Daily Reflections From God's Word

Tag: christianity

  • Untangling the Mess: Peace in the Middle of Chaos

    “I ask You to smooth out the tangled up places in my life…”

    That’s how I began a journal entry dated August 23, 2023. And truthfully? I could’ve written that line yesterday.

    Because life—real, raw, day-in-day-out life—is full of tangled-up places. Plans fall through. People disappoint. Communication breaks down. You try to do what’s right, but your efforts get twisted by someone else’s perspective, or worse—by silence. One situation leads to another, and before you know it, you’re stuck in a web of misunderstandings, emotional debris, and spiritual fatigue.

    We don’t talk about that part enough. We rush to fix. We mask it with positivity. But the truth is: life is messy, and the longer we pretend it’s not, the further we drift from the only One who can do something with the mess.

    God doesn’t need your situation to be neat and tidy before He can work. He specializes in taking what’s tangled and making it whole.

    1 Chronicles 16:11 (NKJV) says,

    “Seek the Lord and His strength; Seek His face evermore!”

    That’s not a one-time action—it’s a lifestyle. We don’t just run to God in crisis. We learn to seek His face—His presence, His character, His will—continually. Especially when life looks like a mess of string we can’t sort out.

    And here’s the shift: Peace doesn’t come from getting answers. It comes from getting God.

    “The Lord is my portion,” says my soul, “Therefore I hope in Him!”
    (Lamentations 3:24, NKJV)

    If the Lord is your portion, then it means you don’t need to see the outcome to find rest. You don’t need resolution to find peace. Because He is enough—even in the uncertainty.

    Let’s be real: sometimes we keep ourselves tied up in knots trying to understand everything, fix everyone, or manage every angle. But Isaiah 26:3 offers a better way:

    “You will keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on You, because he trusts in You.”

    God’s peace doesn’t come after the storm. It comes in the middle of it—when our mind is stayed (anchored, fixed) on Him.

    Philippians 4:6–7 (NKJV) ties it all together:

    “Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God; and the peace of God… will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.”

    That’s the process. We bring Him the mess—not once, but daily. We lay it down in prayer, thank Him for who He is, and then trust Him to guard our hearts with a peace that doesn’t always make sense—but always holds firm.

    So if you’re in a tangled season, don’t pull away from God. Press in. Stop rehearsing the mess and start releasing it. The Lord is your portion. Not clarity. Not closure. Him.

    And He’s never failed to untangle what we surrender into His hands.

    Reflection Questions:

    • What tangled area of your life needs God’s peace right now?
    • Have you been seeking His face or just His hand?
    • What’s one thing you need to release to Him today?

  • What if Trusting God Means Letting Go of the Plan?

    “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths.” — Proverbs 3:5–6 (NKJV)

    This verse is popular, sure. But lived out? It’s a battleground.

    Let’s start here: Your heart wants control.
    You want clarity. You want steps A through Z laid out before you say yes. But God rarely works that way. Why? Because He’s not trying to grow your comfort. He’s trying to grow your faith.

    And faith, by definition, means trusting what you cannot see (Hebrews 11:1). That’s why the command starts with: “Trust in the Lord with all your heart.” No back-up plans. No “if this doesn’t work out” safety nets. This kind of trust says, “Even if it doesn’t make sense—I’m in.”

    “Lean not on your own understanding.”
    This is where we struggle the most. Your understanding might be based on trauma, pride, or fear. God doesn’t ask us to discard wisdom, but He warns us not to rely on it above His Word. In fact, Jeremiah 17:9 reminds us just how deceived we can be:

    “The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked; who can know it?”

    So why would we trust our own thoughts more than His?

    “In all your ways acknowledge Him.”
    This is about submission. Invite God into the process. Not just when it’s urgent—but in everything. Invite Him into the budget, the relationship, the business, the parenting, the daily grind. This is how He becomes Lord of your life—not just Savior of your soul.

    “And He shall direct your paths.”
    God’s direction isn’t always obvious. But it is always intentional. Sometimes He redirects through delay. Sometimes He leads through loss. But if He’s leading, it’s never aimless. The path may not be easy, but it’s right.

    🧠 Reflect:

    • Where are you leaning on your own understanding instead of God’s Word?
    • Are there areas in your life where you’ve stopped acknowledging Him?
    • What would it look like for you to trust God with all your heart—no reservations?

    🙏 Prayer:
    Lord, I confess that I like control. I confess I often lean on what I understand instead of who You are. Teach me to trust You fully. Help me surrender the outcome and walk in faith. I believe You will direct my steps—even when I don’t know where they’re going. In Jesus’ name, amen.

  • Don’t Quit at 40: The Power of Day 41

    The number 40 appears over and over in Scripture. It’s the number of testing, trial, and preparation.

    It rained 40 days. On day 41, Noah saw dry land.

    Moses fasted and received God’s commandments on day 41.

    Israel wandered 40 years. Year 41? They entered the land.

    Goliath shouted threats for 40 days. On day 41, David shut his mouth for good.

    Jonah warned Nineveh for 40 days. Day 41, God relented.

    Jesus fasted and was tempted for 40 days. Day 41, Satan was gone.

    After resurrection, Jesus appeared for 40 days. Day 41? He ascended.

    What’s the pattern? Trial ends. Transition begins.

    You might be stuck in your “40.” It feels like a no-man’s land—like nothing’s happening. Like God’s not moving. But Daniel prayed and fasted for 21 days before the angel broke through. And the angel said something worth writing on your wall:

    “I have come because of your words.” (Daniel 10:12)

    You have no idea what’s moving because of your prayers. There’s resistance. There’s warfare. There’s testing. But don’t give up.

    Galatians 6:9 reminds us:

    “Let us not grow weary while doing good, for in due season we shall reap if we do not lose heart.”

    We talk about Day 1 faith. Let’s talk about Day 41 faith—the kind that survives 40 days of silence, struggle, and opposition. The kind that refuses to quit one day before the miracle.

    Your 41 is coming.

    God is not done.

    Don’t stop now.

  • “Everyone Needs a Little Jesus”—But Do We Want the Real One?

    “And He is before all things, and in Him all things consist. And He is the head of the body, the church… that in all things He may have the preeminence.” Colossians 1:17-18 (NKJV)

    Not long ago, I came across a story that’s stuck with me. A man was walking through town when he was approached by a homeless man—ragged, weathered, and smiling. He held out his hand for a shake, but instead of letting go, he pressed something small into the man’s palm.

    It was a tiny plastic Jesus figurine.

    Bright yellow sash. Three words: “Jesus loves you.”

    And then came the line: “Everyone needs a little Jesus.”

    Sounds innocent enough, right? But the deeper meaning of that phrase hit hard—and it should.

    Because that’s what we’ve done to Jesus in this culture.

    We’ve shrunk Him down. Sanded off the rough edges.

    We’ve made Him into something little—a feel-good mascot for our struggles, a backup plan for our regrets, a pocket-sized god we consult when life gets uncomfortable.

    We want a Jesus who forgives but never confronts.

    Who comforts but never commands.

    Who gives peace, but doesn’t call us to war against sin.

    A Jesus small enough to fit into our schedule, but not big enough to rearrange our priorities.

    But Scripture paints a different picture.

    The real Jesus is loving—unfailingly so. He welcomes the children, weeps with the broken, and meets us in our darkest hour.

    But He’s also the same Jesus who turned over tables in the temple. He rebuked religious hypocrisy. He walked straight into demonic strongholds and sent legions fleeing. He calmed storms, raised the dead, and said, “Follow Me” without any fine print.

    And let’s be clear—when Jesus says, “Follow Me,” He’s not asking to join your journey.

    He’s telling you to surrender yours and join His.

    He’s not here to improve your life. He came to take it over.

    Colossians 1 says, “In all things, He must have the preeminence.”

    Not prominence.

    Not participation.

    Preeminence.

    That means Jesus doesn’t play second fiddle. He’s not an addition to your plans—He is the plan.

    And if He’s not Lord of all, then He’s not Lord at all.

    It’s time to stop settling for a “little Jesus” and get real about the Lord of glory.

    He doesn’t fit in your pocket—He holds the universe in His hand.

    He doesn’t just comfort you—He commands you.

    He doesn’t just bless you—He bought you.

    Are you following the real Jesus—or just a version that doesn’t confront your comfort zone?

    Ask the Holy Spirit to reveal any areas of your life where Jesus is present but not preeminent. Then repent, surrender, and let Him take His rightful place—not just in your heart, but over your whole life.

  • The Amalekite You Spared Will Be the One That Finishes You

    Scripture Focus: “He also took Agag king of the Amalekites alive, and utterly destroyed all the people with the edge of the sword.” —1 Samuel 15:8 NKJV

    “Because you have rejected the word of the Lord, He also has rejected you from being king.” —1 Samuel 15:23 NKJV

    “So I stood over him and killed him, because I was sure that he could not live after he had fallen.” —2 Samuel 1:10 NKJV

    We don’t talk enough about how dangerous partial obedience really is.

    Saul was king. Appointed by God, chosen for a divine purpose, equipped with authority and opportunity. And when God gave him a clear directive—wipe out the Amalekites, every one of them—he went to war, but didn’t follow through. He killed the people, sure. But he spared Agag, their king. Maybe it seemed more merciful. Maybe more strategic. Maybe he wanted a trophy of war. Who knows?

    But here’s what we do know: God saw it as rebellion. Not just a misstep. Not just a mistake. Not a “gray area.”Rebellion.

    And it cost Saul the throne.

    Samuel didn’t sugar-coat it:

    “To obey is better than sacrifice, and to heed than the fat of rams. For rebellion is as the sin of witchcraft, and stubbornness is as iniquity and idolatry.” (1 Sam. 15:22–23)

    Let that sink in. God compares rebellion—not doing what He clearly told you to do—to witchcraft. That’s not just harsh. That’s a divine indictment.

    Because God doesn’t want lip-service. He doesn’t want sacrifices if they come from a heart that’s selectively obedient. Obedience is the measuring stick—not activity, not emotion, not ritual. Just raw, humble obedience.

    But Saul didn’t get it.

    He thought a sacrifice would smooth it over. He thought partial obedience plus good intentions was enough. He thought sparing Agag wouldn’t matter.

    Fast forward to 2 Samuel 1. Saul is mortally wounded, barely clinging to life. And who shows up?

    An Amalekite.The very people Saul refused to destroy. The very enemy God told him to wipe out. The sin that wasn’t fully dealt with now finishes him off.

    “So I stood over him and killed him,” the Amalekite said, “because I was sure that he could not live after he had fallen.” (2 Sam. 1:10)

    Saul’s delayed obedience ended in destruction. The enemy he spared became the agent of his demise.

    So let’s get honest. What Amalekite are you sparing?

    What sin have you convinced yourself you can “manage”?

    What compromise are you justifying because “it’s not that bad”?

    What command of God have you partially obeyed while trying to dress it up with good works?

    Maybe it’s pride. Maybe it’s lust. Maybe it’s unforgiveness. Maybe it’s that habit you’ve renamed a “struggle” just so you don’t have to repent of it.

    Whatever it is—God told you to kill it. Not cage it. Not hide it. Not clean it up and put a robe on it like Saul probably did with Agag. He said destroy it.

    And if you don’t—it will come back. It might take time. It might wait until you’re tired, broken, or spiritually exposed. But it will come back.

    The thing you’re trying to control will one day control you.

    The sin you’re feeding will one day feed on you.

    Don’t be fooled by the delay. Just because the Amalekite hasn’t struck yet doesn’t mean judgment isn’t coming. God’s patience is mercy, not permission.

    Obedience isn’t optional.

    If God says walk away from the relationship, walk.

    If God says shut the door to that addiction, shut it.

    If God says confess, surrender, repent—do it now.

    Because partial obedience is still disobedience.

    And disobedience always carries consequences.

    Reflection Questions:

    1. What has God told you to completely remove from your life that you’ve been sparing or managing?

    2. Are you offering sacrifice (church attendance, service, giving) to try to cover up an area of rebellion?

    3. Is there any area where you’ve obeyed 80%, but left the final 20% untouched because it’s painful or inconvenient?

    Today’s Prayer: Lord, I don’t want to offer You empty sacrifices while keeping parts of my life in rebellion. I don’t want to play games with my sin. Show me the Amalekites I’ve spared. Expose them. Make me ruthless about killing what You’ve called cursed. I choose obedience—total, immediate, uncomfortable obedience. Help me walk in surrender. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

  • Worship With Ashes Still on You: A Grown-Up Faith That Won’t Let Go

    Text: Job 1:20–22; Job 2:7–10; Job 13:15–16 (NKJV)

    There’s a moment in Job’s story that stops me cold every time.

    It’s not when he loses his livestock, or his house, or even his health.

    It’s not even when he buries his children.

    It’s what he does next that breaks me open.

    “Then Job arose, tore his robe, and shaved his head; and he fell to the ground and worshiped.” (Job 1:20, NKJV)

    Worship.

    Not after the storm passed.
    Not when the healing came.
    Not when God explained everything.

    Right in the thick of ruin, with his heart in pieces and the air still thick with grief, Job chose to worship.

    That’s not just faith. That’s grown-up faith.

    What Does Grown-Up Faith Look Like?

    We’ve heard the phrase “childlike faith” preached from the pulpit—simple trust, dependence, wonder. And that’s good. It’s biblical. But there’s another side to spiritual maturity that doesn’t get nearly as much airtime.

    Grown-up faith doesn’t always get answers.
    It doesn’t always feel God’s presence.
    It doesn’t always see the reward.
    But it remains faithful anyway.

    It’s the kind of faith that keeps showing up at the altar when your prayers seem to bounce off the ceiling.
    It’s the kind of faith that keeps your Bible open even while your world is closing in.
    It’s the kind of faith that tears its robe in grief and still says, “Blessed be the name of the Lord.”

    “Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return there.
    The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away;
    Blessed be the name of the Lord.”     (Job 1:21, NKJV)

    Let that sink in. Job didn’t worship because he understood. He worshiped because he trusted—and trust doesn’t need an explanation when it’s rooted in relationship.

    The Real Test of Integrity

    Job didn’t just endure suffering—he was stripped bare in every way. Financially. Relationally. Physically. Emotionally. And then came the voice of the person who should’ve stood beside him in solidarity—his wife.

    “Do you still hold fast to your integrity? Curse God and die!”
    But he said to her, “You speak as one of the foolish women speaks. Shall we indeed accept good from God, and shall we not accept adversity?” (Job 2:9–10, NKJV)

    He didn’t rebuke her harshly. He didn’t retaliate with bitterness. But he refused to let go of his integrity.

    There it is.
    Right there is the battle line we all face.

    Do we have a faith that endures adversity? Or do we only serve God when the blessings flow?

    Grown-up faith doesn’t just praise in the light—it clings in the dark. It holds on when the feelings fade. It says, “I still believe” even when every earthly reason not to is staring you down.

    “Though He slay me, yet will I trust Him. Even so, I will defend my own ways before Him. He also shall be my salvation.” (Job 13:15–16, NKJV)

    Job wasn’t in denial. He wrestled. He asked questions. He poured out raw grief and soul-deep confusion. But he never let go of the God who had let grief touch his life.

    That’s grown-up faith.

    A Mirror for the Modern Church

    Let’s be real. We’re not very good at suffering.

    We’ve built a brand of Christianity that sells the blessings of God but rarely prepares people for the battle. We hand out coffee mugs that say, “God is good,” but don’t know what to say when a believer is drowning in loss and no rescue boat comes.

    We’ve started measuring our spirituality by how “blessed” we appear.
    But what if the truest test of faith is what we do when the blessings disappear?

    Can you still praise when your body is sick?
    Can you still pray when your heart is shattered?
    Can you still stand when it feels like God Himself allowed the storm?

    That’s the crossroads. That’s where integrity is either refined or abandoned.

    Let’s Be Honest With Ourselves

    If you’ve been walking through a season of fire—where nothing makes sense and God feels silent—I want to speak to you gently but truthfully:

    Don’t confuse God’s silence with His absence.
    Don’t confuse your pain with His punishment.
    And don’t confuse your confusion with faithlessness.

    Sometimes faith is loud and victorious.
    Other times it’s quiet and stubborn—barely a whisper.
    But if you’re still clinging? Still choosing to worship even while you bleed?

    Then you’ve got grown-up faith, my friend. And it’s rare. And it’s beautiful.

    Final Questions for Reflection:

    • What’s the condition of your faith when God doesn’t answer?
    • Is your relationship with Him built on who He is—or just what He gives?
    • Have you ever praised God through tears instead of triumph? What did that moment change in you?
    • What does it mean to you to “worship with ashes still on your skin”?

    Let’s not settle for a faith of convenience.

    Let’s be a people who worship not just when God gives, but also when He takes away.
    Let’s carry a faith that can stand in the furnace—not because we understand, but because we know the One who walks in the fire with us.

  • “Such Were Some of You” Isn’t a Shameful Reminder. It’s a Victory Cry.

    1 Corinthians 6:11 (NKJV)“And such were some of you. But you were washed, but you were sanctified, but you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus and by the Spirit of our God.”

    Some of y’all are walking around like you’re still wearing prison clothes—but the chains fell off ages ago.

    There’s a lie floating around modern Christianity that says once you’re saved, your past should be hidden.

    Buried.

    Never brought up again.

    That it’s somehow more “spiritual” to keep your testimony locked away like some forgotten file in heaven’s archives.

    But Scripture doesn’t agree. God doesn’t agree.

    Paul didn’t pull any punches when he wrote to the Corinthians. He gave a laundry list of what they used to be—idolaters, fornicators, drunkards, homosexuals, thieves, revilers. And then, with that bold fire only the Spirit gives, he said: “And such were some of you.”

    Not “are.”

    Not “struggling with.”

    Were.

    That one word is a declaration of war against the idea that we’re forever stuck in our sin. That one word is a line in the sand that says, “Yeah, I used to live like hell—but I met the One who kicked hell’s teeth in and bought my freedom with His blood.” And I refuse to be ashamed of that.

    Deliverance is not a dirty word. It’s a reason to rejoice.

    But we treat it like it’s taboo. We whisper around it. We sanitize our testimonies. We try to pretty them up like we’re trying to win a Christian PR award.

    Why?

    Because the enemy wants us quiet. He knows your testimony is dangerous. He knows someone drowning in the same pit God dragged you out of might finally believe there’s hope—if only they heard your story.

    Psalm 107:2 doesn’t suggest we speak—it commands it:

    “Let the redeemed of the Lord say so, whom He has redeemed from the hand of the enemy.”

    You were snatched from death.

    Rescued from addiction.

    Restored from sexual sin.

    Pulled from bitterness, pride, perversion, or whatever else had its claws in you.

    Why in the world would you keep that to yourself?

    That doesn’t glorify sin—it glorifies the God who crushed it.

    Hear me on this: your past is not your identity, but it is part of your testimony.

    And your testimony isn’t just for you—it’s for the broken, the bound, the bitter ones who think they’re too far gone.

    It’s for the teenage girl convinced her worth is in her body.

    It’s for the man trapped in pornography who thinks God’s done with him.

    It’s for the alcoholic, the self-harmer, the self-righteous, and the silent.

    And maybe—just maybe—it’s for you, too.

    To remind you that your “were” didn’t win.

    To remind you that deliverance wasn’t a moment—it’s a lifestyle.

    And to remind you that you’re still free.

    Romans 6:6 says,

    “Knowing this, that our old man was crucified with Him, that the body of sin might be done away with…”

    Done away with—not managed. Not hidden. Dead and gone.So what are we doing trying to resurrect the silence?

    Speak up.

    Someone needs to hear what you’ve been through. Not to compare scars, but to point to the Healer. Not to dwell on your mess, but to declare the mercy of the One who brought you through.You’re not who you used to be. And you’re not the only one who needs to know it.

    Here’s a challenge for you today:What part of your story are you still ashamed to share? Ask the Lord to redeem that silence. Pray for boldness. And then look for someone who needs to hear what God has done for you. Because deliverance isn’t meant to be buried—it’s meant to be broadcast.

  • When to Walk Away: Pearls, Pigs, and Pointless Arguments

    Matthew 7:6 NKJV – “Do not give what is holy to the dogs; nor cast your pearls before swine, lest they trample them under their feet, and turn and tear you in pieces.”

    There’s a difference between testifying and debating. One feeds the hungry. The other throws food to pigs. Jesus wasn’t being cruel when He said this—He was being strategic. He knew that not every heart is ready, and not every conversation is worth your breath.

    When I was in 8th grade, two brothers transferred into my school. They were “Christians,” at least in the loud, in-your-face sense. They carried Bibles everywhere, wore Jesus t-shirts, and they loved to argue—especially about doctrine. They were always looking for a fight. And one day they brought it to me.

    They started criticizing the holiness standards taught by my pastor—women wearing skirts, long hair, no makeup; men keeping short hair, modest dress, no tank tops. Their own hair was long and they honestly looked like slobs. They wanted to argue. Badly.

    Finally, one of them smugly asked, “What if, when you get to heaven, you find out all those rules weren’t necessary?”

    I wasn’t sure how to respond. So I shot up a prayer in my head and just asked the Lord for words. What came out surprised even me:

    “What if, when you die and face God, you find out they actually were necessary? What then?”

    And I walked away.

    No yelling.

    No debate.

    Just a simple, sobering question—and silence.

    I left them to think about it.

    That’s the wisdom of Matthew 7:6. There are moments when engaging is foolish. Some people aren’t hungry for truth—they’re hungry for conflict. They want to win, not learn. And when you try to hand something sacred to someone who only wants a fight, Jesus says you’ll get hurt. “They will trample it under their feet, and turn and tear you in pieces.”

    Proverbs backs Jesus up on this:

    “He who corrects a scoffer gets shame for himself, and he who rebukes a wicked man only harms himself.” (Proverbs 9:7)

    “Do not speak in the hearing of a fool, for he will despise the wisdom of your words.” (Proverbs 23:9)

    “Answer not a fool according to his folly, lest you also be like him.” (Proverbs 26:4)

    At some point, you’ve got to know when to plant seed—and when to shake the dust off your feet.

    And if you think that sounds harsh, look at Jesus. Sometimes He answered the Pharisees—usually with a parable or a piercing question that exposed their hearts. Other times? He said nothing. Just stood there. Silent. He knew the difference between a trap and a teachable moment. He wasn’t baited into endless arguments. He spoke truth with purpose—not performance.

    You don’t have to prove anything to a fool. The truth speaks for itself. Just make sure you don’t throw your pearls in the mud. They’re too valuable.

  • One Compass. One Master. Choose Wisely.

    One Compass. One Master. Choose Wisely.

    Matthew 6:24 (NKJV) is one of those verses that doesn’t leave much room for nuance:

    “No one can serve two masters; for either he will hate the one and love the other, or else he will be loyal to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and mammon.”

    Jesus didn’t say it would be difficult to serve two masters.

    He said it would be impossible.

    We like to believe we can juggle both—church on Sunday, compromise on Monday. A foot in the Spirit and a foot in the world. But that’s not how loyalty works.

    Every heart has a compass, and it only points in one direction at a time. North toward Christ—or South toward compromise. East toward comfort—or West toward culture. You may claim both, but your choices reveal the truth.

    This is not a warning to the lost.

    This is a wake-up call to the churched.

    Revelation 2:4 (NKJV) hits like a gut punch:

    “Nevertheless I have this against you, that you have left your first love.”

    Not lost.

    Left.

    That implies direction.

    Movement.

    Intent.

    We didn’t just wander off like spiritual toddlers. We shifted our loyalty—sometimes slowly, sometimes boldly—but always intentionally.

    Because living for God must be done with intentionality.

    We want the peace of God without the discipline of following Him.

    We post Scripture on our socials while bingeing filth on our screens.

    We lift our hands in worship, then tear people down with gossip.

    We cry out for direction but ignore the Word already given.

    Then, after all that, we wonder why we feel spiritually dry, directionless, and disillusioned.

    James 1:6–8 (NKJV) names the problem:

    “But let him ask in faith, with no doubting, for he who doubts is like a wave of the sea driven and tossed by the wind. For let not that man suppose that he will receive anything from the Lord; he is a double-minded man, unstable in all his ways.”

    A double-minded man.

    One foot in, one foot out.

    Always teetering between two worlds.

    It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been in church or what your last spiritual high felt like, if your direction isn’t fixed on Christ, your foundation is already cracking.

    And that brings us to Ephesians 3:16–17 (NKJV):

    “That He would grant you, according to the riches of His glory, to be strengthened with might through His Spirit in the inner man, that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith; that you, being rooted and grounded in love…”

    Discipleship is not about feelings. It’s not about hype. It’s about direction—and foundation. Where are your feet pointed? And what is your heart rooted in?

    If Christ truly dwells in you, there should be evidence. There should be strength in your inner man. There should be spiritual grounding that holds fast when the winds of doubt, culture, or temptation blow. But if you’re divided—if you’re attempting to serve two masters—then instability will follow you like a shadow.

    Psalm 16:11 (NKJV) offers both a promise and a choice:

    “You will show me the path of life; in Your presence is fullness of joy; at Your right hand are pleasures forevermore.”

    That’s the direction. That’s North. But it’s not automatic. That path has to be chosen, walked, and guarded.

    You don’t coast into holiness. You choose it. You pursue it. You turn your back on everything else—not perfectly, but purposefully.

    So, let’s get brutally honest: Where is your compass pointing?What are your daily decisions saying about who your Master really is?

    Have you left your first love while convincing yourself you’re still devoted?

    You can’t have both. Not forever. One Master will win.

    Let it be Jesus.

    So let’s talk about it: What part of your walk with God needs course correction? Let’s open the conversation and challenge each other toward obedience and clarity.

  • When Was the Last Time Discipleship Cost You Something?

    “…To be a disciple of Jesus is going to cost you something…”

    That quote hit me square between the eyes. Because when I held it up to my own life, I had to admit something uncomfortable: I don’t know that I’ve ever truly lived that kind of discipleship. Not consistently. Not fully.

    Jesus didn’t mince words. The call to follow Him was direct, costly, and repeated.

    Matthew 16:24. Mark 8:34. Mark 10:21. Luke 9:23

    That phrase—“take up your cross and follow Me”—isn’t some poetic metaphor for mild inconvenience. It was a death sentence. A surrender of will. And the fact that all three Synoptic Gospels include it—Mark more than once—tells us just how central it is to the Christian life.

    Discipleship isn’t a suggestion. It’s a command.

    And we’ve spent far too much time reshaping that command into something manageable.

    Comfortable.

    Instagrammable.

    We’ve turned “take up your cross” into a cozy quote rather than a call to daily death to self.

    Let’s be brutally honest: when was the last time following Jesus actually cost you something?

    Not just time.

    Not just a tithe.

    But real, personal sacrifice.

    Something that forced you to change your plans, stretch your faith, or confront your pride?

    We love the verses about being blessed. We highlight the promises of peace and provision. But we skip over the ones about obedience, sacrifice, and suffering. We love the idea of being “called,” but wrestle when that calling demands discomfort.

    That’s not legalism. That’s lordship.

    And Jesus made it crystal clear:

    “If anyone desires to come after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow Me.” (Luke 9:23)

    He didn’t say, “Take up your dreams.”

    He said, “Take up your cross.”

    That cross is not a religious accessory.

    It’s a declaration of surrender. It means laying down your rights.

    It means serving people you don’t like, giving when it hurts, forgiving when it’s undeserved, and going where you’d rather not go.

    Jesus said in Matthew 25:35–40 that whatever we do for “the least of these,” we do for Him. That means giving a sandwich to the hungry, a drink to the thirsty, a warm welcome to the outcast, and our time to those who can’t repay it.

    Discipleship means getting out of our comfort zones.

    Rolling up our sleeves.

    Doing the hard, often thankless work of loving people well in Jesus’ name.

    It’s not flashy. It’s not always fun. But it’s faithful.

    So here’s the challenge:

    What has your faith cost you lately?

    What have you surrendered—not just out of guilt, but out of obedience?

    May we be found faithful—not just in belief, but in obedience.

    Not just in words, but in sacrifice.

    Not just on Sunday—but every single day.