Blog

Tag: Peace

  • I’m Sorry If They Told You

    I’m sorry if anyone ever told you that following God would be easy. That once you gave your life to Jesus, the storms would stop. That pain would pass quickly. That people would applaud your walk instead of questioning it. That you’d never feel lost again. That every day would feel like revival. That sometimes it wouldn’t feel lonely.

    Because the truth is this road is narrow for a reason. Following God doesn’t exempt you from the fight. It just means you finally know who you’re fighting for. It doesn’t mean you won’t wrestle with doubt, or feel the sting of betrayal, or wake up wondering if you’ve got the strength to keep going. It just means you no longer wrestle alone.

    They don’t always tell you about the cost.
    About how obedience might isolate you.
    About how conviction might ruin your comfort. About how walking in truth might make you the target of every lie.

    They don’t tell you that sometimes your yes to God will look like a no to everything and everyone else. That it’ll cost you friends, habits, platforms, opinions, and pride.
    That it’ll stretch your faith until it snaps everything fake inside you.

    They don’t tell you about the silence between the prayers and the answers. The tears you’ll cry when no one’s watching. The moments you’ll question if you’re even called at all.

    But let me tell you this: God never promised easy. He promised it would be worth it.

    He promised His presence in the fire. He promised a peace that passes understanding. He promised joy that doesn’t depend on the circumstances. He promised you grace for every stumble, and the strength for every valley.

    If you’ve ever been told that following Jesus is just sunshine and blessings, I’m sorry. But if you’ve ever been broken and He still carried you. If you’ve ever fallen and He still called you. If you’ve ever felt unworthy and He still chose you. Then you know the truth:
    It isn’t always going to be easy, but it’s everything.

    He never asked you to be perfect. He only asks you to be faithful. And He promised that even when you feel weak, He’ll be the strength for the both of you.

    What I’m trying to say is if you’re struggling, just keep going. If you’re tired, then rest in Him. If you’re doubting, talk to Him, not religion or people, but Him. Because this walk may be hard. But Jesus is worth every step.

  • The Cross Didn’t Flinch

    I don’t know who needs this, but Jesus has never stopped loving you. Not once. Not for a moment. Not even when you gave up on Him.
    Not when you ran. Not when you rebelled.
    Not when you were in the middle of the sin you swore you’d never return to. Not even when you hated yourself so much you couldn’t look in the mirror.

    He still loved you. When the world turned cold, when people failed you, when everything fell apart, His love stayed.

    And not some soft, passive kind of love either. I’m talking about a love that chases you down in your darkest night. A love that steps into the dirt, into the mess, into the parts of your story you don’t even talk about. A love that doesn’t flinch at your brokenness. One that wraps you up in grace when you feel most ashamed.

    This isn’t religion. This isn’t about behavior.
    This is a Savior who laid His life down for you knowing how many times you’d mess up after saying “never again.” Knowing how many times you’d choose the world. Knowing how long it might take for you to come back.
    And still, He wanted you.

    You think you’ve gone too far? He already stretched His arms farther. You think you’re too dirty? He already washed it with His blood. You think you’ve disappointed Him? He knew everything, and still called you worth dying for.

    You might not feel lovable. But His love isn’t based on your feelings. It’s based on His faithfulness. And He is faithful even when we are not. So if you’re sitting there tonight feeling like you’ve failed too much, fallen too hard, or drifted too far, please hear me:

    He’s still waiting.
    Still calling.
    Still loving.
    Still redeeming.

    Jesus doesn’t love a future, more cleaned-up version of you. He loves you, right here, right now, in all your mess. So come back home.
    Fall into His arms. And let His love do what no one else could ever do, heal you from the inside out.

    You are still wanted. Still chosen. Still loved.
    Always have been. Always will be.

  • Love Deeper

    Love deeper. Not wider. Not louder. Deeper.

    The world will tell you love is flashy. That it’s about grand gestures and picture-perfect moments and “look what I did” announcements. But real love, genuine soul-binding, heart-wrecking love is quiet. It’s steady. It doesn’t beg for attention, it just shows up… every single day.

    It’s staying when walking away would be easier. It’s listening when you’d rather speak. It’s holding someone’s broken pieces when you don’t know how to fix them, but you refuse to let them carry it alone.

    Love deeper, even when it’s not returned the way you hoped. Love anyway. Because love isn’t about being owed something. It’s about giving even when it hurts, forgiving even when it’s hard, and believing even when your heart is tired.

    Love deeper than the offense. Love deeper than the silence. Love deeper than your own understanding.

    The kind of love that mirrors Jesus doesn’t just cover the easy days. It walks with you through the storms. It meets you in your mess. It pulls you from the dirt, wipes your tears, and reminds you who you are even when you’ve forgotten.

    Some of the most powerful love you’ll ever show won’t be seen by crowds. It’ll be the quiet prayers you whisper over someone who hurt you. The grace you give to someone who may never say thank you. The patience you show when your own soul is screaming for peace.

    I want to love like that. I want to love in a way that makes hell tremble, not because I’m perfect, but because I chose to love when bitterness would’ve been easier. I want to love like Jesus did: bruised, rejected, and still willing.

    We don’t need more people chasing spotlight love. We need hearts willing to go deeper. To dig through the rubble and find the gold in people. To be the kind of love that lingers long after the feelings fade.

    So if you’re reading this and your heart’s heavy, love deeper. Not because it’s easy. But because it’s worth it. Because somebody out there is drowning in silence, and your love might be the lifeline they never expected.

    Let’s stop waiting for perfect moments to love. Let’s be the reason someone believes love still exists.

    Let’s love deeper.

  • 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.

  • 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.

  • Love Isn’t a Backstage Pass

    You Owe Everyone Love, But You Don’t Owe Them Access
    (Heard this quote from Pastor Philip Anthony Mitchell, and it stuck with me.)

    Let’s break this down, because it’s deep, and it’s needed. The Bible says in Romans 13:8, “Owe no one anything, except to love each other, for the one who loves another has fulfilled the law.” That means we are commanded, commanded to love. Not to be friends with everyone. Not to trust everyone. Not to keep toxic people in our lives. But to love.

    And love doesn’t always mean proximity.
    It doesn’t always mean access.
    It doesn’t always mean answering the call.
    It doesn’t always mean going back to the same fire you were burned in, just to prove you’re a good person.

    You can love someone from a distance.
    You can forgive them and still block them.
    You can wish them well and still move on.
    You can have a clean heart and still have clear boundaries.

    Some people are only meant to be in your life for a season, maybe even just a lesson. That doesn’t make you hateful for stepping away. That makes you wise. You’re not cold hearted. You’re just done handing out VIP passes to people who only show up to wreck the place.

    And here’s the hard part, sometimes the ones you need to pull back from are family.
    Or people you grew up with. Or folks who wear the right church clothes but carry the wrong spirit. And you’ll feel guilty, because you were raised to believe that “love” means tolerance without limits. But Jesus never taught that. He loved the crowds, but He didn’t let the crowds dictate His peace. He loved Peter, but still called him Satan when necessary. He forgave Judas, but didn’t stop him from walking out the door.

    Love doesn’t mean a lack of discernment.
    It doesn’t mean you let bitterness stay in your space just because it’s dressed up as “loyalty.” And it doesn’t mean you keep being someone’s emotional punching bag just because they share your last name or used to sit beside you at church.

    Boundaries don’t make you mean. They make you healthy. And there’s a difference between a heart full of grace and a door with no lock.

    So yes, you owe everyone love. That’s Christlike. But you do not owe everyone access. That’s wisdom. Because love is a fruit of the Spirit. But access? That’s a privilege. And not everyone respects it when they have it.

    Guard your peace. Protect your purpose.
    And love people well…even if it’s from the other side of a closed door.

  • 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.

  • 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.

  • The Darkest Day, The Brightest Light (Good Friday)

    It’s a strange name, isn’t it? Good Friday.
    The day we remember the brutal beating, humiliation, and public execution of the only perfect man to ever walk the earth, and we call it good? On the surface, it sounds twisted. A crown of thorns. Stripped bare. Spit on by the very people He came to save. Nails in His hands and feet. Blood running down a splintered cross. Where is the good in that?

    But the goodness isn’t in the suffering itself. The goodness is in what the suffering accomplished.

    Good Friday is good because it was the day the debt was paid in full. The day mercy triumphed over judgment. The day sin was sentenced, not you. The day death lost its grip. The day the veil tore from top to bottom. God no longer distant, but now accessible.
    It’s good because the wrath that should’ve fallen on us was poured out on Him instead. And He took it willingly.

    It’s the day Heaven looked down and saw the greatest injustice the world has ever known. The day an innocent man condemned, and yet, it was the greatest display of love history will ever witness. With His arms stretched out wide, he showed how much he loves you.

    Good Friday is good because it was never about nails holding Him there. Love did that.
    He could’ve called down angels. He could’ve ended it with a word. But He stayed. For you.
    He stayed because He saw past the cross. Past the tomb. Past the pain. He saw the rescue. He saw your face.

    It’s good because while the world was mocking Him, He was forgiving them.
    While they were jeering, He was redeeming.
    While they were killing Him, He was saving them. And make no mistake, this wasn’t the tragic end of a good man’s life. This was the victory march of a King. He wasn’t taken. He offered Himself. He wasn’t defeated. He conquered. He wasn’t destroyed. He fulfilled.

    Good Friday is good because Sunday is coming. The cross wasn’t the end. It was the bridge. And now, because of that bloody, beautiful Friday, we walk across it, redeemed.

    So yes, it’s good. It’s heart-wrenching. It’s sobering. It’s holy, and it’s good.

    Because on that dark day, light broke through, and the Son of God, broken and poured out, gave birth to the only hope this world has ever known.

    That’s why Good Friday is good.

  • 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.