When I was a kid, I loved when my parents put out our Slip 'N Slide in the front yard each summer. All the neighborhood kids would come over to cool off, laugh, and have fun. Recently my wife and I were lamenting the loss of carefree summers. We're not kids anymore; we have adult responsibilities. But there's still something in my brain, almost like a circadian rhythm, that's triggered by sunshine and summer heat that signals maybe it's okay to coast.

I like to think I'm pretty good with directions, but sometimes I need to use the map on my phone. Typically it does a good job of getting me to my destination on time, although once in a while it decides to tell me my next turn is RIGHT NOW and by that point it's too late. I've passed it. The destination hadn't changed. My phone's lackadaisical approach to giving me directions hadn't cancelled the trip. I just added a few miles. We tend to treat our spiritual wrong turns diff

There's a strange thing that happens near the end of a long book. You've invested hundreds of pages, but suddenly you want to set it down — not because it's bad, but because the end feels close enough to count. Lent works the same way. The temptation isn't always to quit at the beginning. It's to quit right before the end. That "good enough" feeling is a subtle lie. You haven't crossed the finish line yet. Keep reading. Easter is worth finishing well.

In today's scripture reading, Paul proclaims, "For I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ, for it is the power of God to salvation for everyone who believes" (Rom. 1:16a). Since becoming a Christian, Paul had dealt with a lot...and I mean a lot. In 2 Corinthians 11, he recounts, "Five times I received from the Jews the forty lashes minus one. Three times I was beaten with rods, once I was pelted with stones, three times I was shipwrecked, I spent a night and a day in the op