Faith & Doubt Pt. 1 - The Power of Doubt

Every Christian community I’ve been a part of has held a tenuous relationship with doubt. While some certainly allowed more space for doubt than others—usually with extreme caution and very controlled guardrails regarding what could and could not be questioned—doubt didn’t typically hold a high value.

Some communities implied shame with the way they approached teaching characters who doubted in the Bible: Moses’ questions at the burning bush, Barak leaning on Deborah, King Saul’s approach to pretty much everything, the disciple Thomas after the resurrection, etc.

Some took a bait-and-switch approach: doubt was “ok” as long as you landed where they did.

Some portrayed doubt as willing disbelief, or a mindless distraction sent from a cartoonish version of the devil.

More recently, some church leaders have even begun to preach against—I mean manipulate via fear—those who are currently experiencing doubt and faith deconstruction by dismissing them as chasing a fad, or treating them as if they’ve got some kind of spiritual plague. (If only we treated real plagues with the same fervor…le sigh). 

Side note: if you’re thinking “Not my church!?” let me just stop you. 
The entire world really needs churches and Christians to quit using that phrase.
Starting with “Not my church!?” is exactly what perpetuates harmful practices in churches, and breeds environments for darkness to multiply behind closed doors and in the shadow of large pulpits.
So yes. Your church.

In my experience, the consistent message has been clear: 
Doubt is to be downplayed in the face of faith.

“Just have faith. God is in control.”
“When you truly believe, you won’t even need to question.”
“You can doubt…just not THAT.”

No matter the lip service paid from a stage, it seemed that doubt was ultimately designed to be stored in a separate container from faith. 
At the same time, the kind of “faith” that was preached looked a whole lot more like a pursuit of certainty than actual faith.

Don’t get me wrong, I understand the felt need for certainty. Trust me.
As a human, and a pastor, I feel that deeply.

But faith does not imply fact. And that’s ok.

This simple acknowledgment alone would push Christians face-first into humility with every discussion of what we do and don’t believe—or what we are and aren’t sure of—instead of letting our "faith" grant us permission to speak with pride and arrogance. 

Faith is not merely a search for fact, either. 

In my opinion, this strange “we can prove it!” mindset has really only effectively served to make millions of dollars for a handful of theologians, while making millions of regular well-meaning Christians comfortable with twisting the Bible into all sorts of jagged angles, all in an effort to reach some form of irrefutable certainty. 

Again, I get it. 
We want to feel good about what we believe. Confident, even.
Genuine doubt about goodness and God and love and the future can present a chilly, aching pain to deal with. This I know well.
Certainty is a much easier pill to shove, sell, and swallow.

But the library of the Bible wasn’t intended to be used as a science textbook, a history book, a constitution, or a Da Vinci Code novel to keep us scanning for end-times conspiracies. It was collected to give us a glimpse into the heart and potential story of humanity, as well as the heart of God as believed to be revealed in Jesus.

Faith isn’t a set of rules and statements and stories and doctrines to be memorized, like some divine algebraic formula.

Faith is a journey to be lived.

The brilliant, emotionally-intuitive author of Hebrews—whoever she or he was—laid out a simple, profound explanation of faith as being:
assurance built on hope,

and a conviction or decision to take steps toward the unseen. (Hebrews 11:1)

If it’s unseen, if it's hope, it’s not observable fact. 

In this light, the typical evangelical approach to faith (at least as I’ve experienced it) seems more akin to a class full of students who both refuse to show their work, and think it irritatingly pointless to do so:

“Well it works, because the formula says it works, or the way I prefer to read it says it works, and that’s all you really need. Your doubts show you have the  problem, not us.” 

Or in some extreme cases: “I just don’t feel the need to question. That’s what true faith is.”

Is that what strong faith is? Not questioning? Not doubting? Just knowing?

The author of Hebrews understood the struggle within this concept, and followed up their definition by listing some of the more compelling faith “heroes” of ancient Hebrew writings.

Remember: Hebrews was NOT written to 21st century American Christians. It was written to 1st century Jewish Christians who left behind their families, religion, and community to follow the words of Jesus. 

These people were deconstructing their centuries-old faith—some at the cost of their own lives—and weren’t sure it was worth it.

The writer assumed their readers knew these stories. In the original extended versions, nearly all of these heroes waded through serious doubt and difficult questions. 

Take Abraham and Sarah. In their narrative, God prompted them to uproot and move to a new land in order to represent God to the world. In return for their obedience, this nomadic, aging, childless couple would have countless descendants—who would have land and a nation—and "the world would be blessed through them.”

So faithful obedience is what Abe and Sarah had, right? 
Instantly and absolutely: God said it, they believed it, that settled it. Right?

Sure. 

Except for when Abraham was told to leave all his kin behind, and he took his nephew Lot with him anyway.

And that time he lied and insisted that his wife Sarah was his sister to save his own hide in a foreign land.

And maybe when Abraham took their servant Hagar as a sex slave to have a child with because he didn’t believe he could have a child with his wife Sarah.

And then when they shamefully banished Hagar and Ishmael to the wilderness because their decision wasn’t as joy-filled as they imagined, and they figured that was the only way forward.

Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not seeking to vilify Abraham or Sarah. As someone who recently received very grim news from the fertility doctor, I understand desperation. Not THAT level of desperation, but I get it. (Gotta love Old Testament sexual standards, though.)

We can try to Sunday-schoolify these stories all we want. But if we look closely at the faith journeys of Abraham and Sarah—who would never hold nor see their own story written on parchment, and wouldn’t even experience MOST of their hopes coming to fruition—what do we see?

Certainty? Constant trust? Debates about proof? Heavens no.

We see doubt. Questions. Desperation. Uncertainty. Failures.
Layered upon hope. Anticipation. Possibilities. Improbabilities.

Their story is one big beautiful, horrendous, encouraging, nerve-wracking mess. 

It’s not in their certainty that God meets them. It’s in their doubt.

Heck, Abraham and Sarah couldn't prove a darn thing. If they could, it wouldn't have been faith.

That's WHY we celebrate their faith journey, with all its dips and dives.

When faith is fact, there is no authentic space to experience real disappointment, and true moments of doubt are silly illusions at best. 
Although that kind of faith may seem strong, in practicality it is quite brittle, as it cracks and crumbles at the first sign of difficulty, or when results doesn’t line up as promised. Which often forces its adherents to perform a variety of odd, dissonant, theological acrobatics to explain why.

The scaly side of the faith-as-fact approach is that no matter how righteous or good or godly someone is (or isn’t), or no matter what one does or don’t believe, there will still be times when what should happen doesn’t, and when what shouldn’t happen does. 

Just ask John the Baptist in prison. 
Or ask my female ministry friends who have endured blatant sexism by arrogant male leadership at their (and perhaps your) church in order to be able to serve, lead, and use their gifting and abilities in some capacity.
Or ask any couple who has faced infertility.
Or ask my former students who attend Oxford High school.

It’s in those kind of moments that faith-as-fact struggles to stand.

But...if faith is a journey, as the author of Hebrews suggests, then doubt doesn’t just get a day pass, it holds a permanent place in the process of faith. When genuine doubt is not shunned, but welcomed, faith shows immense strength in its flexibility, not its rigidity.

Doubt doesn't detract from faith. It strengthens it.

Abraham and Sarah doubted publicly and frequently, and their story is still taught and celebrated, messes and all. 

They showed us that you can still move forward while taking your doubts with you.

So to the deconstructing and the doubting folks in my circles, I say this: 
Doubt what you need to, 
question what you need to, 
and ignore anyone who shames you for it, or cautions you against it.
Just keep moving, keep building, and keep looking toward what you don’t see yet, because

Faith doesn’t begin when you stop doubting. 

It begins when you start hoping.

Hoping that what you see now might not be all there is to see.
Hoping that even in pain and sorrow there can be progress and peace.

Hoping that even if you think the church has driven horribly off course, a better way forward could still be found.
Hoping that even in the unknown, good can still exist, love can still act, and new routes can be found.

No matter what you believe, or even what beliefs you've decided to let go, if you are willing to hold doubt in one hand, and hope in the other, you just might be surprised at what could happen when you take a step toward the (yet) unseen that you know is possible.

Who knows, people might even tell your story one day.

The Privilege of Silence

Letters to a Church in Quarantine - Chapter 2

In my family, we’d be quick to tell you that we weren’t racist. We meant it.

We didn’t hate anyone. We had some black friends. We had some Muslim friends. We often hired people who weren't white.

Our churches were mostly white, but anyone was welcome at them. We believed that God loved all people. Racism was mostly a media ruse. 

Racist families existed, but we definitely weren’t one of them.

And yet…

~~~~~

When I was ten, we were stopped at a stoplight and a black man with sagged pants crossed the street in front of us. This prompted an adult family member I lived with (NOT Mom) to say, “I’m not racist, but you know, there are black people and there are (N word)s.”

 

I asked what that meant, and was told that the former acted “normal” (like white people) and the latter were “black people who acted like black people.” They continued, “Just like how there are white people and there are whiggers.”

 

I'd heard that word from adults and teens in our family and church before. Again I asked and was answered, "those are white people who dress and act like blacks.”

 

I vividly remember being uncomfortable. But I also remember laughing. I really liked that family member. If they thought it was funny, maybe it wasn’t that bad?

 

We’re not racist, it’s just that black culture is bad and/or broken.

Anyone who likes or resembles it gets a less-than nickname.

 

I disagreed with that person. I later wanted to say something, but I never did.

~~~~~

When we’d see commercials or ads with interracial couples, adults in my immediate and extended family would chime, “I really just feel bad for their kids. I’m not being racist, because people can marry who they want. But the kids will be confused. They won’t know if they’re white or black, or where they belong.” #thinkofthechildren

 

We’re not racist, it’s just that interracial couples are self-indulgent.

And mixed-race children don’t belong anywhere. Or with us.

 

I disagreed with them. I wanted to say something, but I didn’t. No one did.

~~~~~

I was a teen when we moved to the suburbs of Flushing. When the neighborhood’s first black family bought a house down the street a couple of years after we moved in, I was elated because they had kids our age. My enthusiasm was discouraged by an adult in my household, “there goes the neighborhood. When one moves in, more will follow. Then property values go down.”

 

I heard this restated and repeated by dozens of adults and teens at parties, church potlucks, and holidays that year as word spread about our new neighbors.

 

We’re not racist…it’s just that black people have their own neighborhoods.

It’s better for everyone, if we just stay where we belong.

 

I disagreed with them. I wanted to say something. I almost did, but I stopped.

~~~~~

In Sunday School, after shouting a self-rousing sermon about our great country, the teacher told our class of white teenaged boys that America would "face God’s judgement and cease to exist if a black man ever became president.” With his next heavy breath he smirked, “or a woman, because they’re just so darn emotional.” 

We’re not racist, it’s just that black people can’t lead. Nor can women.

And anger and smugness are not emotions.

I strongly disagreed with him. I wanted to say something, but I didn’t. None of us did.

~~~~~

Weeks later, that same Sunday School teacher told us all black people were cursed descendants of Ham (from that one time when Noah got sauced, got embarrassed, and screamed at his son in a drunken fit of rage). This made blacks lower than whites.

 

“I’m not racist,” he pointed his finger at his page, “It’s in the Bible.”

 

It is NOT in the Bible. I later learned he was quoting a footnote (editorial commentary) in a popular study Bible. This heretical interpretation is NOT widely held in Christianity, thank God. I’d bet most owners of that Bible aren't aware of that footnote.

 

We’re not racist, it’s just that black people are cursed.

And I can make the Bible say anything I want.

 

I disagreed with that. I wanted to say something, but I didn’t. None of us did.

~~~~~

There was a young white couple in our church circle who had adopted black children. Growing up, I cannot count the white adults who spewed statements like,

“They just want to draw a check from the government.”

“They just want attention.”

“They must feel bad for something.”

“Were there no more white kids left?”

 

We’re not racist, it’s just that whites who adopt blacks have ulterior motives.

Black people and white people must take care of their own.

 

I disagreed with that. I wanted to say something, but I didn’t. No one I knew did.

~~~~~

If our white friends’ daughters ever dated a black boy it was very taboo, often accompanied by a remark about her being a “wild child” with minimal restraints, and follow-up quips about teen pregnancy.

Never once heard talk about the childish white boys who fooled around, though.

 

We’re not racist…it’s just that white girls who date black boys are rebellious,

and will wind up pregnant and alone. But white boys will be boys.

I disagreed with them. I wanted to say something. But I didn’t.

~~~~~

I was hanging with a church friend and their dad (a church elder) was watching the news. When the anchor spoke of welfare reform, he muted the TV and spouted "(N-word)s just want free government money. Why don't they just get a job?"

I was ashamed. Welfare and social security had kept my grandparents and parents afloat before, and they worked hard. Plus I knew that all my black friends had dads with jobs. I also didn't want to lose my friend if I spoke.

We're not racist...it's just that black people are lazy.

And welfare recipients are just leeches.

I disagreed with him. I wanted to say something. But I didn’t.

~~~~~

I could go on. I have many points for this post, though none of which are to make you dislike any people that I know and love. Thankfully, my family tree is large, I went to many churches, and I had many SS teachers, so you can't guess who said what, unless you were there.

 

I guarantee you that most of the people I heard these statements from would have denied they were racist, because they didn’t hate black people. Many of them have grown and changed either their views or their language over the years.

 

Then why give enraging details? Why fan the flames?

I'm not fanning the flames; I'm trying to smother them, starting with my own.

I tell these stories because racism happened daily in our good-seeking, white Christian households and churches that claimed to be anti-racism. We set our own fires.

"Not hating black people" didn't exempt us from racism. It still doesn't.

I also highlight the harshness in order to greater contrast my own failure.

 

I do not race to share this post with you. I limp up to it with my biases still smoking and sizzling, for the brutal truth is I am as guilty as every oppressor in these stories. I was racist, even when I didn’t think I was. Especially when I didn’t think I was. I've grown, but I have not yet left my racial sins behind. My affair with inaction and silence (perhaps the stealthiest racial sins) plagues me to this day.

 

I have stayed quiet SO. MANY. TIMES. in my life. Even recently. Even now.

 

Sometimes I’m afraid to speak. (usually when the offender is angry and stubborn)

Sometimes I don’t know what to say, or think my words won’t suffice.

Sometimes I don’t know enough info to rebut.

Sometimes I’m not sure I’m the right person to say something.

Sometimes I don’t want to fight.

Sometimes I think my words will fall on deaf ears.

 

Sometimes it’s all of the above. So I have often stayed silent.

 

It's contradicting, because I am very vocal, and have zero tolerance for racist remarks or actions while I’m subbing, or with our youth group.

Yet when family, neighbors, acquaintances, church folk, or strangers make jokes or jabs at people of color, my reserves of passivity and tolerance are miraculously bottomless; my cup runneth over.

 

I’ve realized SILENCE is a part of my privilege package. 

My silence doesn’t affect me at all.

Yet for black Americans, silence remains an unattainable luxury.

 

If I were the only silent one, perhaps it wouldn’t be an issue. But it is the continued silence of millions that has stretched our conflict of race through today.

 

A most wrenching part for me is how often silence has emanated from The Church and its people throughout history. Even recently. Even now. 

Especially the more I study Jesus. Or Paul. Or even the Israelite Exodus.

 

If we believe Jesus reveals to us God’s true nature, then we are blind if we can’t see, or stubborn if we won't see, it’s the oppressed He fights for. 

Jesus used his power, influence, and words to

bring down the lofty

raise up the low

pull in outcasts from the shadows

and bring love to the forefront. 

He had no interest in maintaining anyone’s status quo.

 

As a white pastor, from mostly white-led and white-filled churches, this hits hard.

Because silence is what we have seeped in. We have soaked in its lukewarm waters for decades.

 

In my thirty-six years of being in churches, and sixteen years of working in churches, I have heard more messages about abortion and politics (#ourfavoriteidol) and cultural immorality than I can count. But on racial equality? I might not even need both hands to count those.

 

Again, in full remorseful transparency, do you know how many sermons on racial divides that I have given or scheduled? Zero. Maybe a few brushes during “Tough Questions” segments, but that’s it.

 

Shame on me. Shame on us. Our silence is damning to all.

We have to do better. I have do better. 

No matter who I’m with. Or who I’m speaking to.

 

When I look at my black friends' posts, I see them saying in solidarity, “Speak up!”

So I will.

 

~~~~~

To my black sisters and brothers, I am so very, very sorry that I have been silent.

 

Black lives matter.

So dearly.

Every single one.

 

No addendums. No substitutions.

 

It IS a serious problem that some of us can’t say it. Even more serious that some of us won’t. Because saying “black lives matter” doesn’t mean that others don’t.

 

To my fellow white Christ-followers, if we claim to follow Jesus in actions and love, and we cannot say that black lives matter–without substitutions–it is imperative that we go to the Lord and ask him why it is difficult for us. Sometimes the plank was shoved into our eye by someone else; sometimes we do it ourselves. Removing it is painful, no matter how it got there. But if we don't remove it, we will lose our sight.

Any thing or any thought that we allow to hinder us from loving our black neighbors in the way we love ourselves is an idol.

 

This is NOT a mere political issue. May we stop playing the devil’s endless, clever little game. Jesus refused the temptation of political strength and power. We should, too.

 

This is NOT a mere media issue. Racism exists when the cameras are off. Racism exists even if we don’t like it, most often in corners and conversations that we allow to stay darkened.

 

This IS, however, a humanity issue. One you and I contribute to with every decision. 

I pray we use this tumultuous time to flip our own tables. And that I flip mine.

I pray we seek the Spirit in discernment and allow it to shine into our dark corners and conversations, so we may align with Christ and humbly contribute to Restoration.

 

So please: join me, as we join them.

May we speak it out loud until we can say it loudly.

Then may we say it loudly until we can act in love boldly.

Then may we act in love boldly until everyone can breathe.

 

Black. Lives. Matter.

Black. Lives. Matter.

Black. Lives. Matter.

When Love Goes Global

Letters to a Church in Quarantine - Chapter 1

I try to imagine being a beetle in the corner of the room when Jesus broke news to the disciples that he was going send them out on their own for the first time. He wanted to pair them up and send them out into surrounding towns with not much more than the cloaks on their backs and their first century Chacos. The only goal was to take all the things they’d watched him say and do…and go test it out. 
On their own.

No Jesus to rescue them when the conversation got weird.

No Jesus to disarm the angry religious person who couldn’t see they were missing it.

No Jesus to help them rid people of what tormented them.

No Jesus to book their hotel.

It was their turn to seek God and to try using their own gifts and abilities on their world. That whole "go make disciples" thing got real for them overnight.

What do you think raced through their minds, as they tucked into their mats the night before sendoff? How do you think they felt?

Woefully unprepared? Unsure of what they'd eat when the sock money ran out?
Wondering if they'd spend any nights on the streets? 
Did they check maps to see if Canada had been founded so they could emigrate?

I love this short little story of Jesus’ first sendoff. It’s a little overlooked, in my opinion.

And I think they’ve got a lesson for us if we’ll learn it.

Because I think it was THAT moment when Love began to go global. 

~~~~~

The first time I made the drive from Dallas to Flint alone, I was a college freshman. Grandma wasn’t doing well, so Mom and I drove to Texas to visit. When it was clear that a week wasn’t enough, I was sent back alone.

Not gonna lie, I was mostly excited. For an introvert who likes to drive, a multi-day solo road trip is a little slice of Heaven.

I was also secretly a little nervous. My janky cell phone had awful service, and in 2003, a GPS was only used by truckers and people who wore expensive suits to work. My only navigation tools were an out-of-date Rand McNally atlas that was missing half of the states, and my trusty sense of direction. Fun fact: As a teen, I once got lost in my own neighborhood, which itself was just a big loop.

It’s an interesting sensation when fear and confidence collide; almost exhilarating, if you can bear the butterflies and ignore impending doom.

I was proud to be trusted to be out on my own.

I could go where I wanted (BOOMLAND FIREWORKS IN MISSOURI!!)

I could get snacks whenever I wanted (SOUR PATCH KIDS!!)

I could eat where I wanted (So. Much. White Castle!!!)

I could take the route we never took (Through Chicago!! NO OHIO!!)

However…

I had also never driven more than 4 hours alone.

I had never booked a hotel room before.

I thought only locals had to pay for toll roads.

I could spell “budget,” but I had never seen one in real life.

You might be surprised that I never once got lost on that trip.

You might not be surprised that I regretted saving $20 on the cheaper hotel.

You shouldn’t be surprised that I ran out of money at a gas station in farmtown, IL.

On the bright side, our 4^th of July party was LIT that year. Happy birthday, #murica.

As I pulled into our driveway at the end of the trip, I was exhausted. My body was salt-swollen, my brain was caffeine-buzzed, and my car smelled of grease and gunpowder. Even though I had made a few mistakes and missed a few exits along the way, I walked a little taller as I entered the house. Well it was more like a waddle. But I waddled taller nonetheless.

Why? It’s not like I’d never made the trip before. We did it once or twice a year. What made the difference? For the first time ever, I had done it on my own, using the abilities I had been given. Maybe one day, I'd go a little further.

~~~~~

We don't have an account of that first forced mission trip (now THERE'S an idea for your church outreach team). I imagine the disciples' successes were matched by their failures. I personally hope Peter cussed out a pharisee or two.

Regardless of what they actually did on the trip, I think that journey taught them a few lessons; assuredly more than we could count. But I see two big ones right now.

First of all, they got to test drive the stuff Jesus taught them. And it worked!

Second, they got a taste of the future.

Unbeknownst to them, the lessons they learned on that tour-de-Galilee would lay a foundation for the future Church to one day grow from seed to sapling. 

In the midst of an earthly kingdom and culture that claimed to be holy yet proved to be as greedy and needy as any other, the disciples got a glimpse of what it looked like to go out into the streets and sow Truth and Love onto strange ground and see what blooms.

Brilliant move, Rabbi.

When it was done, they came back and regrouped. They caught up.

They laughed at/with Peter. 

Made Matthew put the budget sheets away. 

Endured Thomas' eye rolls. 

And then they prepared to do it again. Maybe one day they'd go a little further.

~~~~~

Right now, our circumstances are strikingly different from theirs. Yet I also see equally striking similarities between the Church in quarantine and the disciples’ trip.

And it’s bringing me more hope than I would have imagined it could.

(Important, intrusive side note: I am NOT downplaying the pandemic. I mourn its tragedies, and the losses of lives AND jobs. I’d erase it all if I could, but I can’t. I also do not believe that “God caused this so people will love him more.” Though that’s a different topic, and thanks to “internet bravery,” it is one that I will only ever discuss in person. Now please press on.)

To reap hope from the disciples’ story, I’ve had to release my grip on what I’m used to and open my heart to what could be.

You see, the Church was never meant to wake for one day, then hibernate for six.

Church was never meant to be a pleasant hour to be added to a monthly schedule.

Church was never meant to be a thing to DO at all.

Because the Church is people. It is alive. A collective body with many parts.

Every single person has a part to play, a skill to exercise, a Gift to give.

I think we know and want this to be true. But shifting schedules to live it out is tough.

Some see our closed doors and think they’re denied the chance to GO to church.

But I look at our closed doors right now and I see a chance for us to BE the church.

Us. ALL of us. Women and men, collectively practicing our individual gifts as pastors, teachers, entrepreneurs, listeners, and helpers in order to love, aide, or even feed our neighbors and “enemies”

Don’t get me wrong. I miss and long for Sundays (because I miss YOU).

But. In this reset period, if we can be bold enough to use our time to test drive what Jesus said and did, we just might get a glimpse of an even brighter future.

A future where there are thousands of pastors, idea-starters, teachers, encouragers, heart-healers, belly-fillers, and helpers flooding our schools, workplaces, and neighborhoods, instead of a few.

A future where Sunday morning is a celebration of what happened Monday thru Saturday in our cul-de-sacs, and not just an inspiring hour in our cushy seats.

A future where every Christ-follower saw themselves as the disciples, sowing Truth and Love onto strange and familiar ground every day and seeing what blooms.

What if our time apart allows us to test-drive what Jesus did and said, so that we know what to do when we’re back together?

What if we saw this as OUR mission trip?

What if we believed that this could be OUR time for love to start going global?

And what might I need to let go of to get me there? What might I need to do?
And what about you?

We could see this as just a quarantine. Or we could use it to build something more.

If we dare to make a shift, it just might change the world. 
Hey! It has happened before…

~~~~~

And one day when this is all done, we’ll pull into the church parking lot and waddle up to the doors; our brains coffee-buzzed, and our eyes a little salt-swollen. We’ll laugh as you tell us how you fixed a neighbor’s fence, and then paid someone to do it right. I’ll share about when I apologized for cussing someone out on Facebook. We’ll sing and celebrate, maybe hang in the lobby long enough to tick off the traffic team, and then head out.

Only this time, when the doors close, we’ll know that Church isn’t over for the week.

It’s only getting started.

And maybe one day, we'll go a little further.