Blog

Category: Faith

  • Christian To Disciple

    The beautiful thing is as you continue to grow closer to God. As you become a true disciple of Christ, something big begins to happen within you. And it’s not just about an outward behavior, but it’s an inward transformation that changes your heart, mind, and your spirit.

    You stop feeling the need to respond to every small thing just to be heard. Silence becomes strength, not weakness. You realize that being understood by people isn’t as important as being obedient to God. You no longer feel the urge to prove your point, because your identity is no longer rooted in being right, but in being righteous through Christ.

    You begin to feel peace in situations that used to shake you on any level. What once would have triggered anger, anxiety, or offense now gets filtered through the Spirit. That’s not because you’ve grown numb, but it’s because you’ve grown mature. You understand that not everything needs a reaction. Some things need prayer. Some things need grace.

    You can’t hold onto hate, even when someone betrays you. Forgiveness doesn’t mean that you forget what happened to you, it just means you remember who you serve. That when you look at Jesus, you see how He forgave the ones who nailed Him to the cross. And that becomes your standard. You begin to pray for the people who hurt you, because you know they need healing just as much as you do.

    You love people you’ve never even met. You start to see others not as strangers or enemies, but as souls created by the same God who created you. Your heart breaks for what breaks His. You find yourself caring deeply about things that once seemed distant, thing like justice, mercy, and compassion. You give without expecting. You serve without needing applause.

    You find joy in Scripture, and not out of duty, but out of hunger. You open your Bible not just to learn, but to encounter Jesus. Every page becomes personal. You’re reading for transformation. You desire to know His voice, His heart, and His will.

    You develop a desire to be holy. This is not out of fear, but it’s out of love for the one who loves you. You don’t chase perfection because you know it’s unattainable. You pursue progress and purity because you’ve tasted the goodness of God. You want to be a vessel that He can use as a light in the darkness. You want to be a disciple who reflects His glory and not just someone who uses him as a name drop.

    You lose interest in shallow things. The gossip, the competition, the validation from others, eventually, it all fades. You’re no longer chasing worldly crowns, because your eyes are fixed on a heavenly one. You stop comparing your journey to others, because you trust the One who’s writing your story.

    You begin to live with purpose. Every day becomes an opportunity to grow in faith, to show grace, to extend love, and to point people to Jesus. And while the world may not always understand this change in you, you’re not living for the world’s approval. You’re living for the glory of God.

    This is what happens when you walk with Jesus, and not just believe in Him, but follow Him. He doesn’t just change what you do, he helps changes who you are.

    Because becoming a disciple is deeper than just calling yourself a Christian. It’s not a title you wear. It becomes a life you live. It’s not about association, it’s about transformation. Discipleship costs something. It requires surrender, obedience, and a heart that longs to reflect the One you follow.

  • The Past Doesn’t Define You

    I don’t even know how to explain all that I’ve been through. I’ve walked through fire that left me scarred in ways that no one could ever see. I’ve smiled through pain just to survive the day. I’ve been in rooms full of people and felt completely alone. I’ve lied and said I’m okay more than I’d care to admit. Behind closed doors, I’ve cried out to God with nothing but brokenness in my hands. I was left wondering if He was even still listening.

    I’ve done things I wish I could undo. Seen things I wish I could unsee. Said things in anger, in pain, out of fear. Many things that still echo in my mind, reminding me of who I was when I was just trying to hold myself together.

    I’ve been brought to my knees more than once. And not in worship, but in utter defeat. With absolute regret. Also with complete exhaustion. I’ve looked in the mirror and barely recognized the person staring back. I’ve asked God to just let it end. Just let the pain stop. But he had different plans, because I’m still here. And that’s not just a sentence, it’s a miracle.

    The devil came for me hard. First, he tried to destroy my mind when he came at me and caused me anxiety, and the shame. Most of all, the constant voices telling me I wasn’t enough. Then he came for my body, with sickness, fatigue, and chronic pain that doesn’t stop. When that wasn’t enough, he came for both, hoping I’d finally break.

    What the enemy didn’t know is that God had already put something in me that couldn’t be killed. He put a purpose. He gave me a calling. He gave me a reason to rise again. Even when I had no strength of my own. I’m here for such a time as this.

    I’m not who I used to be. I’m also not who I’m going to be. But I am here, wiser, stronger, and more aware of the fight I’m in. I’m also more confident in the God who’s kept me through it all. I’m not done. I’m not out. I refuse to let the darkness that tried to take me out win.

    You can’t kill what God planted. You can’t silence what He raised up for this generation. I may be bruised, but I am not broken. I may carry around scars physically and emotionally, but they are the proof that I survived. That I overcame because the grace of God.

    For anyone that is reading this who’s barely holding on, hear me when I say this, You are not alone, And this isn’t the end. God’s not done with you either. This is just the beginning.

  • Your Calling

    Sometimes we think the gifts God gave us are for us. We feel like our calling should lift us up. That our talent should carry us. That it is for our benefit. That even our light should make us feel better. It should lift us up, bring us joy, open doors for us. But here’s the hard truth that nobody wants to accept; your gift wasn’t just given to bless you. It was given to bless others.

    That’s why you can be sitting in the middle of your own storm. You can be full of anxiety, live with chronic pain, have all kinds of confusion, and still pour encouragement into someone else. That’s why you can be battling depression, but speak life into someone that is about to give up. That’s why you can feel completely overlooked, and still show up and support someone else’s success like it was yours.

    You might feel empty, but your gift still flows.
    You might feel broken, but your purpose still speaks out. You might feel like you’re the one who needs healing, but your words help heal others. That’s not by coincidence. That’s by purpose.

    You may wonder Why would God let me feel like this if I’m supposed to help others? And the answer is simple. It is because He can still use you, even in the midst of your struggle. Especially when you are in the midst of your struggle. That’s how powerful His gift for you is. It’s not tied to your emotions. It’s tied to His calling.

    You can be tired, and still speak energy into someone else. You can be unsure of your own future, and still help someone find direction. You can be fighting silent battles, and still be the loudest cheerleader in someone’s life. It’s humbling. But it’s also holy.

    Don’t mistake your pain as a sign that you’re not being used. Sometimes it’s the opposite. Sometimes God shines through the cracks in our lives because that’s when we can be most effective when we aren’t fighting back against him.

    If you feel like your gift isn’t helping you right now, just keep going. It’s working through you to reach the people who need it. That’s how you know it’s from God. Because even when you’re down, it still lifts others. Stay faithful. Keep giving. You’re being used in ways you can’t even see yet.

  • Hoarding Grace

    If God’s grace is freely given, then why do we act like we have the authority to limit what we offer to others? Why do we hold back grace from people just because they don’t meet our unspoken standards? Why do we feel justified in hoarding something that we didn’t even earn or meant to keep to ourselves in the first place?

    Grace found us when we were at our lowest, not when we figured everything out. It met us in secret sin, in silent struggles, in shame we carried quietly and privately. God didn’t wait until we healed or fixed ourselves to pour it out. He didn’t say, I’ll love you after you get it together. He loved us while we were still a broken mess.

    Why are we so quickly to forget that when it’s our turn to give it? Honestly, we like the feeling of having the upper hand. It feels powerful to say that you hurt me, and now you have to earn my forgiveness. It feels safe to withhold grace, to guard ourselves, to protect our pride, to keep record. We dress it up as boundaries or discernment, but sometimes it’s just bitterness. Sometimes it’s control.
    Sometimes it’s a wound we’ve nurtured so long, that we forgot what freedom really feels like.

    But Jesus didn’t hoard grace, even when He had every right to. He didn’t hoard it from the ones who betrayed Him, denied Him, abandoned Him. He didn’t withhold it from the people who mocked Him as He bled.
    He said, Father, forgive them, not after they repented or asked for forgiveness, but while they were still treating him like he was nothing.

    That’s grace. Undeserved. Uncomfortable. Unfair. And yet, completely free. So who are we to measure grace with teaspoons when God pours it out as rivers?

    We say we want to be like Jesus, but Jesus didn’t wait until people changed to offer grace. He gave it, and the grace itself became the thing that changed them.

    We’re not called to be reservoirs of grace.
    We’re called to be rivers, letting it flow through us. This means even when it’s hard. It also means even when it hurts, especially when it costs us our pride.

    Grace is not ours to withhold. It was never meant to stop with us. It’s a gift we pass on, not a reward we hand out. Freely we’ve received and freely we must give.

  • Who Is Qualified To Judge

    At what point do you feel like you’re qualified to look down on someone else because of their past? I mean seriously, when do we cross that invisible line to where we suddenly feel authorized to judge who’s worthy and who’s not? Who gets to serve God and who doesn’t? Who gets to sing on the praise team, who gets to teach, who gets to minister—based on what we think we know about someone else or their past?

    Let me be as real as possible, we all need God’s grace every single second. Not one of us walks this life without it. Not one of us has earned it. Not one of us deserves it. Not one of us is better than the next. We’re all level at the foot of the cross. No VIP section. No spiritual hierarchy. No cleaner testimony. Just broken people being held together by grace and mercy.

    Who do we think that we are to say what someone else can or cannot do for God?

    Oh, you shouldn’t be on the praise team because you did this. You shouldn’t be ministering to them because you went through that. You shouldn’t be teaching this class because of what you used to be.

    Really though? Since when has God taken our opinions into account when He calls someone?

    Do me a favor, Ask yourself, who am I that He is mindful of me? Think about that for a second. That a perfect, holy, righteous God would look down at you, with all your flaws, all your baggage, all your wrong turns, and still choose to love you, use you, and walk with you.

    Now don’t you even forget that if He is mindful of you, then He is mindful of that person as well. The same grace that covers you is extended to the person you’re looking down on. The same mercy that picked you up is reaching for them too.

    We’ve got to stop playing spiritual referee, blowing the whistle on people’s callings just because we remember their fouls. You don’t know what God is doing in someone’s heart. You don’t know the conversations He’s having with them in secret. You don’t know the healing, the restoration, the transformation that’s happening behind the scenes.

    So stop looking down on people. Get humble, and start looking up at people. See them the way Jesus sees them. See the potential, the purpose, the calling. Stop being the voice of shame, and start being a voice of grace. Remind people who they can be, not just who they used to be.

    Because at the end of the day, none of us are qualified without Him. It’s grace that qualifies us all.

  • Sunday mask

    Too Many Don’t Live to Please God, They Live to Deceive People. Let’s just say it plainly. Too many people are not living to please God. They’re living to impress others. Not to walk in truth, but to perform in lies. Not to be real, but to look right. And that’s why we’re drowning in fake faith and shallow spirituality.

    You see it everywhere. People talking about God first while their actions scream me first. Quoting Scripture while living in secret sin. Serving in churches while gossiping, lying, manipulating, and craving status. They want the image of being godly, but not the lifestyle. They want applause from the world but couldn’t care less if God is pleased. It’s not about transformation, it’s about reputation.

    They’ve mastered the art of deception. Looking holy, sounding spiritual, even doing good works, but it’s all for show. Behind the curtain, there’s no prayer life. No repentance. No hunger for righteousness. Just ambition. Just ego. Just empty performance.

    They go to church, not to worship, but to network. Not to be convicted, but to be seen. They post verses, but won’t obey them. They say God bless, but curse people in private. And they’re more afraid of being exposed by people than being judged by God.

    Let me be clear: God is not fooled. Heaven is not impressed by your Sunday mask. God sees past the filtered posts, the fake smiles, the double life. He sees your heart, and He’s not interested in your performance. He wants your obedience.

    Living for people is slavery. It’s a trap. Because the crowd is never satisfied. You’ll exhaust yourself trying to keep up an image, all while your soul is starving. But living for God? That’s freedom. That’s power. That’s peace. Because He doesn’t need you to be perfect, He just needs you to be honest. Real. Surrendered.

    If your walk with God is just a costume you wear when it’s convenient, then what are you really doing? You’re not fooling God. And in the end, the same people you were trying so hard to impress won’t be the ones you stand before on Judgment Day.

    This is a wake-up call. Stop living for likes. Stop living for attention. Stop living to be seen, praised, or envied. Start living a life that’s holy when no one’s watching. Start living so that God, and not man, is pleased.

    Because the truth is, a lot of people are going to hell dressed like they’re going to church. Don’t let that be you.

  • My Pain is a Blessing

    My Pain is a Blessing

    That sounds strange, I know. Especially when you’re living with pain that doesn’t go away, pain that lingers day after day, like an unwanted shadow. Chronic pain wears on you, physically, mentally, emotionally. It drains you in ways most people will never understand.

    But even in that, I’ve learned something deeply valuable: pain has a purpose.

    If I never had pain, if I never faced suffering, I might start to believe I didn’t need help. That I had it all figured out. That I was strong enough on my own. But the truth is, I’m not. I’m not perfect, I’m not self-sufficient, and I wasn’t made to be.

    Pain is what reminds me I need God.

    It’s what drives me into His arms. When my body aches and no relief comes, when I’m exhausted just from existing, when I wonder how I’m going to get through another day, He meets me there. In the stillness, in the struggle, in the silence. I need Him every moment, and pain keeps me close. Not because God wants to see me suffer, but because He wants to see me lean on Him, trust Him, know Him in the deepest way.

    And maybe… maybe that’s a blessing.

    Because someone else out there is suffering too. Someone feels like they can’t go on. Someone is battling chronic pain, invisible illness, or emotional weight no one sees. If that’s you, I want you to know: I see you. I am you.

    And if my dependence on God, if my ability to keep moving, even when it hurts, can shine a light for someone else in the dark, then maybe that’s part of why I’m still standing. Not because I’m strong, but because He is. Not because the pain is easy, but because God is faithful in it.

    My suffering is how I stay connected to Him.
    My weakness is how His strength is made perfect.
    My brokenness is where His grace meets me.

    So no, I don’t thank God for the pain. But I thank Him that even in the pain, He’s present. And I thank Him for using it, for using me to remind someone else they’re not alone, and they’re not without hope.

    Chronic pain may be part of my life, but it will never define me.
    God does that. And He’s not finished with me yet.

  • A True Shepard

    A pastor should be someone you can trust. Not just to preach a good message on Sunday or lead a powerful prayer, but to live with integrity, walk in truth, and lead by example. You should be able to trust them with your heart, your questions, and yes, even your family. A true shepherd carries the weight of people’s lives with deep responsibility and care.

    Pastors are called to be trustworthy. They are called to be people of integrity, people whose words match their actions. You should be able to believe what they say. You should be able to watch their life and see consistency, humility, and growth. You should be able to lean on them during hard seasons and feel safe bringing your children into the fold of the church they lead. That’s not asking too much, it’s the bare minimum of what ministry leadership should look like.

    But here’s the thing… as much as you should be able to trust them, you’re not supposed to put your hope in them.

    When you put your hope in a person, they begin to take a place in your heart that only God belongs in. That’s when they stop being just a pastor and start becoming your god, your source, your security, your foundation. And here’s the hard truth: God will not compete for that place in your heart. If a person becomes your idol, no matter how gifted or well-meaning they may be, God will tear that idol down. Not out of cruelty, but because He loves you too much to let anyone else take His place.

    There are some leaders who want to be your hope. They thrive off your dependence. They want to be the only voice you listen to, the only one who can “hear from God” for you, the only one you turn to for answers. That’s not leadership, that’s control. That’s not shepherding, that’s manipulation.

    You need a pastor who doesn’t want to be your god. You need a pastor who doesn’t want your worship, your dependency, or your blind loyalty. You need a pastor who’s more committed to pointing you to Jesus than pointing you to them. Someone who is actively trying to build you up, not build a platform for themselves.

    A true pastor will teach you how to hear from God for yourself. They’ll lead you toward maturity, not dependency. They won’t be afraid to remind you: you don’t need a man to get to God. Jesus tore the veil, and no human being can ever stand in the place that only He was meant to fill.

    So yes, trust your pastor. Honor them. Pray for them. But don’t worship them. Don’t place your eternal hope in a person who is still human. Let them point you to the One who will never fail you, never leave you, and never have to be replaced.

    Find a pastor who helps you walk so closely with God that one day, you realize you don’t lean on a man anymore, you lean on the Father.

    That’s the goal. That’s the kind of leadership we need.

  • Why didn’t God Help?

    A question many of us have whispered in pain, shouted in anger, or quietly pondered in silence.

    When tragedy strikes, when suffering feels overwhelming, or when the world feels unfair, this is often our first question. Why didn’t God step in? Where was He?

    But what if He asks us the same question?

    “Why didn’t you help?”

    Think about the homeless person you passed today. You saw them. Maybe you looked away quickly, maybe you judged, or maybe you just told yourself you couldn’t do anything. But they were there, cold, hungry, human.

    Think about that coworker or classmate who looked like they were barely holding it together. You noticed. You felt something was off. But you didn’t ask. You didn’t stop. It wasn’t your business, you told yourself.

    Think about the person you love who’s been distant lately. You figured they needed space. Or maybe you didn’t want to deal with their weight when your own shoulders already felt heavy. But you sensed it. You felt it.

    What about the friend who hinted at needing help but never said the words? The kid who gets picked on while others laugh? The person online who posted something dark or cryptic and you just kept scrolling?

    We say, “Why didn’t God intervene?”
    But maybe He placed that person in your path because you were supposed to.

    Maybe we are His hands and feet, His heart in action.

    Maybe God’s help doesn’t come from lightning bolts or grand gestures, but from everyday people choosing kindness, choosing presence, choosing to care.

    So before we ask, “Where was God?”,
    He might gently ask, “Where were you?”

    Let’s stop waiting for divine intervention when we have been given the power to be divine love in someone’s life.

    Help when you can. Speak when you should. Show up when it matters.
    Because someone is praying for a miracle, and maybe, just maybe, that miracle is you.

  • Detriment of Sugar

    I heard a pastor one time talk about sugar, and it stuck with me. Not just the kind you stir in your coffee or sprinkle on your cereal, but sugar as a symbol.

    He said, “We don’t fully understand the detriment of sugar.” And he wasn’t just talking about our diet. He was talking about our lives. Our spirits. Our pulpits.

    See, sugar feels good. It tastes sweet. It gives you a rush. But what’s sweet on the tongue can turn toxic in the body.

    Sugar in your blood? That’s diabetes.
    Sugar in your teeth? That’s cavities.
    Sugar in your brain? That’s Alzheimer’s and dementia.
    Sugar in your eyes? That’s glaucoma.

    It doesn’t just stay where you put it, it spreads. It damages. It dulls. It destroys. Slowly. Silently. Sweetly.

    Now think about that sugar in your preaching. Sugar in your words. That watered down, candy coated gospel that makes people feel good but doesn’t make them change. That kind of sugar causes hypocrisy. It causes us to shout, dance, and say, “Church was great today!” but leave with no power, no conviction, no transformation.

    We’ve gotten addicted to sweet sermons, messages that tickle the ears but don’t challenge the heart.
    We’ve settled for sugary spirituality, feel good vibes with no substance.
    We’ve filled our churches with cotton candy Christianity. It looks big, it tastes sweet, but it melts to nothing when life gets real.

    But sugar won’t sustain you when you’re in a battle. Sugar won’t heal your soul. Sugar won’t hold you up when the weight of the world is on your back. Truth will. Power will. The meat of the Word will.

    So maybe it’s time to detox. Time to get back to the raw, sometimes bitter truth that convicts, corrects, and transforms. Because when we preach truth, we preach life. When we stand on truth, we stand in power.

    Don’t let a sugar-coated gospel rot your soul.