“Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” – Jesus (Luke 23:34)
These words weren’t spoken in a moment of peace or comfort. They were spoken while Jesus hung on a cross, beaten, mocked, and betrayed. In His deepest pain, He still chose forgiveness.
But here’s something we often confuse: forgiveness is not the same as reconciliation.
Forgiveness is a decision you make in your heart. It’s a release. It’s saying, “I’m not going to let what you did keep poisoning my spirit.” Forgiveness frees you, it cuts the cord that ties you to the weight of resentment and bitterness. It doesn’t require an apology. It doesn’t require closure. It doesn’t even require the other person to still be in your life.
Reconciliation, though? That’s something else. That requires trust. That requires change. That requires both people to show up with honesty, accountability, and growth. And not every relationship is meant to be restored.
Just because I forgave you doesn’t mean I’m setting your place back at my table. And just because I’m not setting your place doesn’t mean I’m holding a grudge. It doesn’t mean I wish you harm. In fact, I hope you eat. I hope you grow. I hope you heal, succeed, and live in peace… just not at my table.
We can want the best for someone, and still know that letting them close again would only bring chaos, hurt, or disruption. Boundaries aren’t bitterness. They’re wisdom. They’re growth. They’re protection.
So let’s stop guilting ourselves into thinking that if we truly forgive, we must reconcile. Jesus forgave those who crucified Him, but He didn’t invite them to dinner. Forgiveness is commanded. Reconciliation is conditional. And wisdom is knowing the difference.
We All Think We Have Time. Everyone walks around like tomorrow is promised, like we’re guaranteed the next breath. But the truth is, time is the one thing we’re never guaranteed. We make plans, chase dreams, hold grudges, waste moments, and all the while, we forget that life is fragile. One moment can change everything. One phone call. One accident. One heartbeat missed. So stop acting like you’ve got forever.
And somewhere along the way, we’ve convinced ourselves that we’re entitled. Like we’ve got these God, given rights we don’t even understand, let alone respect. We want justice when it benefits us, but we don’t want to fight for what’s right. Let’s be honest: if we really had to fight for our “rights,” most of us wouldn’t make it through the night. We’d fold under the pressure because comfort has made us soft, and entitlement has made us blind.
Everyone’s out here talking about “my truth.” But let me say this, and I’ll say it loud: there is no your truth or my truth. There is only The Truth. And that truth is found in the one true living God. He doesn’t bend to opinions. He doesn’t change with trends. He doesn’t waver just because culture does. His truth stands eternal, unshaken, unmoved, and undefeated.
We’ve built this culture where we tear each other down to feel superior. Where we measure someone’s worth by their money, their social status, their appearance, or their success. But let me make this clear: not one person walking this earth is better than the next. We all bleed the same. We all fall short. We all struggle, whether it’s behind closed doors or out in the open.
So stop judging the one who’s homeless, addicted, depressed, or just barely holding it together. You don’t know the battles they’ve faced. You don’t know what it took just for them to survive today. Humble yourself, because in the blink of an eye, you could be in that same place.
Money fades. Fame fades. Looks fade. But character and compassion, those are eternal. And truth? Real truth? That’s found in God alone.
We all need a wake up call. This life isn’t about proving you’re better. It’s about realizing you’re not. It’s about loving harder, forgiving quicker, judging less, and remembering who’s really in control.
You think you’ve got time? Think again. Live with purpose. Speak the truth. And never forget where it all comes from.
Let Judas Be Judas: Embracing Betrayal as Part of Your Purpose
We all want loyalty. We want to surround ourselves with people who will ride with us through the highs and the lows, who will support us, uplift us, and never turn their backs on us. But life doesn’t always work that way. There comes a time when someone you trust, someone you thought would always be in your corner, betrays you. And when that moment comes, it shakes you to your core.
The natural reaction is to be hurt, to be angry, to question everything. “How could they do this to me? After all we’ve been through?” But I’ve come to realize something powerful: even Jesus needed a Judas.
Think about that for a moment. Jesus, the Son of God, the Messiah, chose Judas as one of His twelve disciples, knowing full well that he would betray Him. He didn’t make a mistake. He didn’t misjudge Judas’ character. He didn’t fail to see the red flags. He knew. And yet, He still allowed Judas to walk with Him, to break bread with Him, to be part of His inner circle.
Why? Because Judas was necessary for the mission.
Without Judas’ betrayal, there would be no cross. Without the cross, there would be no resurrection. And without the resurrection, there would be no salvation. The pain of betrayal was the very thing that propelled Jesus into fulfilling His ultimate purpose.
And the same goes for us.
When someone you trust betrays you, it’s not the end of your story, it’s the turning point. That heartbreak, that disappointment, that feeling of being stabbed in the back isn’t happening to you; it’s happening for you. Because maybe, just maybe, that betrayal is the very thing pushing you toward your destiny.
I know this is true for me.
Had certain things not happened in my life, had certain people not betrayed my trust, I’d still be sitting on a pew, staying silent. I’d still be keeping everything God has done for me locked inside, afraid to share it with the world. But their betrayal was the catalyst that got me to where I am today. It woke me up. It pushed me out. It forced me to step into what God was calling me to do.
And that’s why I’ve started this blog. Not because I’m special, not because I have it all figured out, but because I know what it feels like to be hurt, to be blindsided, to wonder why God allowed this to happen. And if my story, my experiences, and my testimony can help even one person see that their betrayal wasn’t the end, it was the beginning, then it’s all been worth it.
So if you’re going through a season of betrayal right now, if you’ve been wounded by someone you thought would always be in your corner, let Judas be Judas.
Keep your circle small. Guard your heart. But also understand that sometimes, the ones who hurt you the most are the ones who push you into your purpose. Judas didn’t win. God did. And if you stay faithful, if you keep trusting, if you refuse to let the pain make you bitter, you’ll see that this was never about them.
It was always about what God was preparing you for.
So, thank Judas, and keep moving forward. Your purpose is waiting.
One of the hardest things about faith is accepting that we may never fully understand God’s ways. We live in a world that demands answers, that seeks explanations, and that constantly asks, Why? But with God, sometimes the only answer we receive is Trust me. And that’s frustrating. That’s painful. That’s uncomfortable.
Because we want reasons. We want clarity. We want to know why things happen the way they do, why doors close, why loved ones are taken too soon, why prayers seem to go unanswered, why suffering exists, and why our hearts break when we’ve done everything right. And yet, instead of a detailed explanation, we often get silence. Or we get a whisper that simply says, I make all things good.
But good doesn’t always look like we expect.
Sometimes, good comes through brokenness. Sometimes, the masterpiece God is creating with our lives only comes after everything we thought we needed has shattered. And that’s not easy to accept. It’s not easy to see the beauty in the pain when we’re standing in the wreckage of what we thought life would be. But just because we don’t understand doesn’t mean God isn’t working.
Imagine a mosaic, pieces of broken glass, sharp edges, fragments of what once was. Alone, they look like nothing but shattered remains. But in the hands of the Artist, those broken pieces are arranged into something breathtaking. The light hits differently. The story takes a new form. And the masterpiece is something that could never have existed without the breaking.
That’s what God does with us.
He takes the pain, the loss, the unanswered questions, the disappointments, and the brokenness, and He makes something beautiful. But the process isn’t easy. It requires faith. A faith that even when we can’t see the bigger picture, God can. Faith that even when we don’t understand, His reasons are higher, His love is deeper, and His plan is greater than we could ever imagine.
And faith isn’t about having all the answers, it’s about trusting even when we don’t.
So if you’re in a season where nothing makes sense, where the pieces of your life feel scattered and broken, hold on. Trust that God is still writing your story. Trust that He is still good, even when life is not. Trust that one day, whether in this life or the next, you’ll see what He was doing all along.
Because God doesn’t waste anything. Not our pain. Not our tears. Not our questions.
Even when we don’t understand, He is still making all things new.
Let me tell you what I want. I don’t want fame. I don’t want recognition. I don’t want power. I don’t want to be above anyone. I just want to see everyone win.
I want to see people do well. I want to see people happy. I want to see people live a life that is full, free, and abundant, not just in material things, but in the things that actually matter. I want to see people find true joy, the kind that doesn’t fade when circumstances change. The kind that stays even in the midst of struggle.
I want to see people find peace. Not just the temporary kind that comes from a quiet moment, but the deep, unshakable peace that holds you together when life is trying to tear you apart. The peace that only God can give.
I want to see people find true love, not just romance, but real, unconditional love. The kind of love that isn’t based on what you can give someone, but simply because you are worthy of being loved.
And more than anything, I want everyone to find Jesus the way I did.
There’s nothing special about me. I’m not some perfect example. I’m not better than anyone else. I don’t have it all figured out. I fail daily. I struggle, I fall, I make mistakes. But God redeems me. Every single day, He picks me back up, He covers me in grace, and He reminds me that His love is greater than my failures.
And if He did it for me, He’ll do it for you.
You are not too far gone. You are not too broken. You are not beyond redemption. God’s grace is bigger than your past, bigger than your mistakes, bigger than the lies you tell yourself about who you are. He sees you. He loves you. And He’s waiting for you with open arms.
I just want to see everyone win. And the greatest victory of all? It’s not in money, success, or status. It’s in knowing Jesus, in finding the love and peace that only He can give.
So if you’re struggling, if you’re lost, if you feel like you’re nothing, just know, you’re not alone. I’ve been there. And God met me where I was. And He’ll meet you too. You just have to let Him.
People are out here acting like they’re on a whole different level, like they breathe a rarer air than the rest of us. You see it everywhere, folks flexing their accomplishments, their wealth, their status, their influence, their intelligence, their righteousness, their struggle, their pain, like it somehow makes them more worthy than the next person. Like they’ve unlocked some divine cheat code that sets them apart from the rest of us mere mortals.
But let’s be real, none of that matters when you’re standing at the foot of the cross.
At the foot of the cross, titles disappear. Degrees don’t mean anything. Bank accounts are irrelevant. Social status is wiped clean. The pain you’ve endured, the success you’ve built, the mistakes you’ve made, none of it makes you more or less than the person standing next to you. Because in that moment, we are all reduced to the same truth: We are sinners in need of grace.
The problem is, people forget that. They start believing their own hype. They think their talents, their looks, their hustle, or even their suffering puts them in a different category. Some people act like their pain makes them deeper, their wisdom makes them superior, or their righteousness makes them untouchable. Others flex their rebellion, as if their defiance makes them the realest person in the room.
But the cross is the great equalizer. It doesn’t care how rich you are, how famous you are, how broken you are, or how wise you think you’ve become. It levels the playing field and exposes the truth, we are all the same.
We are all guilty. We are all in need of grace. We are all offered the same mercy.
So why walk around like you’re better than anyone else? Why carry yourself like your story makes you the main character and everyone else is just background noise? Why act like your success or your struggle elevates you above your neighbor?
If Jesus, the only one who had every right to claim superiority, chose humility, if He, who was blameless, carried a cross meant for criminals, who are we to act like we are anything other than deeply loved sinners?
So let’s stop the ego trips. Let’s stop the comparison games. Let’s stop measuring worth by things that don’t last. Because when we stand before God, none of that will matter.
At the foot of the cross, we are all the same. And the only thing that will separate us is whether we chose to humble ourselves and accept His grace or not.
Before I ever keep God to myself again, I will be buried in my grave and go home to see my Lord. Because God was never meant to be hidden away, locked behind the walls of my own comfort, tucked into the quiet corners of my private life. He is not a secret to be safeguarded, He is the Light of the world, the Hope of the broken, the Answer to the hurting. And if I have found that Hope, how could I ever withhold it from a world drowning in despair?
I look around and see pain in every direction, people crushed under the weight of their burdens, searching for meaning in empty places, grasping for peace in things that can never satisfy. And I have the answer. Not because I am better, not because I am stronger, but because I have been rescued. I was lost, I was broken, I was bound in chains until Jesus stepped in. He pulled me out of the pit, He placed my feet on solid ground, and He filled me with a love that cannot be contained.
So how could I ever remain silent? How could I live a life that hoards the goodness of God as if it were mine alone? No, friend, before I ever do that again, I will breathe my last breath and step into eternity. Until then, I will proclaim His name. I will testify of His grace. I will speak of His mercy and His power to redeem.
This world is dark, but I carry a light. This world is hurting, but I know the Healer. This world is lost, but I walk with the Way, the Truth, and the Life. And as long as there is breath in my lungs, I will not keep that to myself.
Let them call me foolish. Let them say I’m too bold. Let them reject, let them doubt, let them turn away. But I will not stop. Because Jesus did not stop for me. He bore my shame, He carried my cross, He endured the weight of my sin so that I could know Him. And if He gave everything for me, how could I ever withhold Him from others?
No, before I ever keep God to myself again, I will be laid to rest, my work on earth complete. Until that day, I will be His hands and feet. I will share His love. Because He is not a God to be hidden, He is a God to be shared, proclaimed, and lifted high for all to see.
The world needs Him. And as long as I am here, I will make Him known.
There are moments in life when the storm feels unbearable. When it knocks us down, leaves us broken, and makes us wonder if we’ll ever rise again. But sometimes, we need the storm, not because we enjoy the suffering, but because it opens doors we never could have imagined. It takes us places we never thought we’d go and allows us to reach people we never could have reached before.
I think about Paul in Lystra. He was preaching the Gospel, doing what God had called him to do, and for that, he was stoned. Not just beaten or imprisoned, but stoned to the point that the people thought he was dead. They dragged his body outside the city and left him there, assuming it was over. And in any normal situation, it would have been. But God wasn’t finished.
Paul got up. Bruised, battered, but not broken. And instead of running in the opposite direction, instead of saying, “I’m never going back there again,” he returned. First, he left for a time, but later, he came back. And when he did, he strengthened the believers there. What the enemy meant to destroy him, God used to build something greater.
It makes me wonder, how often do we face trials, only to assume that’s the end of the story? How often do we suffer and decide we never want to go back to that place, that relationship, that calling? But what if God is saying, “Not yet. I’m not done. What the enemy meant for evil, I will use for good.”
Paul didn’t go back as the same man. He went back with experience. With scars. But also with a testimony that couldn’t be denied. The people who had tried to kill him now saw that not even death could stop the message he carried. And because of that, the number of believers grew.
Maybe you’re in a storm right now. Maybe you’ve been through one so painful that you never want to return to where it happened. But what if your return isn’t about reliving the pain but about showing others what God can do? What if your scars are the testimony someone else needs to see to believe that God is still in the business of redemption?
The storm isn’t the end. The suffering isn’t the final chapter. Sometimes, we need the storm to take us places we wouldn’t have gone on our own. Sometimes, the very thing meant to destroy us is what God will use to bring life to others.
So, if God is calling you back, back to the place of pain, back to the people who rejected you, back to the situation that almost broke you, don’t be afraid. You’re not going back the same. You’re going back stronger. You’re going back as a testimony. And through you, God will reach those who never would have believed before.
What the enemy meant for evil, God will always use for good.
Church Should Be a Hospital, Not a Masquerade. Somewhere along the way, we started treating church like a performance rather than a place of healing. We started dressing up our brokenness instead of bringing it to Jesus. We got really good at saying “I’m fine” when we’re not. We convinced ourselves that if we’re struggling, we need to push it down, put on a smile, and pretend everything is okay. But that is not church. That is not what Jesus intended.
Church is supposed to be a hospital for the sick, not a museum for the self-righteous. The moment we turn the sanctuary into a stage for perfection, we have lost the very heart of the gospel.
Jesus said in Matthew 9:12-13, “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick… For I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.”
So why do we act like we have to be whole before we can walk through the doors?
What If We Were Honest?
Imagine if, instead of brushing past people with shallow greetings, we actually asked, “How are you really?” And imagine if we allowed space for the truth to be spoken.
What if someone walked into church and said:
“I’m addicted, and I don’t know how to stop.”
“I’m battling depression, and I don’t feel God anymore.”
“My marriage is falling apart, and I don’t know what to do.”
“I don’t know if I even believe in Jesus anymore.”
Would we love them? Would we walk with them? Or would we look away, too uncomfortable to deal with their reality?
Jesus met people in their mess. He sat with the outcasts, touched the lepers, and dined with sinners. He didn’t wait for people to clean up their act before offering them grace. So why do we?
Stop Checking the Church Box
For too many of us, church has become a ritual. We show up on Sundays, sing the songs, hear the sermon, and leave unchanged. We check “church” off our list like we’re fulfilling an obligation.
But let me tell you something: You didn’t “see” Jesus just because you sat in a pew.
If you walk out of church and your heart is still hardened, you didn’t meet Jesus.
If you treat worship like a concert instead of surrender, you didn’t meet Jesus.
If you ignore the person sitting next to you who is clearly hurting, you didn’t meet Jesus.
Jesus is not impressed with attendance records. He’s after transformation. He’s after authenticity.
Ask People Their Story
One of the most dangerous things we can do is assume someone is okay just because they look okay. You don’t know the battles people are fighting. You don’t know what it took for someone to walk through those church doors.
Before you write someone off, ask them, “What’s your story?”
That addict you judged? Maybe he’s been clean for a week, and this is the first time he’s had hope in years. That single mom you whispered about? Maybe she left an abusive relationship, and church is the only safe place she knows. That person who seems distant? Maybe they’ve been crying out to God, wondering if He even hears them anymore.
Don’t send someone to hell because you were too busy pretending to be holy.
Be the Church, Not a Social Club
If church isn’t a place where people can be real, then what is it? A social club? A gathering of people who have perfected their masks? That is not the church of Jesus Christ.
The early church in Acts was a place where believers “shared everything they had” (Acts 2:44-45). They confessed their sins. They carried each other’s burdens. They did life together.
Somewhere along the way, we lost that. We traded community for comfort. We traded vulnerability for appearances.
But real healing requires real honesty.
So let’s be different. Let’s be a church where the broken don’t have to hide. Let’s be a church where people can say, “I’m not okay”, and know they won’t be met with shame but with grace.
I’ve come to a place in my life where I want everything to do with God, but nothing to do with the Church of God. I don’t need a specific religion to define my faith, and I don’t need a building to tell me what I already know deep in my soul.
I believe in God. I seek Him. I want a real connection with Him. But what I don’t want is to be part of a place that hides the truth, a system that picks and chooses what to believe, a body that refuses to acknowledge anything that doesn’t fit within its own controlled narrative.
I’ve seen too much, questioned too much, and felt too much to pretend that the church always gets it right. Too often, it doesn’t. Too often, it silences instead of listens. It shames instead of loves. It protects what is convenient and ignores what is uncomfortable. And I refuse to be a part of something that puts its own image above the actual truth.
My faith is not about religion. It’s not about traditions. It’s not about following a set of rules created by people who think they’ve figured out God. My faith is about God Himself. It’s about the relationship I have with Him, the way He moves in my life, and the truth He reveals to me, not the truth someone else tells me I have to accept.
I don’t need a church to find God. I don’t need a title to have faith. And I don’t need approval to seek what I know is real. Because at the end of the day, it’s not about religion, it’s about Him.
That doesn’t mean I’ll never step foot in a church or find value in gathering with others who seek Him. Because I will go to church. But it does mean that my faith isn’t dependent on a building, a denomination, or a specific way of doing things. My relationship with God is not confined to Sunday mornings or dictated by traditions passed down without question. I refuse to let my spirituality be shaped by human expectations rather than divine truth. My faith is built on something far deeper, something unshakable, personal, and real.
