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Tag: God

  • Grace In The Dirt

    I don’t know why Jesus would want to use someone like me. The truth is, I wouldn’t have chosen me. I spent years not even wanting myself. I couldn’t stand the man in the mirror. I couldn’t stand the weight of my own failures. And trust me, there’s been more failure than success. More broken promises than kept ones. More moments of weakness than strength. I am not some special person. I’m not polished. I’m not impressive.
    I’m messy. I’m complicated. I’m stubborn.
    I’m a walking contradiction most days. I’m desperate for grace and hungry for God but fighting the flesh that betrays Him.

    Sometimes I sit in the quiet and wonder: Why me, Lord? Why use someone so deeply flawed? Why love someone who spent so long running away? Why die for someone who couldn’t even bear to look at himself?

    But then I remember that It was never about me being good enough. It was never about me being worthy. It was never about what I had to offer.

    He wanted me because He loved me first.
    Before I lifted my eyes. Before I whispered a prayer. Before I ever thought of Him. When I was still a mess. When I was still covered in shame. When I was still sprinting toward destruction.

    He wanted me because He saw what He could do in me, not what I had done.
    He wanted me because broken vessels are the ones that shine His light the best.
    He wanted me because His grace doesn’t glorify the worthy; it glorifies Himself. He wanted me because He is a Redeemer.
    Because He takes messes and makes testimonies. Because He takes ashes and makes beauty. Because He takes the things the world throws away and says, “This one’s mine.”

    Jesus didn’t come for the perfect. He didn’t come for the powerful. He came for the sick.
    He came for the weak. He came for the sinners who had nothing to offer except empty hands and a broken heart. And if you’re like me, if you’ve ever wondered why He would even look your way, Just know it’s because love like His doesn’t make sense by human standards. It runs deeper. It sees farther. It chooses anyway. I still don’t understand it fully. But I’m learning to stop questioning it, and start living like someone who was worth rescuing.

    Because to Him, I was. And to Him, you are too. He wanted me because He is “close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:18). He wanted me because “while we were still sinners, Christ died for us” (Romans 5:8). He wanted me because “God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise” (1 Corinthians 1:27).

    He didn’t wait for me to clean up. He didn’t wait for me to figure it all out. He came running while I was still a long way off (Luke 15:20). That’s grace. That’s mercy. That’s Jesus. So if you’re standing there with nothing to offer but a broken heart and tired hands, good. That’s all He ever needed to work a miracle. And He’s not done yet.

  • Bible Buffet

    You Love the Verses That Make You Feel Good, But You Ignore the Ones That Cut Deep

    Everybody loves the Scriptures that comfort. The ones that tell you you’re chosen. That you’re loved. That God has a plan for your life. And those verses are true. They matter. They’re beautiful. But here’s the thing: you can’t just cling to the promises without also submitting to the correction.

    Jeremiah 29:11, For I know the plans I have for you. And yet you skip past Luke 9:23 where Jesus says, “If anyone wants to follow me, he must deny himself, take up his cross daily, and follow me.”

    You post Philippians 4:13—“I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me”, but you scroll right past Galatians 5:24: “Those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires.”

    You love Romans 8:1, “There is therefore now no condemnation…”, but ignore Hebrews 12:6: “For the Lord disciplines the one He loves, and chastises every son whom He receives.”

    You want John 3:16 but not Matthew 7:21, where Jesus says, “Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven…”

    You quote Psalm 23 but don’t want to talk about Psalm 51, where David cries out in repentance for his sin.

    You don’t get to follow a feel-good Jesus. You follow a crucified one. A risen one. A holy one. A just one. A Savior and a Judge.

    The Word of God is not a buffet where you get to pick only what tastes sweet and leave the rest on the table. The same Word that comforts also convicts. The same Spirit that encourages also rebukes.

    Some of us want to be encouraged but not transformed. Inspired but not instructed. Forgiven but not accountable.

    But real faith is built in the tension between grace and truth. You can’t grow in Christ if you only listen to what makes you feel good. Growth comes through pruning. Through fire. Through correction. Through conviction.

    So ask yourself: Do you love the whole Word of God, or just the parts that don’t confront your lifestyle?

    Because if you’re only reading the Scriptures that make you feel better, but ignoring the ones that call you higher, you’re not worshiping God. You’re worshiping comfort. And comfort never changed anyone. Conviction did.

  • I’m Not a Saint, Just a Story

    I know I come off as hellfire and brimstone in a lot of my writings. I know the tone can be sharp, the words heavy, and the message uncomfortable. But understand something, none of it comes from a place of hate. It’s not judgment. It’s not pride. It’s perspective.

    It’s conviction. And conviction isn’t cruelty, it’s love. It’s the same love that won’t let me stay silent when I see people slipping. It’s the kind of love that yells watch out! when you’re walking too close to the edge. It’s not to shame, it’s to shake. Shake us out of comfort. Shake us out of compromise. Shake us out of thinking I’m good, when in reality, we’re spiritually asleep.

    See, the danger isn’t always in doing wrong. Sometimes it’s in thinking we’re doing fine when we’re really coasting. And comfort is the quickest way to drift from Christ. You’ll never find Jesus in a life that’s just about being cozy, liked, and unchallenged. Walking with Him? It costs. It convicts. It confronts. But it also saves.

    Jesus doesn’t promise a smooth ride here. In fact, He warned it would be hard. He said the road is narrow. The burden is a cross. But the destination? That’s where the joy is. That’s where the reward is. That’s where eternity with Him begins.

    And hear me when I say this, He’s not asking for perfection. He’s asking for progress. For movement. For a willing heart. For a desire to get back up every time you fall. Because the truth is, He already knows we’re flawed. He knows we’ll mess up. But He wants our yes anyway.

    I don’t share this stuff because I think I’m some spiritual giant. I’m not. I’m nobody. Just a man who was broken, saved, and changed. A man who can’t stop talking about the One who pulled him out of the dark. I don’t want you to think highly of me. Honestly, don’t. I’m not the point. Jesus is.

    Think highly of the One who loved you before you even knew His name. The One who died to give you a way back to the Father. The One who is still reaching for you, even now.

    So if what I write ever cuts deep, I pray it also heals. If it ever shakes you, I hope it also roots you. Because it’s not about me being loud, it’s about making Him known. Don’t think highly of me. Just think of Jesus.

  • Religious Lips, Rebellious Hearts

    You’re Worshipping Idols and Don’t Even Know It. I’ve been guilty of this. I have to check myself daily because it’s an easy trap to walk into. It doesn’t look like a golden calf, so you think you’re good. It doesn’t stand on an altar or wear a robe, so you think it doesn’t count. But idolatry today is much quieter. Much more deceptive. Much more comfortable.

    It looks like the bank account you obsess over. The job title you wear like armor. The mirror you check twenty times a day. The approval you constantly crave from people who don’t even walk with God. The image you’re desperate to maintain, even if it means faking a life you’re not really living.

    You’re not bowing with your knees, but you’re bowing with your priorities. You’re not singing to it, but you’re sacrificing for it. You’re not burning incense, but you’re burning time, energy, peace, purpose. All of this just to keep it happy.

    Some of you are worshipping a relationship that’s not even healthy. You’ve put a person in a place only God should occupy, and you’re wondering why everything feels off-balance. You’re expecting a broken human being to give you identity, peace, fulfillment. The things only the Holy Spirit was ever meant to bring.

    And here’s the part nobody wants to hear:
    You worship people more than you worship God. The scary part is you don’t even see it.

    You fear what they’ll think more than what God already said. You shape your life around their expectations instead of His commands.
    You let their opinions define your worth more than His truth does. And you chase their validation like it’s eternal, just like it’s salvation.

    But people can’t save you. People didn’t die for you. People didn’t tear the veil. People didn’t conquer the grave. So why are they sitting on the throne of your life?

    Others are worshipping their pain. You’ve made an idol out of your trauma. You’ve built your personality around what hurt you, and now you protect it more than you pursue healing.

    And let’s talk about comfort for a second, because for a lot of us, that’s the true god of this generation. We worship comfort. We sacrifice growth for ease. Obedience for convenience. Holiness for pleasure. Truth for what won’t offend.

    You’re still attending church. Still quoting verses. Still wearing the cross. But your heart belongs to something else. And God sees it.

    These people honor me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me. – Matthew 15:8

    That verse isn’t about pagans. That’s about us. The truth? Idols don’t need temples anymore. They live in your habits. They live in your feed. They live in what you scroll to, what you binge on, what you can’t say no to.
    They live in the quiet moments of compromise that you keep justifying because “God knows my heart.”

    Yeah. He does. He knows who’s really sitting on the throne in your life. And if it’s not Him, it doesn’t matter how dressed up it looks, how culturally accepted it is, or how many Christian words you throw on top of it. This makes it still an idol. And idols always demand sacrifice. Eventually, they will ask for everything.

    So maybe it’s time to do a heart check. What are you really worshipping? What do you rearrange your life for? What do you trust more than God? What can’t your ego and pride let go of, even if He asked?

    Because following Jesus doesn’t just mean putting Him first. It means putting everything else second. Tear the idols down. All of them.
    Even the ones you dressed up in religion.
    Even the ones that feel good. Even your Pastors, Prophets, Evangelists, and Religious Leaders that have died that you still worship more than God. You put their words and love you had for them above your love for God.

    You can’t walk in freedom if you’re still bowing to chains. And you can’t serve a holy God with a divided heart. Choose today who you will serve. And make sure it’s not the god of them, or the god of you. Only One deserves that throne.

  • The Foundery Church

    Let me tell you about The Foundery Church.

    It’s not your typical Sunday morning performance. It’s not a concert stage with fog machines and the dimmed lights designed to entertain you. It’s not a place where you come to blend in, check a box, or sip coffee while your soul stays asleep. The Foundery Church is a forge, a place where heat, pressure, and time shape broken metal into purpose-filled steel.

    This isn’t a museum for saints. It’s a workshop for the willing. A gathering place for the gritty. It’s a shelter for the tired. It’s a safe place for the messed up. The ones who’ve been through the fire and the ones just stepping into it. We don’t pretend to have it all together, but we know the One who holds all things together.

    The Foundery isn’t about being flashy or having perfect people. It’s about process. About transformation. About discipleship that costs something. Because we believe God doesn’t just save you, He refines you. He doesn’t just hand you grace, He teaches you how to carry it like a sword.

    Here, we preach the blood of Jesus without watering it down. We speak the truth in love, even when it cuts. Because conviction isn’t cruelty, it’s care. And repentance isn’t shame, it’s freedom.

    At the Foundery, you won’t find a stage where man is lifted up, you’ll find an altar where pride comes to die. You won’t be handed motivational quotes, you’ll be handed a cross. Not because it’s easy, but because it’s real. And because we know that on the other side of the suffering, there’s resurrection power.

    We sing loud. We cry hard. We pray like warriors. And we don’t let our brothers or sisters walk alone. This is a place where iron sharpens iron, where scars are sacred, and where every testimony smells like smoke from the fire God brought us through.

    So if you’re tired of fake. If you’re done with shallow. If you want something that challenges you, breaks you, heals you, and builds you, welcome to The Foundery.

    This is the church for the ones who still believe revival is possible. This is the church where God doesn’t just restore, He reforges.
    Let the sparks fly.

  • Sanctified Sinners and Barstool Saints

    I’ve heard it my whole life, that you won’t make it to heaven sitting in a bar on the weekends. And listen, I get it. There’s a fair point there. Scripture calls us to be set apart, to live holy, to walk away from the old man and put on the new. There’s absolutely a call to live righteously.

    But let me tell you something that most folks don’t want to admit out loud. You know what you’ll often find in a bar that you can’t find in a lot of churches? The answer is simple, it’s GRACE.

    That drunk sitting on a barstool might hand you his last dollar if you looked like you needed it. That woman sipping a cocktail might ask how you’re really doing and mean it more than someone dressed in THEIR Sunday’s best. That regular bartender? He might listen to your whole story without judging a single word. I know that might mess with some folks theology. But it’s the truth.

    People don’t skip church and head to bars because they’re all trying to rebel. A lot of them just don’t feel safe in the church. They walk into a sanctuary and get side eyed over their clothes, over their past, or the fact that they still smell like last night’s mistakes. But they walk into a bar and feel seen, heard, even loved for who they are, not who they pretend to be. Somewhere along the way, we got it wrong.

    Jesus didn’t sit with the righteous. He sat with the tax collectors, the prostitutes, the outcasts. All of the ones that religious people crossed the street to avoid. He didn’t run from messes. He stepped right into them.
    He didn’t throw stones. He offered grace.
    And the ones He did rebuke the most? The Pharisees. All of the religious elite who knew all the scriptures but couldn’t recognize the Savior standing in front of them.

    The body of Christ wasn’t called to be a gated community of the perfect. It was called to be a hospital for the broken. A safe place, a refuge. A place where people with addictions, baggage, trauma, doubt, and sin can walk in, not be fixed on the spot, but be loved through the process.

    Churches need to start looking less like country clubs and more like those late night bar stools where real conversations happen.
    Where vulnerability is allowed. Where masks come off. Where grace pours like cheap whiskey and love flows like an open tab.

    We’ve been too busy acting like the Pharisees in the synagogue instead of the Friend who sat at the well. The truth?
    Sitting in a bar doesn’t get you to heaven.
    BUT SITTING IN A PEW EVERY SUNDAY DOESN’T EITHER. Jesus does. And He’s not afraid to walk into the darkest places to find His people.

  • The Harsh Truth

    I’m thankful for the liars.
    I’m thankful for the haters.
    I’m thankful for the betrayers.

    They pushed me closer to my purpose. They drove me into the arms of God. What they meant to destroy me, God is using to build me. Every lie, every knife in my back, every whisper campaign, they all helped me see clearer, pray deeper, and stand stronger. They taught me who not to be. And more importantly, they helped reveal who I am.

    I know some of what I say is uncomfortable. I know it goes against the grain. It grates against flesh. It stirs something in people. But that’s exactly what it’s supposed to do. The things I write aren’t meant to stroke egos or win applause of people, they are meant to shake the spirit awake. Jesus didn’t come to bring peace in the way the world defines it. He said it Himself that He came to bring a sword. Division. Separation. Not to destroy, but to distinguish His people from the enemy’s people.

    Too many churches today are nothing more than motivational TED Talks with a cross in the background. People sit under pastors who wouldn’t dare preach about sin, hell, or holiness. Instead, they preach prosperity, comfort, and self-love dressed up in Christian lingo. It’s not the Gospel. It’s self-help sprinkled with Scripture. And it’s sending people to hell with a smile on their face and a tithe envelope in their hand.

    We’ve made church a stage, not a sanctuary. We’ve traded conviction for comfort. Truth for tolerance. The Holy Spirit for hype.

    But I refuse to stay quiet.
    I refuse to water it down.
    I refuse to speak half-truths just to make people feel safe in their sin.

    Because the truth isn’t always gentle.
    It’s not always soft. It doesn’t always hug you, it convicts you. It challenges you. It calls you to crucify your flesh, not cater to it.

    The real Gospel doesn’t make you comfortable. It calls you to war, with your sin, with the world, and with anything that stands between you and the will of God.

    So if you’re looking for comfortable Christianity, you’re in the wrong place. This isn’t about popularity. This isn’t about applause. This is about eternity. And I’d rather be hated for speaking the truth than loved for feeding people lies.

  • Faith Like a Dam

    A beaver doesn’t build a dam overnight. It doesn’t haul in a forest with its teeth in one day. It starts with one stick. Just one.
    One piece of wood that is carefully placed. One small movement in the right direction.
    And then another. And another. Until eventually that tiny, unseen effort becomes a force that is strong enough to stop the flow of entire rivers.

    What if I told you that your faith works the same way? We get so caught up thinking that small wins aren’t enough. That starting out by praying for five minutes doesn’t matter. That reading one chapter a day won’t change us.
    That forgiving someone one more time won’t shift anything. That resisting sin just this time is too little. You need to understand something, Kingdoms aren’t built overnight. They’re built brick by brick. Stick by stick.

    Zechariah 4:10, Do not despise these small beginnings, for the Lord rejoices to see the work begin.

    Jesus isn’t looking for your perfection. He’s looking for your persistence. He just wants progress. He’s not expecting you to build a dam that stops the flood in one move.
    He’s asking if you’re willing to keep stacking the sticks of obedience, discipline, trust, and of truth. Over and over until what once overwhelmed you can’t even flow through anymore.

    Every time you choose prayer over panic, that’s a stick. Every time you speak life when you want to curse, that’s a stick. Every time you repent and choose to try again, that’s a stick. Every time you get back up, even when your legs shake, that’s a stick. Every one of those sticks pile up. They create something strong. Something unshakeable. Something that tells the enemy, You can’t flood me anymore.

    So if you’re tired, if it feels like what you’re doing isn’t making a difference, Remember the beaver. Remember the dam. And remember Jesus. He didn’t ask you to finish in a day. He wants you to carry your cross daily, and trust Him to multiply the weight of your sticks into a dam that holds back hell itself.

    Keep building stick by stick, grace by grace, win by win. Because what looks small now, might just stop the flood tomorrow.

  • 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.