Blog

Tag: Peace

  • 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.

  • 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.

  • The Great Deception

    Satan’s Strategy: Making Sin Look Normal and Righteousness Look Strange. One of the greatest deceptions the enemy has ever pulled off is making sin look normal, even desirable, while painting righteousness as outdated, boring, judgmental, or downright strange. This isn’t just a tactic; it’s a strategy deeply embedded in our culture, our entertainment, our education systems, and even our conversations.

    Think about it. What used to be considered shameful is now celebrated. What was once honorable is now mocked. Morality has been flipped on its head, and people hardly blink an eye. It’s not by accident. It’s a calculated war on truth, and it’s spiritual at its core.

    Satan doesn’t show up in a red suit with horns. He shows up in Netflix shows, music lyrics, social media trends, and persuasive ideologies. He whispers, “Do what makes you happy,” and convinces the world that self is god. He repackages rebellion as freedom and convinces us that boundaries are chains rather than protection.

    Meanwhile, righteousness, the pursuit of holiness, integrity, and obedience to God gets labeled as “judgmental,” “narrow-minded,” or “fanatical.” Christians who stand for truth with love are ridiculed, silenced, or canceled. Why? Because light exposes darkness, and darkness hates being exposed.

    The Bible warned us: “Woe to those who call evil good and good evil, who put darkness for light and light for darkness…” (Isaiah 5:20). We’re living in that reality. What Satan couldn’t accomplish through force, he’s achieving through subtle normalization.

    But here’s the truth: God is still on the throne. Holiness is still beautiful. Purity still matters. Obedience is still worth it. And the gospel is still the power of God unto salvation.

    Don’t be surprised when the world calls you strange for following Jesus. Be encouraged. You’re not crazy, you’re set apart. Don’t compromise to fit in with a world that’s falling apart. Stand firm, be bold, and let your life reflect a righteousness that points others to the only One who can truly save.

    In a world where sin is dressed up as freedom, choose the narrow road. It may be unpopular, but it leads to life.

  • I Just Want to See Everyone Win

    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.

  • Humbled At The Cross

    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.