art is...inherently dialogical."  And I believe that includes a vertical dialogue, a transcendent and spiritual component to our art.  When we are inspired, it feels like we are tapping into this wholly other thing.

This last week, I was feeling inspired.  And for me, this inspiration—that seems like luck and works like magic and feels like madness—took me somewhere I don't think I could have gone by myself.  

As a Christ-follower, I believe that all true inspiration ultimately comes from the Spirit of God.  I also know that the Spirit of God is a much better songwriter than I am, so I am often reticent to give him credit for the stuff I write.  But this week, I walked into my studio with a some unhurried time, a few scratched-out ideas, and an attentiveness to the Inspirer of things—and I walked out of my studio with three new songs.  And so far, they still sound pretty good.

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Our family will be stirring in the kitchen—the twins will be making their school lunches, and I'll be in the middle of my bleary-eyed coffee-making ritual—and in the dreariness of that morning moment, my son Justin will suddenly belt out in a loud and chipper voice, "I'm singing!  I'm singing!  I'm in a store and I'm singing....!"

Around my house this time of year, the one movie that gets quoted more than any other is "Elf."  Starring James Caan, Bob Newhart, Zooey Deschanel, and a surprisingly PG-rated Will Ferrell in the title role, the movie exudes elfin charm, wide-eyed innocence, and more than a knowing wink-and-nod to the traditional Christmas classics.  Besides "Napoleon Dynamite," it may be the most quotable movie ever.  My kids and I will randomly throw out quotes at each other over dinner, during chores, or even while playing Madden.  

One of the things I like about the movie is that there is this clumsy and naive, yet unrestrained moral anchor that underpins the central character.  In contrast to the soiled and unsafe world of New York City, Buddy the Elf's morality seems quaint and old-fashioned, but ultimately—and in Hollywood fashion—wins everyone over in the end. 

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One of the Christmastime traditions my wife and I established with our children when they were young was looking at the Christmas lights around our community. Bundled up under blankets in our minivan (the twenty-first century version of the horse-drawn sleigh), the entire family would drive down one street and up another, seeing all the decorated houses in our neighborhood.

And people would go all out. Life-sized reindeer. Nativity scenes. Santas coming down chimneys. Snowmen with top hats and pipes. Candy canes lining people’s driveways. And lights. Lots and lots of lights. The more the lights, the more we’d “ooh” and “aah.”  Then we’d drive back to our house and have hot cocoa.

It was in their third Christmas that my twins, Rachel and Paige, were old enough to really appreciate the event. And that they did. Through their little three year old eyes, our neighborhood was a magical and amazing place. Every house glowed like fresh baked gingerbread. Trees glistened like the moonlight on fresh-fallen snow. And everywhere there were lights, Rachel and Paige announced excitedly, “Ommagosh, it’s bootiful.”

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