I’ve been asking God to carve out my cynicism. And I know that He heard me because I feel Him scraping it out. He isn’t being discreet about it either. Like a doctor discussing the cancer found in His patient, God keeps wanting to talk about where all He found it, and how its traces of prideful intolerance have been choking out my compassion and smothering my joy. I really enjoyed having a cynical side. It made me funnier. But it also made me an unapproachable ass. Because cynical humor is always at someone’s expense. It side steps a legitimate issue and contorts it to exaggerate inferiority. It eats away at the delicate beautiful things that are supposed to stay—kindness, understanding, mercy, forgiveness, patience, gentleness—it eats away at the things that extend love, so that’s why I asked God to come carve it out. He’s been opening my eyes to see how in the past, my cynicism has either been a product of immaturity and ignorance, or a response to being wounded, disappointed, or embarrassed. I’m done making excuses for sarcastic pessimism. It’s not that fun. It’s a pitiful attempt to make light of an actual problem. So as a follower of truth, I’ve decided to start facing problems instead of making jokes out of them.