Like most kids, my three girls have always enjoyed hide and seek. Even my youngest has fun with a classic game of peek-a-boo. If you have ever played hide and seek with a child, you know they aren’t exactly the greatest at the game, but you have to pretend like they are. Like, even if they manage to actually be hiding behind something and not just standing in the middle of the room, they’re never quiet about it. Even when they manage to actually hide themselves, they talk in full volume and giggle uncontrollably. You can’t just go, “Yeah, you’re there. I see you,” right? You have to walk around the room and pretend like you have no idea where they are. But, there is another seeking that is done without any feigned interest.

We survived 40 hours together in the van across 11 different states, which is no small feat with three kiddos five and under. That time together in close proximity affords you a few opportunities and lessons. For example, it doesn’t matter if your toddler just used the rest stop; she’s going to need to go potty as soon as you hit the highway again. Also, when your child says her stomach hurts, you should probably immediately listen to her and find a stop or you’re going to be cleaning vomit out of your vehicle with water bottles and wet wipes. Sitting in the driver’s seat for extended periods of time, I discovered for myself the physical toll of stiffness and tightness that would not have been exacted even ten years ago. Then, there are the joys of listening to and watching three little ones interact with one another through contagious laughter. There are those cherished quiet moments where everyone has fallen asleep and, though you need to keep your eyes on the road ahead, you cannot help but watch them through the rear-view mirror.

And, all of it is quite enjoyable—yes, even the potty stops and the vomit and the stiffness—because we’re on vacation, and we’re together.

But, then, something shifts.

You are like a cedar of Lebanon, and like a cedar of Lebanon, you are not meant to live your life as a potted plant. You are meant to be firmly planted and rooted deeply in the landscape to which God has called you. Unfortunately, the church is full of potted plants, limited in their growth and survival because they refuse to plant themselves in that landscape. We have become too comfortable in our containers. Pastors are observing that those who once attended church each week are now attending just a few times a month. Those who attended once a month are now content with a few times each year. Studies are revealing that fewer people feel guilty about missing church or even feel compelled to gather with other Christians at all or seem to even miss being in the church when they cannot attend.

My dad has helped and enabled me to be things I could not become on my own. Since we’ve spent quite a bit of time together in the garage working on various projects, I have come to learn some valuable lessons in those moments. I call them garage thoughts. Charles Kettering, who was an inventor and businessman, once said, “Every father should remember that one day his son will follow his example instead of his advice.” Yes, my dad has given me a fair share of advice, but he has also given me a tremendous example to follow. These garage thoughts aren’t just words he has shared; they are practical lessons he has lived.

It seems that no matter how often Abby and I have told the girls they can’t get out of the tub and run, they insist on trying. This time, Lydia inevitably slipped on the linoleum and hit her cheek on the corner of her step stool. It wasn’t a major injury, but it was enough that it warranted Urgent Care. With Abby at work, I made the necessary phone calls to get my dad over to the house and to let Abby know what was going on. Then, off we went, bloodied and bruised, ice packs and towels in hand.

I don’t know what challenges you’re up against today, but we’re all familiar with the impossible. We know what it’s like to be at what feels like a dead end with no way out. We know how it feels to be grasping in the dark. We understand the feelings of helplessness and desperation. But, glory be to God that we serve an infinitely faithful, powerful, and able God. We serve a God who is able to make a way where there was not one. We serve a God who brings light to dark places. We serve a God who is our anchor through the storm and our hope that surpasses understanding. We serve the God of the impossible! So, what’s something seemingly impossible you are praying and trusting God for right in this moment? Whatever that may be: we just need Him, and with Him all things are possible.

But, do you realize that offense is just an event—to live offended, though, is a decision. We cannot always control the things that have been done against us, but we always have the choice of our response. Our response is always our responsibility. We make the choice of how we are going to allow some word or action affect our hearts. What are we willing to allow access to our hearts?

Here’s the thing: we could know all the intricacies of words and master the ever-expanding English vocabulary, but mastering our mouths and the things that come out of them is an entirely different animal. I can’t begin to tell you the number of times where I have said the wrong thing. There are the times where I have said things to the wrong people. Then, there are the painful moments where I have said the wrong things to the wrong people. The Apostle Paul encourages us in Ephesians 4:29, “Let no corrupting talk come out of your mouths, but only such as is good for building up, as fits the occasion, that it may give grace to those who hear.” But, then, we read from James 3:8, “No human being can tame the tongue. It is a restless evil, full of deadly poison.”

Even when I do run, it has never really been because I wanted to be running; it has felt like something I had to do. I have to run to be in shape. I have to run to stop my kids from doing something dangerous. I have to run before someone snags the last doughnut. It’s not the case for everyone, but running is more of an obligation than an enjoyment for me. There is a monumental difference, however, between feeling like we have to do something and feeling like we get to do something.