Less is More

“We won’t be banging on drums to let them know we’re coming”

—Ygritte, Game of Thrones

I always found ancient warfare fascinating. Even the not-so-ancient warfare is interesting to its very core. Battles were fought on an agreed-upon field and victory typically lied with the numbers. Battalions marched toward one another, carrying flags or banners and banging on drums. Soldiers knew their enemy’s next move before it even occurred. Those on the front lines could almost guarantee their demise. War was a numbers game, and nine out of ten times, more was always more.

Occasionally, history teaches us about brilliant military tactics that involve a few brave soldiers overcoming astronomical odds, through the use of alternative guerilla warfare. There were the 300 Spartans who defeated thousands of Persians at the Battle of Thermopylae before eventually dying in the pass. There was the attack on Vienna by 100,000 Ottomans against 20,000 Viennese. By using bowls of water with peas floating on top, the Viennese could detect when and where the Ottomans were attacking along their walls. And then there was Gideon, who under God’s instruction, cut down his army from 32,000 men to 300 in order to defeat the Midianites (Judges 7:1–8). Gideon’s situation was definitely a case of less is more.

Why did God do this? The passage makes it clear that God wanted to prove to the Israelites that it was by God’s own prowess that they overcame the Midianites and not by their own military might. This, of course, is surface-level theology. We’ve all heard the famous memory verse from the prophet Zechariah: “Not by might nor by power, but by my Spirit” (Zechariah 4:6). We can look at this from a practical sense as well. Like the scene from Game of Thrones when Ramsay Bolton convinces his father to allow him to ride out with twenty of his best men to sabotage his enemy in a nocturnal raid, destroying siege engines, torching supplies, and killing horses. This, in turn, defeats the enemy before it even has a chance to attack. Robin Hood and his band of merry yeomen attacked the wealthy on their way through Sherwood Forest, robbed them blind, and then delivered their riches to the poor, thereby cutting off the financial lifeline of their enemy—The Sheriff of Nottingham. In “real” history, during the Revolutionary War, a ragtag band of militia soldiers from South Carolina relied heavily on similar terrorist attacks to drive Cornwallis from the Carolinas and eventually defeating him at Yorktown, Virgina. You may recognize that story from the movie The Patriot. Either practically or theologically, the concept of less is more often rings true.

Today, we are at war with an invisible enemy. We can’t sneak into its camp, cause confusion, madness, or torch its siege engines. We can’t steal from its financial lifelines and give that money to those who are suffering from this pandemic. We can’t attack its soldiers while they travel from Charleston to Georgetown. What we can do is recognize the significance found in the lessons of Gideon, Ramsay Bolton, Robin Hood, and the South Carolina militia. Less is more! With less interaction with our friends at the local pub, we can play board games with our families. Since evenings out at loud restaurants are no longer possible, we can now share a meal around the dining room table sharing stories and bonding with those we love. Instead of watching the Cubs lose to the Cardinals, we can actually go out and toss the ball around or play cornhole. In lieu of heading to the office, the stadium, or the bar, we can go for a run, lift weights, pray and worship our Creator, and make love to our spouses. Through these types of circumstances, we recognize those things in our lives that truly matter. Money, success, and possessions no longer become our driving force. God, family, love, and health suddenly take the forefront. When circumstances take away the 31,700 things that don’t matter, we are left with the 300 things that do. Through this pandemic, I’m once again recognizing that LESS IS MORE!

Everything Before “But”

The candle standing in the middle of the table established an ambiance of romance and possibilities. The tantalizing aroma of the tenderloin seemed to match the same enticing aroma of potential that appeared to emanate between the two new lovers as they gazed into each other’s eyes. A single crimson rose lay perched at the edge of the table. The man inconspicuously glances over at the rose in anticipation.

“You are an amazing man,” the woman begins. “When we first met, I wanted to spend every second with you. We connected on every level. Our chemistry was amazing, and you are so easy to talk to. Our conversations were incredible. Any woman would be lucky to have you, but…”


The previous illustration is a pretty accurate description of an episode of the Bachelor or Bachelorette…no matter what season. It’s very typical. In fact, before meeting my wife, this scene could have easily been procured from a myriad of my own personal experiences. Nevertheless, every single person who’s ever been dumped doesn’t care what precedes the word “but”! The dumper could say anything they want to soften the blow, but it is never soft for the dumped. Once we hear the word “but” everything that comes before it is null and void.

“I understand the rules of this house, but…”
—One of my children
“I did study for my test, but…”
—One of my children
“I realize that I hit him in the face, but…”
—One of my children
“I know I passed a huge yellow school bus, with a stop sign fully extended, while flashing its red lights, but…”
—Shawn Vander Lugt
“Everything before but is bull”
—Jim Quinn

Not only is this last quote literally (a very overused word by today’s generation by the way) true, it is also metaphorically true. Once we say “but” it completely invalidates everything we say before it. The “but” signifies opposition to, and instills doubt in, the validity of whatever comes before it.

Gideon is one of my favorite characters in Scripture. Not because Gideon was a mighty warrior and defeated the Midian army with only 100 combatants. Gideon is one of my favorite characters because he was a realist, and I like realists. Like most skeptics and atheists today, Gideon also didn’t accept anything at face value, and I like skeptics and atheists for the same reason. Gideon was polite, “but” he followed that courtesy with a “but” and we know what that means.

When the angel of the Lord appeared to Gideon, he said, “The Lord is with you, mighty warrior.”

“Pardon me, my lord,” Gideon replied, “but if the Lord is with us, why has all this happened to us? Where are all his wonders that our ancestors told us about when they said, ‘Did not the Lord bring us up out of Egypt?’ But now the Lord has abandoned us and given us into the hand of Midian.”
—Judges 6:12-13

Gideon didn’t stop there. The angel tried to convince him that God was going to send Gideon to deliver the Israelites from the Midianites. Gideon responds with, “Pardon me, my lord,” Gideon replied, “but how can I save Israel? My clan is the weakest in Manasseh, and I am the least in my family” (Judges 6:15).

He goes on to doubt God and requests three more signs before finally accepting his calling. But, But, But.

I must admit, whenever I feel God tugging me one way or another, almost every time my initial response is, “Pardon me, my lord, but…”

“Pardon me, my lord, but I don’t have the time or money to do that.”
“Pardon me, my lord, but I don’t have good skills to do that. You know like nunchuck skills, bow hunting skills, computer hacking skills.”  
“Pardon me, my lord, but I’m doubting your goodness and faithfulness right now.
“Pardon me, my lord, but it appears you don’t keep your promises.”
“Pardon me, my lord, but look who you allowed to become president.”

Lately, I’ve been worrying that my doubts and cynicism are detrimental to my faith. Then I read a passage like Judges 6 and I’m relieved and encouraged. In fact, today, I’m convinced that blind faith imparts stagnancy. Without ever questioning God or God’s intentions, we find ourselves in suspended animation. Gideon didn’t take God’s word at face value. Should we?

In Dynamics of Faith, Paul Tillich writes, “Doubt is not the opposite of faith; it is an element of faith. Faith, by its nature, includes separation. If there is no separation from the object of faith, then it becomes a matter of certainty, and not of faith.”

I don’t know if I’m right or not about doubting or questioning God, God’s purposes, or God’s good and faithful intentions. See, I’m even doubting that. Regardless of whether I’m right, I know that through doubting God, questioning God, and fighting with God, I’ve always come out on the other end in a more solid and meaningful relationship with my Father. That alone is a testimony to the power of doubt. I frequently doubt, question, and fight with God, “BUT” I always come out of those bouts stronger and more faithful. The truth of our hearts always comes after the “but” not before it. Because everything before “but” is bull.

In the Limelight of our Mothers

Three weeks before our wedding, Jaime and I flew to Scottsdale to plan the wedding with my parents, apply for our license, and spend countless hours at Hobby Lobby. It was a wonderful trip because it provided a myriad of opportunities to share precious moments with Mom. If I had known then that there would only be one month left with her, I don’t think I would have gone back to Colorado. I recall one conversation I had with Mom that weekend.

Jaime had stepped out of the room and Mom pulled me aside, sat down next to me in the living room, and said, “You’re different with her…better…stronger…more confident. Without even doing a thing, she instills in you the humble strength you need to lead your family without sacrificing the gentle, kind spirit that defines who you truly are deep inside. Micah told me back in February, ‘Dad’s different with this one…He’s still my dad, still fun-loving, quirky, and weird. Jaime doesn’t expect him to change who he is and that’s awesome.’ I agree completely, Shawn. That’s awesome.”

Every time I look over at my wife, I remember these affirming words from my mother—one of the best leaders I’ve ever known. Good leaders lead without comparison. Ineffectual leaders feel compelled to stand next to other leaders at the urinals of competition, seeing how far they can pee or comparing their small “hands” with the “hands” of others. Godly women leaders like my mom bring out the best in their husbands, their brothers, their sisters, their daughters, and their sons. They affirm and guide women and men, boys and girls, to seek God for wisdom as their ultimate leader and then humbly allow others—often those less worthy—to take the credit. I often question the justice and righteousness of this fact. As a feminist, I would love to give credit where credit is due. At the same time, as a follower of Jesus, I cherish the significance of humility. “Humility is the fear of the Lord; its wages are riches and honor and life (Proverbs 22:4).

Mom was a humble leader and Dad would never argue with the fact that she not only led us all into the arms of our God but she enabled and encouraged my dad to do the same. Mom and Dad led and the led together—giving the credit to the Lord God so that all who love Him would “be like the sun when it rises in its strength” (Judges 5:31). I can’t thank my parents enough for their spiritual guidance. I also can’t thank my wife enough for seeing the strength that lies amidst my gentle spirit—and summoning it forth through love and encouragement.

Deborah, “a mother in Israel” was this kind of woman as well. She humbly led others to seek the Lord for their strength. She didn’t take credit or compare herself to other leaders. Instead, she encouraged others to seek the Lord for strength, “cowboy up,” and do what God called them to do.  Then there’s Jael. I probably like her even more. Where Heber the Kenite did everything wrong, his wife, Jael, did everything right. Jael was fearless, God-honoring, and stable in her faith. Perhaps we aren’t supposed to use these two women found in Judges 4 as the poster women for modern feminism. Some argue that these women are only exemplified because the men around them were so weak. I, however, want to point out these these two women are identified for a reason. They do represent God-honoring leadership. They do take charge when the men who are supposed to take charge fail. They do encourage others to embrace their strengths and seek God for wisdom.

People argue that the examples found in Judges 4 and 5 in no way overrule the Apostle Paul’s take on women leading men. They argue that Paul’s argument that women should abstain from leading men is a general rule not an exception to the rule, where Deborah’s leadership was an exception to that rule. To be honest, I personally feel that an individual’s stance that women should not be allowed to lead men is an antiquated perspective and contributes to submission, inequality, and even abuse.

Oh no…my liberalism is rearing its ugly head.

Regardless of how I feel, or how some of these archaic theologians feel, Godly women don’t care. Women like my mom and my wife take Deborah’s lead, and lead. They lead men, women, and children into the arms of God and then take a step out of the limelight. If Paul needed the men of his churches to feel empowered, so be it. Godly women leaders don’t even care where the limelight is shining—they back out of the light and divert it so it shines on the people they love and let God lead their loved ones into his Kingdom where they’ll all shine like the sun when it rises in its strength” (Judges 5:31).

Obese Overlords, Excessive Excrement, and Flagrant Fuller Faculty

The long drive during rush hour up the 710 Freeway from my apartment in Paramount, California to my classroom at Fuller Seminary in Pasadena was exhausting. The fact that class began at 6 p.m. and ended at 10 p.m. didn’t help matters. Some would argue that Medieval Church History would be the cherry on top of this sundae of fun. I, however, was looking forward to this class. I’m a history buff, and the middle ages was my absolute favorite of all the ages. I walk into the classroom and look to the back corner of the room—the few seats located along the left wall. John was already sitting there and he waved me over. John, Casey, and I were the few back-row dwellers in this class. I’m a firm believer in the fact that one learns best when sitting in the back row as far over to the left as possible. I sit down, pat John on the back, open up my legal pad, and lean back in my chair. The instructor, a PhD from University of Marburg, enters the room, spreads out his notes, and says, “Let’s pray!”

We all fold our hands and close our eyes like the good seminary students we all are.

“Heavenly Father,” the instructor begins. “We all have so much shit in our lives. Shit we need you to remove and remove quickly.”

I peek over at John, who is already laughing under his breath. Casey’s eyes were still closed as if this kind of prayer happened every night at his dinner table growing up.

Initially shocked—and definitely awake—I continued to listen to the prayer, and as the semester moved forward, I found these prayers refreshing. I concluded that perhaps there isn’t a more appropriate word for our personal sin than the word our brilliant, Marburg educated instructor used and continued to use throughout the class.

Over two years ago, I wrote about two items that still sit upon the desk in my office. One item is a die cast collectable, Case International Harvester tractor that my Grandpa Vander Lugt gave to me. Every time I look upon this tractor, I think about Grandpa Vander Lugt and remember the wonderful times we shared, the grace and love he exuded, and the fun we had together on his farm. The other item is a Breyer Arabian Horse my Grandpa Van Hill gave to me. Every time I look upon this horse, I remember his humor, his inventions, and the fun we had together playing games, massaging his feet, and riding in a cart behind his donkey Jake.

These small items—toys to the untrained eye—are reminders of two amazing men who touched my life in profound ways. We all have things that remind us of those we love. We all of things that remind us of who we are and where we have been. After crossing the Jordan River, God told Joshua to choose twelve men, one from each tribe of Israel. Each man was to choose a stone from the middle of the Jordan and stack them up at Gilgal. This stack of stones was to serve as a sign, so future generations could remember that God cut off the Jordan so the people could cross from the desert into the Promised Land. The stones were a memorial to an amazing God who delivers them, protects them, and provides for them (Joshua 4).

After conquering most of the Promised Land, the people unfortunately sinned against God. When they did this, God sent an angel from Gilgal (the exact place where the stones remained—still stacked to remind the people of God’s love and deliverance). Speaking about the nations of Canaan, the angel said to them, “I will not drive them out before you; they will become traps for you, and their gods will become snares to you” (Judges 2:3). Regrettably, because the people decided to let “excrement” overpower their lives, God decided to let their enemies stay in the land. Not only this, but those same enemies spend the entire book of Judges capturing the people, submitting them to slavery, and causing continual distress in their lives. In the same way, the stones at Gilgal reminded the people of their deliverance, the angel reminded the people that even though they’ve broken covenant, God will still deliver them. Fortunately, throughout the book of Judges, God selected judges to rise up and deliver his people over and over again.

One of my favorites, and most disgusting narratives in the Bible is about a judge named Ehud. Ehud was left-handed, which most scholars suggest means he was disabled and unable to use his right hand. The people of Israel did evil, so God had an obese king named Eglon attack and conquer the Israelites while making his headquarters in Jericho. Can you imagine how painful it was to see foreign invaders take over the city they so easily destroyed when they first entered the Promised Land? Eglon was gluttonous, greedy, and overindulging—he was the manifestation of Israel’s disgusting sin. As my Medieval Church History professor would have so eloquently said, “Eglon represented Israel’s feces.” After eighteen years of servitude to Eglon, God provides Israel with a disabled deliverer. Ehud fashions a double-edged sword and straps it to his right thigh—directly under his useless right hand. After presenting tribute to Eglon, Ehud walks back to the stones set up near Gilgal. Perhaps he was afraid to attack until he witnessed the stones that Joshua and the tribes set up earlier and was reminded of God’s love, power, and faithfulness. Seeing the stones, Ehud turns around, enters the palace, and stabs Eglon in the gut, spilling his bowels all over the place. Ehud then leaves the palace, again walks past the stones at Gilgal, and escapes. When he arrives at Seirah, Ehud blows a trumpet, and the Israelites repossess the land where they are free for the next eighty years (Judges 3:12-30).

How often do our problems seem so obese that we wonder if we’ll ever be able to overpower them? How often do we need to be reminded of God’s love, faithfulness, and power to remove the excrement from our lives? It isn’t a coincidence that Ehud is disabled or that he uses a double-edged sword to destroy his obese overlord—casting out the stench of sin. We need to be constantly reminded that God and God’s word provides the power and authority we desperately need to overcome those obese obstacles and disgusting dung that so often overwhelm our lives. The next time you pass by those “Stones of Gilgal” remember that wonderful message of freedom: God sent Jesus, the Word made Flesh, to help us overcome all our obese overlords and remove the stench that so often consumes us.

“For the word of God is alive and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart”

—Hebrews 4:12

40 Days in the Wilderness

Do you ever wonder why life can be so painful and why God allows us to suffer so much? Did you know that God’s chosen people endured many trials while wandering through the wilderness? Perhaps, by reading some of those painful experiences, you will come to a new understanding regarding your own trials and how they relate to God and God’s purpose for your life. This book not only looks at the trials God’s people experienced in the wilderness, but it also connects to our relationship with Jesus in a profound way.

You can purchase it in paperback for $8.99 or digitally for $3.99. Order three copies of the paperback and receive free shipping. Order one copy of each 40 Days book and receive free shipping. Wow! You can’t beat that…and just in time for Christmas!


We’ll See You Again!

Yesterday, in an honest tribute to my mom, my brother said, “Mom was always present in the moment and perfectly content. She dreamed and aspired, but she was never discontent with the circumstances that life presented.” Even upon the horrible diagnosis of stage four pancreatic cancer, Mom didn’t complain. Mom embodied contentment. Both my brother and I have lived a significant portion of our lives in a state of permanent discontent. We cast our eyes over the proverbial fence and convince ourselves that the grass always looked, smelled, and probably tasted better on the other side.

Discontent, feelings of inadequacy, and hopes of a better life lead us to dig, and dig, and dig for something to fulfill that emptiness—something to sustain us and give us a full and meaningful life. The more we dig, the more we sacrifice those things that are more important in life. We ignore God, our families, and our friends while we dig for more money and more possessions. We ignore our spiritual and physical health while we dig into our addictions and unhealthy habits. Mom never ignored those things that are important in our life, resulting in her absolute contentment. Remember when God turned the water of the Nile River into blood. Remember when the people of Egypt clawed along the banks of the Nile desperately searching for fresh water—they kept on digging for that sustenance—that life (Exodus 7:24). Mom didn’t claw along the bloody rivers for life, because she knew where to find true life, joy, sustenance, and contentment. Mom found these essentials reading to and loving on her grandbabies, holding the hand of her Love, always being present with her children, and drinking readily from the well of Living Water—her Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.

When Jesus spoke with the Samaritan woman at the well, he said to her, “Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life” (John 4:4-14).

Mom was content and present and didn’t claw for water because she found Living Water; Mom found life to its fullest; Mom found the Good Shepherd; and she is now living with Him forever in His safe pastures.

We love you Mom! We sorely miss you Mom!

We’ll see you again!


“Be vigilant; guard your mind against negative thoughts!”

—Gautama Buddha

I have never in my life been angrier with God than I have been this past year. I shouldn’t be. I’m blessed beyond measure with an amazing wife, great children, a job I love, and a close-knit family where support, compassion, and joy is immeasurable. I feel selfish that my anger focuses on God’s inaction by allowing my mother to suffer through a tumultuous battle against terminal cancer. This blog post is a way for me to gain some perspective, sort through my anger, diminish negative thoughts, increase my vigilance, and find some peace in the arms of my God. Mom’s found it…she’s more in love with Jesus now than she’s ever been. Isn’t that typically the case?

The warm sun pours through the eight-foot-high windows of the west-wing of the Orange City Area Heath System—the hospice wing. I grab the corner pillar, glower up God, and weep uncontrollably. My daughter comes over to me and gives me a long hug and her love pulls me from my grief temporarily. My son asks if I’d like to play a game of chess. I agree with hopes of diverting my mind from where it’s dwelling onto something less morose.

I’m horrible at chess. I am exceptionally unobservant and I’m tactically impaired. Within a few moves, my son had already annihilated me. Why? Because I lack vigilance. My brother recently mentioned, during his best man’s speech at my wedding, that I’m a dreamer. Or as my dad so graciously put it, I—at least on occasion—have my head up my butt. My former coworker nicknamed me “The Happy Wanderer”. My head is always in the clouds because I dream…and I lack vigilance. There’s a proverb that reads: “At the end of every victory procession lies an open manhole.” Meaning, even when you think you’ve accomplished victory, don’t become over confident, throw your nose up in the air, and ride high on your horse, because you’ll fall straight down the manhole at the end of the parade route. Be prepared. Be vigilant. I know that I need to be more observant in preparation for that eventual manhole waiting for me at the end of my parade route.

After my embarrassing defeat to my teenage son, I tip my king over, lean back in the chair, and begin to listen to a conversation occurring between my siblings.

“Makes you wonder if you should have a scan performed every year just to make sure everything is okay,” my brother says to my sister. “Maybe these horrible things could be avoided if we did. Maybe doctors could catch these things sooner. Maybe we could prevent disaster, avoid tragedy, keep a careful and diligent watch for danger, disaster, and attack.”

Again…Vigilance. I think the biggest problem for me is I confuse vigilance with worry. There is, nonetheless, an enormous difference between the two. Vigilance is tactical, controllable, practical, and effective. Worry is impulsive, irrepressible, unviable, and incompetent. How unfortunate for me that I’m a proficient worrier who lacks vigilance.

As I read through my next passage in the book of Judges, I’m struck by a peculiar passage. Judah and Simeon start attacking the Canaanites to possess the land God promised them, and they chase down the Canaanite king, Adonibezek. When they catch Mr. Adonibezek, they cut off his thumbs and big toes, take him back to Jerusalem, and hold him there for an indefinite time. Later, while in Jerusalem, the king dies. Seems cruel to me, but this was an act of mercy. They would amputate thumbs and toes to incapacitate soldiers and impair them for future service. It’s difficult to swing a sword or pull a bow string without thumbs. It’s even more to march on the battlefield without your big toes (Judges 1:1-7). Judah and Simeon were vigilant instead of cruel here. They were saving the life of the king, while protecting their kingdom from future attacks. Win-win! Vigilant and merciful.

How can I learn to be vigilant without sacrificing the personality God so distinctly created to thrive within my own soul? How can I continue to dream while increasing my preparedness for inevitable evil and pain? How can I learn to be grateful for God’s providence and blessings amid grief? How can I prepare for danger, guard my mind and heart against negative thoughts, avoid worry, and dwell in peace? How can I, like my mother already has, dwell peacefully in the presence of God—this same God with whom I’d currently like to “THROW DOWN”!?!?