-
Religion vs Relationship
I met the Lord on my own road to Damascus. And let me tell you, He wasn’t Pentecostal. He wasn’t Baptist. He wasn’t Methodist, Lutheran, or Protestant. He wasn’t Catholic, Orthodox, etc. He didn’t come wearing a name tag with a brand stamped on it. He didn’t introduce Himself through the filter of human tradition. He came as He is, the Living God.
That day, I realized something powerful: Jesus Christ doesn’t belong to a denomination. He isn’t boxed in by man-made labels, rituals, or rules. He is Lord of all, Lord of the broken, the wandering, the hurting, the sinner and the saint alike. He is not bound to the structures men build to feel in control of Him.
You can keep your religion. I’ll take relationship.
See, religion gives you a checklist. It tells you when to sit, when to stand, what to wear, what to say, how to behave inside the walls. But relationship? That changes everything. Relationship says He walks with me when I rise in the morning. He hears me when I cry out in the night. He knows me at my worst and loves me still. He doesn’t just want my Sunday attendance, He wants my heart on a Tuesday morning, my faith on a Thursday night, my trust in the valley, and my praise on the mountaintop.
Religion confines God to a building. Relationship reminds me that He fills the heavens and the earth.
We’ve done a lot of damage by shrinking “church” down to four walls, a steeple, and a service schedule. Don’t get me wrong, gathering matters. Fellowship matters. Worship together matters. But let’s not forget what Jesus said: “Where two or three are gathered in my name, there am I in the midst of them.” That’s church. That’s alive. That’s real.
The true church is not brick and mortar. It’s not stained glass and pews. The church is a body, His body. The people. The hands that serve. The feet that carry the good news. The hearts that beat with compassion for the lost and the broken. The church is a family bound not by membership rolls but by the blood of Christ.
It’s a church without walls.
And that’s the church the world desperately needs. Because if we think God is only found inside a building, we’ll miss Him on the street corner. We’ll miss Him in the addict trying to find hope. We’ll miss Him in the single mom crying herself to sleep. We’ll miss Him in the broken man who thinks he’s too far gone. Jesus walked the roads. He sat at tables. He touched the untouchable. He went to where people were, and that’s what His body is called to do still.
Religion says, “Come and look like us.” Relationship says, “Come as you are, and let Christ transform you.”
Religion says, “You don’t belong here unless you fit the mold.” Relationship says, “You are welcome, because He died for you too.”
Religion says, “Stay in the lines.” Relationship says, “Follow Me.”
My Damascus moment broke me out of the prison of performance. It opened my eyes to the reality that Jesus doesn’t want my denomination, my tradition, or my ritual. He wants me. All of me. My doubts, my failures, my fears, my faith. He didn’t call me to a religion. He called me to Himself.
So, I’ll say it again: keep your religion. I’ll take relationship. Keep your walls. I’ll walk in freedom with the One who tore the veil. Keep your denominational pride. I’ll boast only in Christ and Him crucified.
Because I didn’t meet the Lord in a sanctuary. I met Him on the road. And ever since, I’ve been part of a church without walls.
4 min read
-
Where Have I Been
Where have I been? Somewhere quiet and messy, stuck in the middle of a season I didn’t ask for. I spent months arguing with myself, weighing every choice like it was a verdict. Doubting my value became my full-time job. I woke up and questioned who I was. I went to bed replaying the same doubts like a broken record. I drifted away from things I used to believe without even meaning to, church felt distant, friends felt distant, the man I thought I was felt like a stranger.It wasn’t dramatic. There were no sudden explosions or big announcements. It was slow. It was the small erosion of confidence: missed calls I didn’t return, promises I didn’t keep to myself, ideas left half-finished. It was watching other people move while I stood in the same place, feeling pressure to be further along, to be stronger, to be less tired. My head became a battlefield. Some days I won small fights, a workout, a prayer, a text sent, and some days I didn’t even show up.
But here’s the truth I almost lost sight of: absence doesn’t mean defeat. I wasn’t gone because I gave up. I was gone because I was being remade. God met me in the quiet. He showed up in small things, a verse that landed like a hand on my shoulder, a friend who wouldn’t let me disappear, work that forced me to keep moving even when I didn’t feel like it. Not everything fixed itself overnight. Not every scar vanished. But the nights got a little shorter. The doubts lost some of their power. The drifting slowed and I started steering again.
I’m back. Not perfect, not healed of everything, but clearer. Stronger in ways you don’t always see. More patient with my own process. More thankful for the parts of me that stayed faithful when I did not. Better than before because I carry the lessons of that season with me: humility, grit, and a deeper trust that even when I can’t find my way, I’m never truly lost.
If you’re reading this and you’ve been quiet lately, know this, silence can be the preface to a comeback. You don’t have to explain where you were. You don’t owe anyone a map of your struggles. Show up for yourself in small ways. Pray when you can. Move when you can. Let God finish what He’s started.
I’m still here. God brought me through that season. And I’m back, better than ever.
I went away to be found; I fell apart to be rebuilt. I’m not the same man, and I’m glad I’m not.
4 min read
-
The Good Guy?
People tell me I’m a good guy. I hear it in passing, I hear it when people thank me, I hear it when they try to encourage me. And I nod, I smile, I accept the words… but deep down, I don’t always believe them.
When I’m alone with my own thoughts, I see the other side. I see the flaws. I see the moments where I let anger get the best of me, or when I stayed quiet when I should’ve spoken up, or when I pulled away from people who needed me closer. I see the selfish choices, the words I can’t take back, the regrets that still burn. People might see the “good,” but I wrestle with the weight of every shortcoming, every weakness, every scar that still aches.
It’s strange how others can see in me something I can’t always see in myself. They see kindness, I see the battles behind it. They see patience, I see the times I failed to hold it together. They see a big heart, I see the cracks and the broken pieces I keep trying to glue back together.
But maybe being a good guy isn’t about being flawless. Maybe it isn’t about feeling worthy every second of the day. Maybe it’s about trying, over and over again. Trying to love when it’s hard. Trying to forgive when bitterness feels easier. Trying to show up for people when I’d rather disappear into my own shadows. Trying to grow even when it hurts to confront who I’ve been.
Maybe goodness is measured in the quiet things. But In the way I keep pushing forward even when I don’t feel like enough. In the way I choose to care, even when my own heart feels heavy. In the way I admit my flaws but still keep striving to be better. Maybe being a good guy doesn’t mean I don’t struggle. Maybe it means I do, and I still refuse to let the struggle win.
So no, I don’t always feel like a good guy. But maybe goodness isn’t about what I feel in the mirror. Maybe it’s about the fact that despite everything, despite the doubts, the mistakes, the scars, I keep showing up, I keep choosing love, I keep trying.
A good man isn’t the one without scars. He’s the one who refuses to stop healing, even when it hurts. ~Slim
4 min read
-
Last Of My Kind
Sometimes I feel like I’m the last of my kind.
Not because I’m better than anyone else, not because I think I’ve got it all figured out, but because the way I’m built doesn’t seem to fit in this world anymore.
I was raised on loyalty, on keeping your word, on standing tall even when your knees were shaking. I was taught that your name means something, that respect isn’t given it’s earned and when you shake a man’s hand, it ought to still mean something. I carry scars most people will never see, both on the skin and deep in the soul, and I don’t hide from them. They remind me of where I’ve been, what I’ve lost, and what I refuse to ever give up on.
Back then, your word meant something. A promise wasn’t just talk, it was a bond, stronger than any paper contract or signature. If you told someone you’d be there, you showed up. If you said you’d stand by them, you stood, even when it cost you. These days, people throw around promises like loose change, then walk away when it gets inconvenient. But I still believe a man is only as good as the weight his word carries.
Everybody wants something from someone. That’s just the way people are wired. Some want your time, some want your energy, some want your love, some want your money, and some just want the benefit of being close to you without ever giving anything back. The hard truth is, very few people actually want you for who you are. Most are looking at what they can gain, not what they can give. That’s why discernment matters knowing the difference between those who value you and those who only value what you can provide.
And it feels like nowadays, everybody expects to be paid to do something for you. Nobody just helps because it’s the right thing anymore, there’s always a price tag attached. A favor has become a transaction, and kindness has turned into a business deal. I remember when people showed up for each other without needing anything in return. Now it seems like unless there’s money in it, folks won’t even lift a hand.
The truth is, the world’s full of people who trade integrity for attention, honesty for applause, and loyalty for convenience. That’s not me. That’ll never be me. I’d rather walk this road alone than sell out just to fit in. I’d rather be misunderstood for being real than praised for being fake.
So yeah, maybe I am the last of my kind. Maybe that means nights feel colder and days feel heavier. Maybe it means I walk a road most wouldn’t choose. But it also means I’ll leave behind something that can’t be broken or bought. It means the fire that keeps me alive burns with a purpose that doesn’t fade just because the world forgot what it means to stand for something.
And if I really am the last of my kind… then I’ll carry it with pride.
4 min read
-
It Only Takes One
Sometimes the world won’t get you, and that’s okay. They’ll misunderstand your heart, question your silence, judge your strength, and overlook the depth of everything you carry quietly. You’ll explain yourself a thousand times and still feel like no one’s really listening. You’ll give your all and be met with half. You’ll feel like too much for some and not enough for others. And it’ll wear on you. It’ll make you wonder if maybe something’s wrong with you.
But the truth is, there’s nothing wrong with you.
You were just never meant to be understood by everyone. You were never meant to fit into the mold the world tries to shove you in. You were meant to be seen, not just looked at. Heard, not just listened to. Felt, not just touched.
And all it really takes is one person.
One person who looks at you and doesn’t flinch at your flaws. Who doesn’t need you to explain the storm inside you to know that you’ve been through hell and kept walking. One person who hears what you don’t say, sees what others miss, and wants nothing more than to see you happy. Not because they need anything from you. Just because they care.
When that person shows up, you’ll know. Because for the first time, you won’t feel like you have to shrink yourself to be loved. You’ll just be. And that’ll be enough.
4 min read
-
Nothing Is Wasted
Romans 8:28
“And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose.”
You ever sit back and think about the messes you’ve made? The wreckage you’ve crawled out of? The nights you cried so hard your chest felt like it was caving in? Yeah, me too.
I used to think Romans 8:28 meant that everything was supposed to feel good. That somehow if I just loved God enough, life would magically make sense. But that’s not what this verse says. Not even close.
It says “all things work together for good.” Not some things. Not just the things you post about when everything’s finally going your way. All things: the heartbreaks, the betrayals, the wasted years, the prayers that went unanswered because you didn’t know what you were really asking for.
I’ve had doors slammed in my face that I begged God to open. I’ve had people walk away that I was willing to fight like hell for. I’ve lost myself trying to be everything to everyone… and then I found out God never asked me to do that. He just asked me to trust Him. To believe that even this… the pain, the silence, the confusion… was being used for something bigger than what I could see.
That kind of faith doesn’t come easy. It’s born in the fire. In the waiting rooms of life where nothing makes sense but you hold on anyway.
Romans 8:28 doesn’t promise comfort. It promises purpose.
And sometimes, that’s the only thing that gets me through is knowing that nothing is wasted. That the things that broke me were also shaping me. That God is still weaving something beautiful out of threads I would’ve thrown away.
So if you’re reading this and you’re in the middle of it, whatever your “it” is, don’t quit. Don’t let what you’re going through convince you that God left. He didn’t.
You might not see it now. You might feel like the enemy is winning. But the story ain’t over.
Romans 8:28 is proof that God doesn’t just use the victories. He uses the valleys, the scars, the stuff you’re ashamed to talk about. He works all of it… together… for good.
Not for perfect people. Not for people who have it all together. But for people like me. And maybe people like you too.
4 min read
