You Have to Be Smarter Than the Tool: Why my old carpenter mentor may have given me the best advice for the age of AI.

One of the best pieces of wisdom I ever received didn’t come from a college professor or a leadership seminar. It came Don Abernathy, a trim carpenter.

Whenever I got frustrated trying to fit a piece of trim, Don would grin and say,

“You just have to be smarter than the wood.”

At first, it sounded funny.

Over the years, I realized he wasn’t just talking about wood  

He was talking about tools in general and a principle that is true across many areas of life.

A carpenter doesn’t force the wood to cooperate. He learns how it behaves. He understands its grain, its strengths, its weaknesses, and its limitations. The wood isn’t intelligent. BUT, if you’re careless, impatient, or unskilled, it can still beat you.

That simple statement has become a principle I’ve carried into almost every area of life.

You have to be smarter than the hammer.

You have to be smarter than the airplane.

You have to be smarter than the spreadsheet.

You have to be smarter than the chainsaw.

Every powerful tool requires a certain level of wisdom before it can safely be placed in your hands.

That’s why we don’t hand an infant a hammer.

We don’t let a six-year-old drive a car.

We don’t allow children to play with sharp knives.

We require years of education before someone can practice medicine, argue a case in court, or design a bridge.

The greater the power of the tool, the greater the responsibility of the user.

For centuries, society has recognized this principle.

Then came the internet.

The internet is perhaps the most powerful tool ever placed into the hands of ordinary people, yet almost no one receives formal training in how to use it wisely. There is no license. No competency test. No required education before entering a world specifically designed to capture your attention.

Instead, we simply hand everyone a smartphone.

Today, artificial intelligence raises the stakes even higher.

AI is an extraordinary tool.

It can summarize books, write code, analyze data, brainstorm ideas, generate images, and help solve problems in seconds that once took hours.

But here’s the danger.

If you’re not smarter than the AI, the AI begins thinking for you.

If you’re not smarter than the algorithm, the algorithm decides what you see.

If you’re not smarter than the advertiser, the advertiser determines what you want.

Eventually, you’re no longer using the tools.

The tools are using you.

Being “smarter than AI” doesn’t mean you know more facts than it does. That’s impossible.

It means you know things AI never can.

You know your values. You know your purpose. You know the difference between wisdom and information. You know when an answer is technically correct but morally wrong. You know when to question an output instead of accepting it.

AI has incredible intelligence but it has no judgment.

That still belongs to us.

In many ways, this is no different from every other technological leap in history. Fire can cook a meal or burn down a house. Electricity can power a hospital or an electric chair. Every invention amplifies the intentions of the person using it.

AI is simply the newest amplifier.

The real question isn’t whether AI is good or bad.

The real question is whether we are using it as a tool to become more wise.

As a Christian, I think Scripture has been preparing us for this long before the first computer was built.

“Test everything. Hold fast what is good.” Don’t believe every spirit. Seek wisdom. Renew your mind. Guard your heart.

Those commands assume that we will constantly encounter ideas competing for our attention. AI simply accelerates the speed and volume of those ideas.

So use AI. Use search engines. Use social media. Use every good tool available.

Just remember what Don taught me years ago in a dusty house.

“You just have to be smarter than the wood.”

The same is true today.

Be smarter than the algorithm.

Be smarter than the advertiser.

Be smarter than the AI.

Because the moment you’re not…

the tool has become your master.

It’s a Mad Mad Mad Mad World

It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World

If you are old enough, you probably remember the 1963 comedy It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World. I’m not old enough to have seen it, but I do remember it;) The title was intended to be ridiculous. It was an exaggeration.

Today… the title of that show feels more like a documentary.

Every morning we wake up to another crisis. Another outrage. Another reason we’re told to panic. Another reason to be furious. Every headline screams that democracy is ending, civilization is collapsing, your children are under attack, your freedoms are disappearing, or the other side is about to destroy everything you hold dear.

Fear has become a business model.

Anger has become a marketing strategy.

The more afraid we become, the longer we watch. The angrier we become, the more we share. Every click, every view, every retweet, every outrage-filled comment fuels an ecosystem that profits from our emotions. Politicians raise money from it. Media organizations build audiences with it. Activists recruit with it. Even well-meaning leaders sometimes discover that frightened people are easier to motivate than thoughtful people.

None of this is new.

Thousands of years ago, Scripture warned us about the very emotions that now dominate our news feeds.

“Fear not.”

Those two words echo throughout the Bible more than almost any other command. God was never surprised by uncertain times, yet His instruction to His people was remarkably consistent: don’t let fear become your master.

The same is true of anger.

“Be angry, and do not sin.” (Ephesians 4:26)

Notice that Paul doesn’t pretend anger will never come. Some things should make us angry. Injustice should. Abuse should. Evil should.

But anger is a terrible foundation for building anything.

James takes it a step further:

“Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry, because human anger does not produce the righteousness that God desires.”

That’s an uncomfortable verse in an age where being the quickest to react is celebrated and creating rage is the MO.

Modern psychology isn’t saying anything dramatically different from Scripture on the subjects of anger and fear.

Mental health researchers have consistently found that chronic anger changes us. It elevates stress hormones. It impairs judgment. It narrows our thinking. It increases anxiety, damages relationships, contributes to heart disease, and leaves us perpetually on edge. Anger literally rewires our brains to expect conflict.

Perhaps that’s why outrage is so addictive.

Eventually we stop looking for truth.

We start looking for enemies.

The frightening part is that anger feels like strength. Fear feels like vigilance. In reality, both often leave us easier to manipulate.

That doesn’t mean we should ignore problems.

It doesn’t mean we should abandon convictions.

It doesn’t mean every issue has two equally valid sides.

It simply means that followers of Christ should refuse to let fear and anger become the engines that drive our decisions.

Here’s a better approach in three simple words.

Listen. Logic. Love.

Listen. Really listen. Not just long enough to formulate your rebuttal. Listen to understand and build trust. Every person has a story. Every position has assumptions. Listening doesn’t require agreement, but it almost always produces understanding and a groundwork for cooperation.

Logic. God gave us minds for a reason. Test every claim. Verify facts. Ask questions. Resist the temptation to outsource your thinking to the loudest voice in your political tribe or your favorite news channel. Truth has never been afraid of scrutiny. Often those who attempt to influence by fear and anger do so because the truth isn’t in their favor. Beware!

Love. This is the one our culture struggles with most. Love isn’t surrender. It isn’t weakness. It isn’t pretending differences don’t matter. Love means recognizing that the person across from you bears the image of God before they wear the label of Democrat, Republican, conservative, progressive, activist, or skeptic.

Jesus never commanded us to win every argument.

He commanded us to love our neighbors.

Those are not the same thing.

The world has enough people shouting.

It has enough people who are perpetually offended.

It has enough people trying to convince you that outrage is a virtue.

Maybe what it needs is more people who refuse to be manipulated by fear, who refuse to be consumed by anger, and who quietly pursue truth with courage, humility, and love.

It may be a mad, mad, mad, mad world.

But Christians were never called to reflect the world.

We were called to be light in it.

​

Freedom is LOUD

​Freedom Is Loud

I’ve never heard freedom before… until I stood on the flight deck of the USS Eisenhower

https://youtu.be/1cmeSvgawfw?is=Qtc24Eka4xF8yCKq

I’ve heard fighter jets before. I’ve watched them streak across the sky at airshows. I’ve seen videos of aircraft carriers launching aircraft into the darkness.

None of that prepared me for standing on the flight deck of the USS Dwight D. Eisenhower.

You don’t just hear it. You feel it!

The deck trembles beneath your feet. The blast of jet engines presses against your chest. Every launch is a carefully choreographed explosion of power, precision, and purpose. It is deafeningly loud. The kind of loud that demands your full attention and reminds you just how small you really are.

Standing there, watching sailors move with calm confidence in the middle of controlled chaos, one thought settled into my mind:

Freedom is loud.

Most of us think freedom sounds like peace and quiet.

It sounds like children laughing in the backyard. It sounds like conversations around the dinner table. It sounds like churches gathering to worship without fear. It sounds like neighbors disagreeing over politics and then waving to each other across the fence the next day.

Those are the sounds of a free people. But they are not the sounds that preserve freedom.

As America celebrates the 250th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence, it is worth remembering that our liberty has never been secured in silence.

Its story began with the crack of muskets at Lexington and Concord. It echoed through the thunder of artillery during the Revolution. It marched across battlefields from Gettysburg to Normandy. It roared through the skies over Europe and the Pacific. It flew over Korea, Vietnam, the Persian Gulf, Afghanistan, and countless places most Americans will never see.

Today, it still echoes from the deck of an aircraft carrier somewhere on the world’s oceans.

The sounds have changed. The mission has not.

As I stood on the Eisenhower, my mind drifted to words I’ve sung hundreds of times.

And the rockets’ red glare,
The bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night
That our flag was still there.

Those words are eyewitness testimony.

Francis Scott Key wasn’t watching a peaceful sunrise. He spent the night anxiously searching through smoke, darkness, and explosions for the American flag over Fort McHenry.

Every rocket illuminated the sky. Every bomb briefly pierced the darkness. Every flash answered the same question.

Is the flag still there?

The “rockets’ red glare” and the “bombs bursting in air” weren’t interruptions to peace. They were the terrible sounds required to preserve it.

The same is true today.

The thunder of afterburners on the deck of the Eisenhower is not the opposite of peace. It is one of the reasons peace exists for millions of Americans who will never set foot on a warship.

The irony is almost beautiful. The loudest places on earth often exist so the quietest places can remain quiet.

Tonight, many of us will gather with family and friends to celebrate Independence Day. We’ll watch fireworks illuminate the night sky. Children will laugh. Neighbors will grill hamburgers. Churches will pray. Families will hug. Flags will wave.

Those are wonderful sounds.

But they are possible because somewhere, someone is making a different kind of noise.

Someone is standing watch.

Someone is launching into the darkness.

Someone has willingly accepted extraordinary responsibility so the rest of us can enjoy ordinary life.

As we celebrate 250 years of American independence, may we never confuse the quiet blessings of freedom with the noisy sacrifices required to protect them.

I’ve never heard freedom before…

Until I stood on the flight deck of the USS Dwight D. Eisenhower.

Now, every time I hear a fighter roar overhead or sing the words of our National Anthem, I’ll hear something different.

I’ll hear the sound of freedom.

And it is wonderfully, unapologetically loud.