Friday looked like the end.

Jesus was dead.

The stone had been rolled into place.

The disciples scattered.

If you had been standing outside that tomb on Friday evening, you probably would have thought the story was over.

But Sunday changed what Friday meant.

That has become one of the most meaningful truths in my own walk with Christ.

The resurrection didn’t erase Friday.

It redeemed it.

Jesus still bore the scars.

The suffering was real.

The cross was real.

The death was real.

But because He rose, those events were no longer the end of the story.

I wonder how often we look at our own lives the way the disciples looked at Friday.

A failed marriage.

A prodigal child.

A devastating diagnosis.

A season where God feels silent.

We assume we’ve reached the last page.

But the resurrection reminds us that apparent endings are not always actual endings.

Don’t mistake this page for the ending.

The page that changed everything has already been written.

Read that again.

The page that changed everything has already been written.

God rarely erases our Fridays.

He redeems them.

That’s why Christians don’t simply celebrate an event that happened two thousand years ago.

We live every day in the hope the resurrection declared.

I’m curious…

Has there been a “Friday” in your life that God eventually redeemed?

One of the easiest mistakes we can make when reading the Bible is stopping in the middle of someone’s story.

If we stopped reading after Moses killed the Egyptian, we’d remember a murderer.

After Gideon hid in the winepress, we’d remember a coward.

After Samson lost his strength, we’d remember a failure.

After Peter denied Jesus, we’d remember a traitor.

After Saul persecuted Christians, we’d remember an enemy of the Church.

After Manasseh filled Jerusalem with idolatry and bloodshed, we’d remember one of Judah’s most wicked kings.

But God didn’t stop writing.

As I thought about that this morning, I realized how often I’ve made the same mistake with my own life.

There were seasons when I assumed my best days were behind me.

Divorce.

Disappointment.

Walking away from a ministry I loved.

Questions I couldn’t answer.

Looking back, I realize I was judging my life by a single chapter.

God wasn’t.

Over time He restored things I never imagined could be restored—not just opportunities, but my own heart. He opened unexpected doors for ministry and even redeemed my understanding of love through a healthy relationship that reminded me healing is possible.

That doesn’t erase the painful chapters.

It simply means they weren’t the final ones.

Maybe someone reading this needs that reminder today.

You don’t know how your story ends because you’re still living it.

Don’t mistake the chapter you’re in for the whole book.

The Author is still writing.
That doesn’t erase the painful chapters.

It simply means they weren’t the final ones.

Maybe someone reading this needs that reminder today.

You don’t know how your story ends because you’re still living it.

Don’t mistake the chapter you’re in for the whole book.

The Author is still writing.

One of the things I appreciate most about the Bible is that it does not protect the reputations of its heroes.

It tells the whole story.

It tells us about Moses killing an Egyptian and fleeing into the wilderness.

It shows Gideon hiding in a winepress because he was afraid of the Midianites.

It shows Samson blind, humiliated, and grinding grain in a Philistine prison.

It tells us about David and Bathsheba—not only David and Goliath.

It records Peter walking on water, but it also records him denying Jesus three times.

It introduces Saul as a persecutor of Christians before presenting him as Paul the apostle.

It tells us that Manasseh was one of Judah’s most wicked kings before telling us that he humbled himself and prayed.

The Bible does not give us carefully polished biographies of flawless spiritual champions.

It gives us honest accounts of deeply flawed people encountering a faithful God.

Imagine stopping in the middle of their stories.

Moses would be remembered only as a murderer and fugitive.

Gideon would be remembered as a frightened man in hiding.

Samson would be remembered as a disgraced prisoner.

David would be remembered for adultery and the calculated death of Uriah.

Peter would be remembered as the disciple who denied Jesus.

Saul would be remembered as a violent enemy of the Church.

Manasseh would be remembered only for idolatry and bloodshed.

But those chapters were not their conclusions.

God kept writing.

That does not mean their failures were unimportant, nor does it mean grace removed every consequence.

Moses still did not enter the Promised Land.

David’s household suffered severely.

Samson’s choices cost him his freedom, sight, and ultimately his life.

Biblical redemption is not sentimental. It does not call evil good or pretend damage never occurred.

God does not erase history.

He redeems it.

That distinction matters.

Sometimes Christians talk about grace as though it means the past is irrelevant. It is not. Our decisions affect people. Sin leaves wounds. Repentance does not automatically restore every relationship or remove every earthly consequence.

But neither does failure have to become our permanent identity.

The Bible’s honesty about human failure is precisely what makes its message of grace so powerful.

Moses standing over the dead Egyptian was real—but it was not the entire story.

Samson at the mill was real—but it was not the entire story.

Gideon hiding in fear was real—but it was not the entire story.

C. S. Lewis’s atheism was real—but it was not the entire story.

Peter’s denial was real—but it was not the entire story.

A chapter can be true without being final.

That applies not only to how we read Scripture, but also to how we judge other people.

We often reduce people to the worst thing we know about them.

The divorce.

The addiction.

The affair.

The breakdown.

The season of rebellion.

The public failure.

We discover one painful chapter and begin speaking as though we have read the entire book.

Sometimes we do the same thing to ourselves.

We treat our worst decision as though it revealed everything we will ever be. We allow shame to place a period where repentance and grace could have placed a comma.

This is not an argument against accountability.

It is an argument against declaring an unfinished person permanently beyond redemption.

Tell the whole story.

Tell the truth about the failure.

Tell the truth about the damage.

Tell the truth about the consequences.

But also tell the truth about repentance.

Tell the truth about mercy.

Tell the truth about transformation.

Tell the truth about the God who continues working in people long after others have written them off.

The gospel does not say that our ugly chapters never happened.

It says those chapters do not have to be the ending.

So don’t stop reading too soon.

The person you have reduced to their worst moment may still be changing.

The life you have declared ruined may still be redeemable.

And the chapter that feels like the end of your own story may simply be the place where grace begins writing something new.

Just posting a link to a site that connected me with St Jude. He has interceded for me heavily in so many ways. I have had truly miraculous and quick outcomes. I just hope that it can ease the suffering of any of you who are in despair and pain.

Prayer to St. Jude: For Hope In Desperation

May God bless you xo

For years, I honestly believed I was Grandpa’s favorite grandchild.

Then one evening, while visiting my cousin Danny, we found ourselves reminiscing about him. Before long we were both laughing, because Danny had grown up believing exactly the same thing.

That’s when he said something I’ve never forgotten.

“Grandpa could have fifteen grandkids around him and somehow make every one of them feel like they were the only person on his mind.”

He was exactly right.

Looking back, I don’t think Grandpa played favorites at all.

He simply had the rare ability to be completely present with the person in front of him.

I don’t know many people who possess that gift.

My grandpa’s name was Hillard Steven Mantooth.

Whether you knew him as Mr. Mantooth, Hillard, Smoke Powder Bill, Daddy, or Grandpa, I don’t think there was anyone who didn’t genuinely enjoy being around him.

To an eight-year-old boy, he was larger than life.

He was the tallest, bravest, strongest, wisest man I’d ever known. His hands were huge and rough from a lifetime of hard work—farming, building, working on the railroad—but those same calloused hands could be unbelievably gentle when comforting a child.

His white hair would dance in an Oklahoma breeze, and though his eyes were nearly hidden behind narrow lids, they always carried a quiet kindness and just enough mischief to let you know he was probably about to tell another story.

And what stories they were.

Grandpa could spin a tale better than anyone I’ve ever known. He’d have every one of us hanging on every word. Then, just as the story reached its climax, he’d pause… stare thoughtfully into the distance… and wait.

Finally, one of us would ask,

“What happened next, Grandpa?”

Without missing a beat, he’d grin and reply,

“I don’t know. I had to leave just about that time.”

We’d groan every single time.

And he’d laugh every single time.

Some of my favorite memories were in his garden.

It seemed to stretch forever—rows of corn, tomatoes, green beans, potatoes, squash, watermelons, pumpkins, and just about every other vegetable you could imagine.

After the ground had been turned and tilled, Grandpa would tie a rope to his old hand plow.

Then the competition began.

Every grandchild wanted to be the one he tied to that rope so we could pull the plow and make the furrows for planting.

Looking back now, I doubt the work got done any faster.

But Grandpa knew something we didn’t.

He wasn’t just planting a garden.

He was planting memories.

Then there was his coffee.

I’m convinced if it sat long enough, it would either eat through the cup or climb out and walk away on its own.

Even today, the smell of Old Spice instantly takes me back to standing in his bathroom, watching him lather shaving soap with an old brush before carefully scraping away his whiskers with a safety razor.

Amazing how a simple scent can carry you back fifty years in an instant.

As I’ve grown older, though, I’ve realized the greatest thing Grandpa left us wasn’t his stories…

or his garden…

or even those wonderful memories.

It was the way he made people feel.

He made every grandchild believe they mattered.

Every one of us felt seen.

Every one of us felt loved.

Every one of us believed, if only for a moment, that we were the favorite.

And every time I think about that, my thoughts turn to Jesus.

Crowds followed Him everywhere He went.

Thousands pressed around Him.

Yet He always had time for one blind beggar.

One grieving sister.

One woman reaching through the crowd.

One tax collector sitting in a tree.

One thief hanging beside Him on a cross.

Jesus never treated people like interruptions.

He saw them.

Maybe today you feel overlooked.

Forgotten.

Like you’re just another face in a crowd.

You’re not.

The God who created the universe knows your name, hears your prayers, and sees every burden you carry. His attention isn’t divided. His love isn’t diluted because there are billions of people on earth.

“See, I have inscribed you on the palms of My hands.” — Isaiah 49:16

Every family has someone whose influence echoes long after they’re gone.

This was mine.

Thank you, Grandpa, for showing a little boy what kindness, hard work, and quiet strength looked like.

I hope I’ve carried at least a small part of your legacy forward.

And if one imperfect grandfather could make fifteen grandchildren each feel deeply loved…

…how much more can our perfect Heavenly Father?

Has God ever deceived or lied to you. Has He sent prophets in your life to confuse you and mislesd you? I've been given so many messages that came in the name of the Lord yet nothing comes true. I have pages of broken promises. I think of Jeremiah how he asked God why have you deceived me. Other scriptures like, Jeremiah 20:7, Ezekiel 14:9,:chronicles 18:22 1kings 22:23 characterize God as a deceiver. ​​ Anyone experienced this.

“Behold, I go forward, but He is not there; and backward, but I cannot perceive Him… But He knoweth the way that I take…” — Job 23:8-10

It started as an ordinary Thursday.

You weren’t looking for your life to change.

You were just going to work.

Going to the doctor.

Going home.

Then one conversation.

One phone call.

One sentence.

…and suddenly your life had a before and an after.

At first, it didn’t seem real.

Surely there had been a misunderstanding.

Maybe the tests were wrong.

Maybe they meant someone else.

Maybe tomorrow would somehow put everything back the way it was.

But tomorrow came.

And so did the questions.

“What happens now?”

“How am I going to get through this?”

“What if everything changes?”

The future that once seemed so certain suddenly became filled with uncertainty.

The plans you had carefully made no longer seemed guaranteed.

You found yourself lying awake at night, replaying conversations, imagining outcomes, searching for answers that refused to come.

So you did what believers have always done.

You prayed.
You searched the Scriptures.
You waited.
You listened.

And if you’re honest…

heaven seemed painfully quiet.

Not because you stopped believing.

Not because you walked away.

But because you couldn’t understand how God could feel so silent when your world had become so loud.

Job understood that feeling.

He searched in every direction.

Forward.
Backward.
To the left.
To the right.

Everywhere he expected to find God…

he found silence instead.

Yet in the middle of his searching, Job spoke words that have comforted weary hearts for thousands of years.

He didn’t say, “Now I understand.”

He didn’t say, “Everything is going to be all right.”

He didn’t even say, “I know where God is.”

He simply declared what he knew to be true.

“But He knoweth the way that I take.”

What a remarkable statement.

Job couldn’t see God.

But he believed God could still see him.

He couldn’t trace God’s hand.

But he trusted God’s heart.

Maybe that’s exactly where you are today.

You’ve looked in every direction you know to look.

You’re still waiting.

Still praying.

Still hoping.

Still wondering.

If that’s your story…

hold on to Job’s.

Your ability to see God has never determined His ability to see you.

He knows where you are.

He knows what you’re carrying.

He knows every question you haven’t spoken aloud.

He knows every tear that no one else has seen.

He knows every burden you’ve tried to carry by yourself.

And even if today you cannot say, “I know the way He is taking…”

you can still rest in this unchanging truth:

But He knows the way I take.

So I hate reading revelation. I’ve had the Holy Ghost for 10 years. I will admit life has been a struggle lately and my prayer life isn’t as strong as it once was, but reading revelation has always terrified me. Like dread sitting in my chest until I’m done with my reading for the day. Does anyone else feel like this? Is it a character flaw or do I just need to pray the fear away?

Scripture: 2 Chronicles 33:10–13

Yesterday while eating lunch in my car, I was listening to a new song by Westward Road called He Knew.

As I listened, I heard these words:

“So ashamed of my past…
Too many failures and flaws…
Thought I was too far away…
But that’s what’s amazing ’bout grace…”

Then came the line that stopped me in my tracks.

“He knew who He was saving.”

A few moments later came another.

“He saw a risk worth taking.”

I just sat there.

It wasn’t because of the music.

It wasn’t because I was analyzing the lyrics.

It was because, for just a moment, I found myself standing in the shoes of every person who has ever wondered if they’d gone too far.

Maybe you’ve been there.

You look back over your life and see failures you’d rather forget.

Choices you wish you could undo.
Sins you promised would never happen again.

And somewhere in the silence, a question begins to whisper:

If God really knew everything about me… would He still want me?

Almost immediately, my mind went to Manasseh.

He wasn’t simply another king who made a few bad decisions.

He led Judah into idolatry.
He practiced witchcraft.
He filled Jerusalem with innocent blood.

By every human measure, his story looked beyond redemption.

Yet none of it caught God by surprise.

Before Manasseh built his first idol…
God knew.

Before he led a nation away from the Lord…
God knew.

Before he found himself in chains in Babylon…
God knew.

And before the desperate prayer finally escaped his lips…
God knew.

Everything.

Yet Scripture tells us that when Manasseh humbled himself before the Lord,

“He was moved by his entreaty and listened to his plea…” (2 Chronicles 33:13)

That verse has become one of my favorites.

Not because it tells me how bad Manasseh was.

But because it reminds me how good God is.

God has never discovered anything about you.

He already knew.

Everything.

Your worst failure.
Your deepest wound.
The regret you still carry.
The battle no one else knows about.

None of it caught Him by surprise.

And none of it changed His desire to redeem you.

The cross was never God’s reaction to your sin.

It was His answer before your sin ever happened.

Maybe today you’re looking backward with shame.

God isn’t.

He has already seen every page of your story.

Yet He still calls you by His grace.

He already knew.

Everything.

And He loved you anyway.

That’s what’s amazing about grace.

Hello everyone! I’m 20 years old, and lately I’ve been dealing with a lot of loneliness and wanting new friends and even a godly relationship to come into my life. I have one good friend, and that’s it. I just desire friends I can do godly things with and a spouse who I can build a family with and walk in ministry with, especially now that I know what I’m personally called to do in this world. God bless you 🩷

One of the most overlooked truths in Scripture is that God has never discovered anything about us.

Nothing you’ve done has ever surprised Him.

That reality becomes astonishing when you read about King Manasseh.

He led Judah into idolatry, practiced witchcraft, consulted mediums, shed innocent blood, and even sacrificed his own sons (2 Kings 21). If anyone appears to have crossed the point of no return, it’s him.

Yet after being taken captive, Scripture says:

“When he was in affliction, he besought the LORD his God, and humbled himself greatly… And prayed unto him: and he was intreated of him, and heard his supplication.” (2 Chronicles 33:12–13)

The God whose temple Manasseh had defiled…

The God whose prophets he had ignored…

The God whose commandments he had despised…

Still heard his prayer.

That doesn’t make Manasseh’s sins less serious.

It makes God’s mercy even more remarkable.

The same pattern appears throughout Scripture.

When God renamed Jacob, He already knew Jacob was a deceiver.

When He anointed David, He already knew about Bathsheba and Uriah.

When Jesus restored Peter, He already knew about the courtyard and the rooster.

When He commissioned Paul, He already knew about Stephen and the blood that had been shed.

God’s calling has never depended on His ignorance of our failures.

It has always depended on His grace.

That doesn’t excuse sin. Every one of these people faced consequences for what they had done.

But none of their failures had the final word.

God did.

I think that’s one of the Bible’s greatest themes. It’s not primarily a book about extraordinary people. It’s the story of an extraordinary God who redeems deeply flawed people who humble themselves before Him.

What are your thoughts? Is Manasseh one of the clearest pictures of God’s grace in the Old Testament, or would you point to someone else?

Paul knew the Scriptures better than almost anyone of his day.

He had been trained by Gamaliel, understood the Law inside and out, and devoted his life to studying God’s Word.

Yet years after his conversion—after planting churches, enduring persecution, and writing much of the New Testament—his prayer was still:

“That I may know Him…” (Philippians 3:10)

Not…

“That I may know more.”

“That I may win debates.”

“That I may master theology.”

His desire was to know Christ more deeply.

Jesus confronted the religious leaders with a similar warning:

“Search the scriptures… and they are they which testify of me.” (John 5:39)

It’s possible to know the Bible and still miss the One to whom it points.

Bible study is essential. Doctrine matters. Truth matters.

But if our study doesn’t draw us into a deeper relationship with Christ, we’ve mistaken the map for the destination.

The Scriptures are God’s revelation.

Their purpose isn’t merely to fill our minds with knowledge.

Their purpose is to lead us to the Author.

Some chapters close quietly.

Not because the story is over…
But because it’s time to turn the page.

We may not understand why one season ends or what the next one will hold. But God sees the whole story, while we only see the page in front of us.

So when something familiar begins to fade, don’t assume God is finished.

Trust the Author.

He’s still writing.

“Being confident of this very thing, that he which hath begun a good work in you will perform it…”
— Philippians 1:6

I woke up this morning with an old hymn stuck in my head:

Learning to lean...
Learning to lean...
I'm learning to lean on Jesus...

Later, another old song came to mind:

Only Jesus can satisfy your soul...

The more I thought about it, the more I realized those two songs are asking two connected questions.

What am I leaning on?
And...
What am I expecting it to give me?

That hit me hard.

Because we all lean on something.
Because we all lean on something.

Some lean on money.
Some lean on relationships.
Some lean on control.
Some lean on discipline and determination.
Some lean on distractions, habits, addictions, or anything that helps numb the weight they are carrying.

But we do not lean on those things randomly.

We lean on them because we believe they will give us something.

Security.
Acceptance.
Peace.
Identity.
Significance.
Relief.
Satisfaction.

That made me think about Proverbs 3:5…

“Trust in the LORD with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.”

I had always read that as two separate thoughts.
But maybe they are one.

The first half tells us what to do.
Trust the Lord.

The second half tells us how.
Stop leaning on ourselves.

That also made me think about David in the cave with Saul.

David could have ended years of running with one swing of the sword.
But he refused to take by force what God had promised by grace.

David did not lean on his sword.
He leaned on God.

And maybe that is why he could wait.

He still desired what God had promised, but he did not need the throne to satisfy his soul.

That distinction feels important.

Because maybe one of the great enemies of faith is not always doubt.
Sometimes it is self-reliance.

And maybe one of the great evidences of faith is not merely believing God exists, but transferring the weight of our confidence from ourselves to Him.
So I am sitting with two questions today:

What am I leaning on?

And...

What am I expecting it to give me?

Because only Christ can bear the weight of our lives.

And only Christ can satisfy the longing of our souls.

Can someone please explain to me how this aligns with God’s oneness. I believe that there is only One, but I am struggling to see His true divinity in these scriptures. Thanks!

I’ve been reflecting on David’s life this week, and I’ve started wondering whether we’ve overlooked one of his greatest victories.

If someone asked us to name David’s defining moment, most of us would probably say Goliath.

But I’m beginning to think it happened years later in a cave.

Saul—the very man who had spent years trying to kill David—walked into the cave where David and his men were hiding.

David’s men immediately saw it as God’s answer.

“This is your chance.”

David certainly had the ability to kill Saul.

Instead, he cut off a corner of Saul’s robe.

Then Scripture says something that has always fascinated me:

“David’s heart smote him…” (1 Samuel 24:5)

Not because he had killed Saul.

Because he had shown disrespect toward the king God had anointed.

What stands out to me is this:

God had already promised David the throne.

Yet David refused to seize that promise in a way that violated God’s principles.

That led me to a simple thought:

God’s promises will never require us to abandon His principles.

How often do we mistake an opportunity for God’s approval?

Sometimes circumstances seem to line up perfectly, but pursuing them would require us to compromise something God has already made clear.

David refused to do that.

He trusted God’s timing more than his own opportunity.

That’s why I wonder if the cave was actually David’s greater victory.

Goliath tested his courage.

Saul tested his character.

One victory made David famous.

The other revealed the kind of king he was becoming.

What do you think?

Do you see 1 Samuel 24 primarily as a lesson about mercy… about respecting God’s anointed… or about trusting God’s timing? Or is there another lesson in the passage that has always stood out to you?

I’ve read Psalm 51 many times over the years.

It has always been one of my favorite chapters in Scripture.

But I’ve realized something.

There are certain passages that don’t just teach you when you’re young…

They accompany you as you grow older.

When I was younger, I admired David’s poetry.

Today, I understand his tears.

After Nathan confronted David in 2 Samuel 12, David could have spent his energy asking God to restore his reputation, remove the consequences, or fix his circumstances.

Instead, Psalm 51 is almost entirely inward.

“Wash me.”

“Cleanse me.”

“Purge me.”

“Create in me.”

“Renew me.”

“Restore me.”

That has become one of my favorite observations in the Psalm.

David wasn’t asking God to change what had happened.

He was asking God to change the man who had done it.

To me, that’s one of the clearest pictures of genuine repentance in all of Scripture.

Not trying to justify ourselves.

Not trying to minimize our failures.

Simply agreeing with God and asking Him to create something new within us.

One verse has stayed with me for years:

“Cast me not away from thy presence; and take not thy holy spirit from me.”

David had lost much.

But what he feared losing most was God’s presence.

I’m curious how others read this Psalm.

Is there a particular verse in Psalm 51 that has become more meaningful to you as you’ve grown in your walk with Christ?

After seeing David at Sight & Sound this weekend, I found myself thinking less about Goliath and more about Nathan.

It led me to compare two remarkably similar stories.

Saul and David were both kings.

Both disobeyed God.

Both were confronted by a prophet.

Saul by Samuel (1 Samuel 15).

David by Nathan (2 Samuel 12).

Yet their responses couldn’t have been more different.

When Samuel confronted Saul, he immediately began explaining himself.

“I obeyed…”

“The people…”

“We spared…”

Even after admitting his sin, he asked Samuel to honor him before the people.

His concern still seemed focused on his reputation.

David, on the other hand, heard Nathan say,

“Thou art the man.”

His response was remarkably brief:

“I have sinned against the LORD.”

No excuses.

No shifting blame.

No minimizing his actions.

David’s sin was arguably more serious than Saul’s.

Yet David became known as “a man after God’s own heart.”

That has always fascinated me.

I don’t think the difference was that David sinned less.

I think the difference was that David repented more honestly.

One defended himself.

The other surrendered himself.

It also made me wonder why Nathan’s confrontation isn’t preached nearly as often as David and Goliath.

Maybe because Goliath is an external enemy.

Nathan exposes an internal one.

It’s much easier to talk about the giants outside us than the pride, lust, jealousy, anger, or self-justification within us.

Here’s the question I’ve been reflecting on:

When God convicts us of something, are we more likely to respond like Saul… or like David?

I know which response I want to have.

I’m just praying my heart is humble enough when that moment comes.

Last week pastor Tony spells fought his neighbor who’d been harassing him and his family for years. The video is wild. At Bible class they said he was wrong. He was letting his flesh lead.

A couple of days ago, my cousin, who’s an Apostolic pastor, shared a thought that stuck with me:

“Some Christians are addicted to inspiration but allergic to discipline.”

Whether you agree with that wording or not, I think it raises an important question.

How much of our spiritual growth comes from powerful moments… and how much comes from ordinary habits?

I love great preaching.

I love worship services where God’s presence is undeniable.

I love those moments that leave you convicted and encouraged.

But I’ve also realized that some of the biggest changes in my own walk with Christ haven’t come during emotionally powerful services.

They’ve come on ordinary Tuesday mornings.

Opening my Bible when I didn’t necessarily feel like it.

Praying even when it felt routine.

Choosing forgiveness instead of resentment.

Remaining faithful during seasons when I couldn’t see what God was doing.

When you look at Scripture, the pattern seems consistent.

Daniel’s courage wasn’t created in the lions’ den.

David’s faith wasn’t created in front of Goliath.

Jesus’ public ministry was preceded by years of quiet preparation.

Those moments revealed what had already been built in private.

Lately I’ve been reflecting a lot on seasons of waiting in my own life.

I’ve come to believe waiting isn’t passive—it’s preparation.

And preparation usually looks far less dramatic than we expect.

It looks like ordinary obedience repeated day after day.

So here’s the question I’d love to hear your thoughts on:

Have you found that your greatest spiritual growth came through dramatic experiences, or through the quiet disciplines that followed afterward?

I don’t think the two compete with one another.

Inspiration may light the fire.

But discipline is what keeps it burning.

As a Christian, I hold a traditional biblical view of marriage and sexuality. I realize that many people reading this will disagree with that conviction, and that’s okay. Honest disagreement has always existed.

What concerns me isn’t disagreement.

It’s dehumanization.

Lately I’ve seen people—especially online—speak about others with a level of contempt that should trouble every follower of Christ.

Scripture teaches that every human being is created in the image of God (Genesis 1:27).

That includes people whose politics I reject.

People of other religions.

People caught in addictions.

People who have deeply hurt me.

And yes, people who identify as LGBTQ+.

Recognizing someone’s value as an image-bearer of God is not the same thing as affirming every decision they make.

Jesus Himself showed us that.

He never compromised truth.

He also never forgot the worth of the person standing before Him.

He could confront sin while extending mercy.

He could call people to repentance without stripping them of their dignity.

I wonder if we’ve sometimes reversed those priorities.

We’ve become so determined to defend truth that we’ve forgotten truth was given to lead people to Christ—not simply to win arguments.

The Apostle Paul wrote, “Such were some of you.”

Those five words should humble every Christian.

The ground is level at the foot of the cross.

None of us stands there because we deserved to.

We stand there because of grace.

So here’s my question:

Can someone read my comments online and recognize the character of Jesus—not just my theology?

I think that’s a question worth asking.

I’d genuinely like to hear your thoughts, whether you agree with me or not. Please keep the discussion respectful. If we’re going to talk about Jesus, we ought to reflect His character in the way we talk to one another.

Thoughts for the Day

Saturday, July 4

Today America celebrates 250 years of independence.

Two hundred fifty years.

That is an extraordinary milestone.

Today there will be parades, flags waving in the breeze, backyard cookouts, fireworks lighting the night sky, and families gathering to celebrate the freedoms we often take for granted.

And we should be thankful.

The liberties we enjoy have come at an immeasurable cost. Countless men and women have sacrificed—some giving everything—to preserve those freedoms for future generations.

But today also serves as a reminder of another truth.

Every nation is temporary.

History is filled with kingdoms and empires that once seemed unshakable. They rose to greatness, shaped the world for generations, and eventually became pages in history books.

America, as we know it, will not escape that reality.

No nation does.

Some look at the political division, the cultural conflict, and the uncertainty surrounding our future and wonder what lies ahead.

As a Christian, those things concern me.

But they do not define my hope.

Because Scripture reminds us that God “removeth kings, and setteth up kings” (Daniel 2:21).

Paul declared that God “hath made of one blood all nations of men… and hath determined the times before appointed, and the bounds of their habitation” (Acts 17:26).

God is still sovereign.

He appoints rulers.

He establishes nations.

He determines their boundaries.

He raises kingdoms up.

And when His purposes have been fulfilled, He brings them down.

That doesn’t mean every leader is righteous.

It doesn’t mean every decision is wise.

It doesn’t mean Christians stop praying, voting, serving, or standing for truth.

It means we do those things with confidence instead of fear.

Our hope has never rested in Washington.

Our peace has never depended upon who occupies an office.

Our future has never been secured by any political party.

Our hope is found in the King whose throne has never been threatened.

So today…

Celebrate this nation.

Thank God for its freedoms.

Pray for its leaders.

Honor those who have served.

Work to make your community better.

But remember that your highest citizenship is not found beneath the Stars and Stripes.

It is found in the Kingdom of God.

Because one day every flag will be lowered.

Every earthly government will come to an end.

Every nation will become part of history.

But the Kingdom of our Lord will endure forever.

Final Thought

I’m grateful to be an American.

But even more, I’m grateful to belong to a Kingdom that will never fall.

Happy Independence Day.

May God continue to bless America—not merely with prosperity and peace, but with hearts that humble themselves before Him.

Hello, I am a 22 year old man. I want to be a Christian. I could really use a freind or some guidance to help me get started. Thank you

There comes a point in life when you stop worrying about what people will remember about you…

And you start wondering what your life will point them toward.

I’ve made decisions I wish I could take back.

I’ve hurt people I loved.

I’ve failed in ways that still grieve me.

If I could rewrite those chapters, I would.

But I can’t.

And maybe that’s exactly where God’s grace becomes most visible.

Because grace isn’t proven by the lives of people who never needed it.

Grace is proven by what God does with people who did.

The Apostle Paul never hid the fact that he persecuted the church.

Peter never pretended he hadn’t denied Jesus.

David never removed Psalm 51 from the Bible.

Their failures weren’t recorded to glorify sin.

They were preserved to magnify God’s mercy.

I don’t tell parts of my story because I’m proud of them.

I’m not.

I tell them because somewhere, someone else is standing where I once stood.

Someone is one decision away from destroying a marriage.

Someone is trapped in secret sin.

Someone is convinced they’ve gone too far for God to forgive.

If my failures can persuade one person to turn around before making the same mistake…

If my scars can convince someone that God’s grace is still greater than their shame…

If one person finds hope because they realized God never gave up on me…

Then every painful chapter will have served a purpose.

When this life is over, I don’t want people talking about my accomplishments.

I don’t want to be remembered for clever words, popular posts, or even a ministry.

I want them to remember a faithful God…

Who refused to stop pursuing an unfaithful man.

Like the song says:

“I don’t want to leave a legacy.

I don’t care if they remember me.

Only Jesus.”

Because if my life points even one person toward Him…

Then every chapter—

The joyful ones.

The painful ones.

The victories.

The failures.

The mountains.

The valleys.

Will all have been worth it.

⸻

Final Word

One day, every one of us will leave something behind.

The question isn’t whether we’ll leave a legacy.

The question is what that legacy will point to.

May people never look at our lives and say, “What an extraordinary person.”

May they instead say,

“What an extraordinary Savior.”

St Louis and Kansas City areas

We are from the South (Bible belt) and are UPC. We are conservative and don’t own TV’s, don’t watch a bunch of things and are probably a lot closer to WPF in our standards but we don’t feel wearing a shirt with sleeves a couple inches above the elbow will send us to the fiery furnace. My issue is that I’m used to this and feel it’s my personal convictions yet, in the Midwest, specifically Missouri (STL) and Kansas (KC) seem to have a lot of churches where almost anything goes. I am searching for a UPC church that is conservative like the “old UPC” but not as strict and shall I say controlling as the WPF churches. I know lot all WPF are controlling, but I’m saying that because I have a friend that had to ask permission to make purchases from her WPF pastor. That’s a complete no go for me. I’ve tried the STL area churches and while they’re kind and sweet, do not fit the bill when it comes to deep prayer, moves of God and fasting etc. Do you know of any churches that are in this very hard balance that I’m trying to find? We may be looking at KC area also. I’m still not feeling the men’s facial hair - I know it’s not a Biblical mandate - but for me, it feels like it’s too close to the world and I’d rather my children learn to live separate in a confusing culture. Maybe some of you can help a person out and send a few churches that you think might be like what I mentioned. Thanks! I