Blog

Tag: Healing

  • God’s Not Done With You

    Hey, I know a lot of the stuff I post can feel heavy. I write a lot about the battles, the struggles, the grit it takes to walk through fire without losing your soul. Because life is hard sometimes. Faith is tested. And pretending it’s not doesn’t make anyone stronger, it just leaves people feeling more alone. So I talk about the hard things. Because somebody needs to.

    I want to lift you up today by letting you know that you’re not just fighting battles, but you’re also building strength. You aren’t just surviving the storms around you, you are learning how to dance through the rain. You’re not just carrying scars from this life, you’re carrying stories that prove you didn’t quit.

    You’re further along than you think. You’re stronger than you feel right now. And the you’re more loved than you know.

    God isn’t just watching as you limp your way through life, He’s right there walking through it with you. Even when you don’t feel it and when you’re too tired to pray. Especially when the answers feel far away.

    You are not abandoned. You are not invisible. You are not forgotten. Every tear you’ve cried, He’s caught in his hands. Every prayer you’ve whispered, He’s heard clearly. Every step you’ve taken when it would’ve been easier to sit down and give up, He’s watched.

    You are doing better than you think. Grace is covering more than you realize. And the same God who walked people through the Red Sea, through the fire, through the flood, is walking with you too.

    Keep going. You’re closer to breakthrough than you are to breaking. You’re closer to restoration than you are to ruin. You’re closer to purpose than you are to pain. Don’t give up now. There’s beauty on the other side of this.
    There’s joy in places you thought would only ever bring sorrow. There’s peace where you only expected pieces.

    You will laugh again. You will breathe easier again. You will look back on this season and realize you were never walking alone.

    Today, take a breath. Take a second to remember: the story isn’t over yet. And the Author isn’t finished writing your victory.

  • 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.

  • 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 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.

  • 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.

  • 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.

  • Let Judas Be Judas

    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.

  • Broken, But Not Forsaken

    When God’s Ways Don’t Make Sense

    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.

  • Hospital For The Broken

    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.

    Because that’s exactly what Jesus would do.