IF I CAN JUST ...

You were meant to do more than just survive. You were meant to thrive.

You were not meant to struggle to make it through the week, the day, the next hour. You were not meant for your world to feel like a weight, for the break of dawn to be the starter pistol for another meaningless day. You were not meant to be shackled by anxiety, worry, and fear. No, you were meant for so much more.

You were meant to have life and to have it more abundantly. That is the promise of the eternal God.

You were meant to dig deep and to reach out.

You were meant to know God and to make him known.

You were meant to point to the one hope, the one anchor, the one true source of joy, peace, and contentment for the entire human race. His name is Jesus.

Surviving is for those who have no hope. That's not you—not if you're God's child.

You were meant to thrive.

I'm not saying you won't have trouble in this life. Only the false teachers of the prosperity gospel claim otherwise. They promise prosperity while using Scriptures written from prison or during some of the lowest moments in the lives of godly men. Out of Jesus' twelve disciples, only one escaped martyrdom, and he was exiled to a desolate island. Without exception, all of us will have some bad days. But Jesus tells us to take heart. He has overcome the world, which means we can thrive amid it all (John 16:33).

When I was in high school, the word thrive was not in my vocabulary. It felt like the best I could do was to survive. As I struggled with attention deficit disorder and dyslexia, school days felt like a mix of labor camp, summer camp (recess and lunch), and the next embarrassment that lurked right around the corner. At times, my life still feels that way. At times, I feel like I'm still trying to survive.

If we are honest, we can look back on the last year and say we only survived it. We survived school. We survived with most of our relationships intact.

Some of us have not survived very well. Maybe our circle of friends has changed. Maybe our families are different than they were this time last year, and we have survived some major storms. In fact, a lot of us are in survival mode right now:

If I can just get to this weekend ...

If I can just get to summer vacation ...

If I can just finish this project ...

If I can just beat this sickness ...

If I can just make enough money for next semester ...

If I can just get through this one class ...

I remember looking at the clock in high school and thinking, Only eleven more minutes. I don't think they're ever going to pass. I'm never going to get out of this place. I'm going to grow old and die in this room. If I can survive just eleven more minutes, I'm done with this.

If you're not careful, you will live your life with that same survival attitude.

A few years ago, I was visiting with a group of friends from high school. Back when we were in school, we were quiet—nice, but reserved. Believe it or not, I was too. None of us really did much in high school, which is sad when I think about it. It wasn't until later in life that we emerged from our shells. That's how we know we're thriving—we grow and change. But others from high school are the exact same as when they were seniors in high school. They never grew up.

"You know," my friend Karen said, "it seems like some people never left the beach."

We overheard some guys at a table close by say things like "Man, I was glad to just punch that clock Friday" and "Dude, I can't wait till summer. We're heading down to Panama City Beach."

Surviving.

Every day, they're just surviving.

You were not made to survive life. Or to survive school. Or your family. You were not made to exist until you can get over the next hump or get to the next break. You were created for one purpose: to know God and to make him known.

You are not living the life you were created to live if survive is your word. You were made to thrive.

BALANCED IS BOTH

A certain tree has become a source of inspiration to me. Somehow the tree keeps popping up in everything I do. I've spoken about it in concerts and to student groups.

I even used it as an illustration in one of my previous books, Your Own Jesus.

Now my student ministry is called Thrive. This book is called Thrive. Casting Crowns' latest album is called Thrive. And that album includes a song called "Thrive."

The tree is located at a spot in Geneva, Alabama, named The Junction because it sits at the confluence of the Choctawhatchee River and the Pea River. I was on staff at nearby First Baptist Church of Samson early in my career as a youth pastor. For most of the last decade, I have served as co-student pastor with Reagan Farris at Eagle's Landing First Baptist Church in McDonough, Georgia. Reagan was one of the students in my youth group at Samson. Several years ago, Reagan and I took our Eagle's Landing student group back home to Samson on a ministry tour. I wanted everyone to see The Tree.

When we were growing up in South Alabama, we always called it The Tree. You know it must be special when a tree gets a name—and that name is just The Tree. In that region, if you ever said, "Hey, we're going to The Tree," everybody knew what you meant. The mammoth oak tree is more than three hundred years old. It's been around longer than the United States of America.

The Tree sits on the banks of The Junction, so the rivers have always watered it. We asked some of our students to stretch out their arms, join hands, and make a circle around The Tree. It took eight or nine guys to do it. In California, this wouldn't be a big deal; the redwoods out there are gargantuan. But in Alabama, The Tree is a tourist attraction. We had our tall pine trees and the occasional thick oak, but it's odd to see a tree of this enormity. Its main limbs are bigger than most trees in my neighborhood. One person can't reach all the way around many of its limbs and some of them are so heavy they bend almost to the ground.

We had sixty students on the trip, and all of us climbed into The Tree at one time to sit or stand on the branches for a photo. No one was standing on the ground.

About every ten years, the...