Thoughts for the Day

Tag: Faith

  • But If Not

    But If Not

    Daniel 3:16–18 NKJV

    They knew God was able.

    But they did not know what God would do.

    That is the tension at the center of Daniel 3.

    Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-Nego stood before an enraged king with a furnace burning nearby. Nebuchadnezzar had given them one more opportunity to bow before the image he had made. If they complied, they could return to their positions and continue their lives in Babylon. If they refused, they would be thrown into the fire.

    The fire had not touched them… yet.

    They could still avoid it.

    All they had to do was bow.

    Instead, they answered:

    “O Nebuchadnezzar, we have no need to answer you in this matter. If that is the case, our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the burning fiery furnace, and He will deliver us from your hand, O king. But if not, let it be known to you, O king, that we do not serve your gods, nor will we worship the gold image which you have set up.”
    — Daniel 3:16–18 NKJV

    The King James says, “O Nebuchadnezzar, we are not careful to answer thee…”

    Their answer moved through three declarations:

    Our God is able.

    But if not.

    We will not bow.

    The first declaration was faith.

    They did not minimize the danger.
    They did not pretend the flames were harmless or that Nebuchadnezzar lacked the power to carry out his threat.
    And their confidence was not in their position, their influence, or their ability to survive.

    Their confidence was in God.

    The furnace was real, but it was not greater than Him. The king had authority, but he did not have final authority. God was able to deliver them from the fire and from the hand of Nebuchadnezzar.

    Faith still begins there.

    God is able to heal. He is able to restore. He is able to provide. He is able to open the door, change the heart, reverse the decision, and make a way where we cannot see one.

    We should pray boldly. We should bring our needs to God and believe in His power. Surrender is not unbelief, and it is not wrong to ask God for the outcome we desperately desire.

    But confidence in God’s ability is not the same as certainty about His decision.

    The three Hebrews knew what God could do.

    They did not presume to tell Him what He must do.

    That is where their second declaration becomes so important:

    But if not.

    Those words did not weaken their faith. They completed it.

    Without “our God is able”, “but if not” could sound like hopeless resignation.

    Without “but if not”, “our God is able” can become an attempt to control God through religious certainty.

    Together, the two declarations reveal mature trust.

    Faith says God is able.

    Surrender says He will still be God if He does not do what I am asking.

    I have discovered how easy it is to call something trust while quietly attaching conditions to it.

    I will trust God if He heals.

    I will keep serving if the door eventually opens.

    I will remain faithful if the sacrifice produces something I can see.

    I will obey if He protects me from the consequences.

    I will trust Him if the story ends the way I believe it should.

    But that is not complete surrender. It says, “God, I will trust You only if You give me the outcome I want.” Instead of surrendering our will to Him, we are asking Him to surrender His will to ours.

    Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-Nego refused to make that bargain.

    They would not worship the golden image Nebuchadnezzar had erected. Neither would they turn deliverance into an idol of their own.

    They did not know whether they would walk out of the furnace. They were not promised that the flames would leave them untouched. What they knew was that God’s worthiness did not depend upon their survival.

    He was worthy before the answer.

    He would remain worthy within the fire.

    He would still be worthy if their story ended in a way they would never have chosen.

    That brought them to the third declaration:

    We will not bow.

    They could not control Nebuchadnezzar.

    They could not control the furnace.

    They could not control whether God would rescue them.

    They could decide whom they would worship.

    There is freedom in recognizing that difference.

    We spend enormous amounts of strength trying to control decisions that belong to God, responses that belong to other people, and outcomes no human being can guarantee. We want to determine how quickly the answer comes, how the story develops, and what obedience will cost.

    But the outcome belongs to God.

    Faithfulness belongs to us.

    Trust does not mean we stop caring about the outcome. The three Hebrews were not eager to burn. Their willingness to die did not mean they had no desire to live. Surrender does not require us to become detached, emotionless, or indifferent.

    It means the outcome will not become our master.

    It means we can ask God for deliverance without demanding it as the price of our devotion.

    It means we can place the request before Him while leaving the throne occupied by Him.

    Most of us will never stand before a literal furnace. But every believer eventually reaches a place where God’s ability is unquestioned and His decision remains unknown.

    We know He can intervene.

    We do not know whether He will intervene in the way we desire.

    That is when “but if not” stops being a phrase from an ancient story and becomes the language of personal surrender.

    If the answer is no, does God retain my worship?

    If the door remains closed, does He retain my obedience?

    If the healing does not come, does He retain my trust?

    If the story takes a road I would never choose, does He remain worthy?

    The answer cannot be grounded in our ability to predict the ending. It must be grounded in the character of the God to whom we have entrusted it.

    God’s goodness is not established by our comfort.

    His faithfulness is not measured by the ease of our lives.

    His worthiness does not rise and fall with the outcome of our prayers.

    The three Hebrews stood before the king without knowing what would happen next. Their obedience was complete before deliverance became visible.

    Perhaps that is the deepest meaning of “but if not.”

    It is not faith giving way to doubt.

    It is faith releasing its demand for control.

    It is worship that no longer belongs to an answer, an outcome, or an explanation.

    Our God is able.

    But if not,

    He is still God.

    And we will not bow.

  • Another Way In

    Another Way In

    Standing at El Morro in Old San Juan, it is difficult not to be impressed by its strength.

    For centuries, Castillo San Felipe del Morro stood guard over the entrance to San Juan Bay. Massive walls. Cannons aimed toward the sea. A commanding position overlooking the harbor.

    It was built for one purpose:

    See the enemy coming—and stop him before he gets through.

    And from the sea, El Morro was remarkably effective.

    But history teaches us something important.

    When attacking forces discovered how difficult it was to defeat San Juan through its strongest defenses, they looked for another way.

    They came from the land.

    They probed the defenses.

    They searched for the place that wasn’t as well protected.

    And our adversary hasn’t changed his strategy.

    ⸻

    He Doesn’t Have To Break Your Strongest Wall

    Some of us have built enormous spiritual defenses around the places where we’ve already fought battles.

    We’ve learned.

    We’ve grown.

    We’ve established boundaries.

    We’ve memorized the Scriptures.

    We’ve recognized the warning signs.

    The enemy may have attacked that wall a hundred times—and discovered that it isn’t moving.

    But don’t confuse his silence with surrender.

    If the enemy cannot get through the wall, he will start walking around it.

    Peter warned us:

    “Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour.” ~1 Peter 5:8~

    Notice the language.

    Walketh about. Seeking.

    The enemy isn’t merely attacking.

    He’s looking.

    Watching.

    Searching for another way in.

    ⸻

    Sometimes He Sends a Scout First

    An invading army doesn’t always begin with thousands of soldiers charging the wall.

    Sometimes it begins with reconnaissance.

    Something small.

    Something seemingly insignificant.

    Something that doesn’t appear threatening enough to sound the alarm.

    And spiritually, compromise often begins the same way.

    It doesn’t announce:

    I’m here to destroy your marriage.

    I’m here to ruin your testimony.

    I’m here to pull you away from God.

    Instead, it whispers:

    There’s nothing wrong with this.

    Just this once.

    You deserve this.

    Nobody will ever know.

    You’re strong enough to handle it.

    Sometimes the scout may even look friendly.

    It may speak our language.

    It may appeal to something familiar.

    It may simply ask for a little room.

    And Paul warned:

    “Neither give place to the devil.” ~Ephesians 4:27

    He doesn’t have to possess the entire fortress to begin gaining ground.

    He only needs a place.

    ⸻

    Where Is Your Wall Unguarded?

    That’s the uncomfortable question El Morro asks us.

    We usually know where our strongest walls are.

    But what about the places we aren’t watching?

    Maybe it’s resentment we’ve justified.

    Attention we’ve begun enjoying a little too much.

    A friendship where boundaries have slowly moved.

    Something we’re watching that we once wouldn’t have watched.

    A private thought we’ve stopped challenging.

    A disappointment with God we’ve stopped talking to Him about.

    None of those things necessarily means the fortress has fallen.

    But they may reveal something important:

    where the wall isn’t being watched.

    The enemy doesn’t need to destroy your strongest wall if you’ll leave another gate unguarded.

    ⸻

    Keep Watch

    Peter’s warning doesn’t end with the enemy.

    Neither should ours.

    “Whom resist stedfast in the faith…” ~1 Peter 5:9

    The answer isn’t paranoia.

    It’s vigilance.

    We don’t have to spend our lives frightened of Satan or suspicious of everyone around us.

    We simply need to remain sober.

    Watchful.

    Prayerful.

    Honest enough to recognize our vulnerabilities—and humble enough to guard them.

    El Morro didn’t survive centuries because nobody attacked it.

    It survived because somebody kept watch.

    Don’t mistake the absence of an attack for the absence of an enemy.

    The enemy may simply be walking around the wall.

    Keep watch.

  • Part 2 – The Page That Changed Everything

    Part 2 – The Page That Changed Everything

    Part 2 – The Page That Changed Everything

    Friday looked final.

    The cross stood silent against a darkened sky. Jesus was dead. His body had been wrapped in linen and laid in a borrowed tomb. The stone was rolled into place. The disciples scattered. Hope seemed buried with Him.

    If anyone had written the story that night, they would have ended it there.

    The End.

    But God wasn’t finished writing.

    Before sunrise on the third day, a small group of women made their way to the tomb carrying spices. They weren’t expecting a miracle. They were preparing for a burial.

    Their greatest concern wasn’t whether Jesus would rise. It was much simpler.

    “Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance of the tomb?” (Mark 16:3, NKJV)

    When they arrived, the stone had already been moved.

    The tomb was empty.

    The angel declared the words that forever changed history:

    “He is not here; for He is risen, as He said.” (Matthew 28:6, NKJV)

    The stone wasn’t rolled away so Jesus could get out.

    It was rolled away so the world could look in.

    In that moment, everything changed.

    Death no longer had the final word.

    Sin no longer had the final word.

    Failure no longer had the final word.

    Shame no longer had the final word.

    Suddenly Moses wasn’t just a murderer.

    Gideon wasn’t just afraid.

    Samson wasn’t just blind.

    Peter wasn’t just the man who denied Jesus.

    Saul wasn’t just the persecutor of the church.

    The empty tomb proved what the rest of Scripture had been pointing toward all along:

    God specializes in rewriting impossible stories.

    Maybe today you’re staring at a chapter you never wanted to read.

    Maybe all you can see is loss…

    disappointment…

    unanswered prayers…

    broken dreams.

    Don’t mistake this page for the ending.

    The page that changed everything has already been written.

    Read that again.

    The page that changed everything has already been written.

    The resurrection didn’t erase Friday.

    It redeemed it.

    Think about that.

    Jesus still bore the scars.

    Friday still happened.

    The suffering was real.

    The death was real.

    But Sunday changed what Friday meant.

    That’s redemption.

    God rarely erases our Fridays.

    He redeems them.

    Because Jesus walked out of that tomb, your story is never defined by its darkest chapter. The resurrection settled forever that death doesn’t get the final word.

    Sin doesn’t get the final word.

    Failure doesn’t get the final word.

    Jesus does.

    That’s why Christians don’t merely look back to an empty tomb once a year at Easter.

    We live every day in the hope the resurrection declared.

    Every time it looks like God has reached the end…

    He turns another page.

    Scripture

    “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who according to His abundant mercy has begotten us again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead.”
    —1 Peter 1:3 (NKJV)

  • Don’t Stop Reading Too Soon

    Don’t Stop Reading Too Soon

    “If you’re going to tell my story… tell it all. Don’t tell me about David and Goliath if you don’t tell me about Bathsheba. Don’t tell me about Peter walking on the water if you don’t tell me about him denying Christ. Don’t tell me about Saul becoming Paul if you don’t tell me about him persecuting the Church.”
    — Rev. Ronald LaCombe

    Those words have stayed with me since I first read them.

    Not because they excuse sin.

    Not because they diminish failure.

    But because they remind us of something we often forget.

    A single chapter is not the whole story.

    Imagine if the Bible had ended at some of its darkest moments.

    Moses standing over the body of an Egyptian.

    Gideon hiding in a winepress, fearful of the Midianites.

    Samson, blind and broken, grinding grain for the Philistines.

    David standing on a rooftop instead of a battlefield.

    Peter warming himself beside the fire as he denied even knowing Jesus.

    Saul of Tarsus breathing threats against the Church.

    Manasseh filling Jerusalem with idolatry and innocent blood.

    If the story stopped there, history would remember each of them very differently.

    But God didn’t stop writing.

    That’s one of the things I love most about Scripture.

    It doesn’t sanitize its heroes.

    If the Bible were merely a collection of inspiring legends, those chapters would have quietly disappeared. Noah’s drunkenness would have been omitted. Abraham’s fear would have been edited out. David’s adultery would have remained unmentioned. Peter’s denial would have been forgotten.

    Instead, God left every one of those stories in the pages of His Word.

    Why?

    Because the Bible has never been a book about flawless people.

    It is a book about a faithful God.

    Moses became the deliverer of Israel.

    Gideon led three hundred men against an army that couldn’t be counted.

    Samson’s greatest victory came after his greatest failure.

    David became known as a man after God’s own heart—not because he never sinned, but because he genuinely repented.

    Peter stood on the Day of Pentecost and boldly preached the very Christ he had once denied.

    Saul became Paul, carrying the gospel farther than he ever carried persecution.

    Even Manasseh—the most wicked king Judah had ever known—humbled himself before God, and God heard his prayer.

    Grace did not erase what they had done.

    Moses still never entered the Promised Land.

    David still endured painful consequences.

    Samson still died in Gaza.

    Peter never forgot that night around the fire.

    God doesn’t rewrite history.

    He redeems it.

    I wonder how many people have already decided your story is finished.

    Perhaps they know about the divorce, but not the healing.

    The addiction, but not the freedom.

    The rebellion, but not the repentance.

    The failure, but not the restoration.

    Maybe you’ve done the same thing to yourself.

    Maybe you’ve convinced yourself that one painful chapter has become the title of your entire life.

    Friend, don’t stop reading too soon.

    The same God who continued writing Moses’ story…

    continued writing David’s.

    Continued writing Peter’s.

    Continued writing Paul’s.

    Continued writing Manasseh’s.

    And if you’ve placed your life in His hands…

    He’s still writing yours.

    The world is quick to place a period where God places a comma.

    People often decide the ending while God is still turning the page.

    So if you’re going to tell my story…

    Tell it all.

    Tell them where I failed.

    Tell them where I fell.

    Tell them where I doubted.

    But don’t stop there.

    Tell them about the God whose mercy proved greater than my worst chapter.

    Because the greatest part of my story was never my failure.

    It was the grace of God that refused to let my failure become the end.

    ⸻

    Final Word

    The enemy wants you to believe your worst moment is your defining moment.

    God declares that, through repentance and His grace, your worst moment can become the place where His mercy shines the brightest.

    So don’t stop reading too soon.

    God isn’t finished writing.

  • Before and After

    Before and After

    📖 “Behold, I go forward, but He is not there; and backward, but I cannot perceive Him… But He knoweth the way that I take…” — Job 23:8-10

    It started as an ordinary Thursday.

    You weren’t looking for your life to change.

    You were just going to work.

    Going to the doctor.

    Going home.

    Then one conversation.

    One phone call.

    One sentence.

    …and suddenly your life had a before and an after.

    At first, it didn’t seem real.

    Surely there had been a misunderstanding.

    Maybe the tests were wrong.

    Maybe they meant someone else.

    Maybe tomorrow would somehow put everything back the way it was.

    But tomorrow came.

    And so did the questions.

    “What happens now?”

    “How am I going to get through this?”

    “What if everything changes?”

    The future that once seemed so certain suddenly became filled with uncertainty.

    The plans you had carefully made no longer seemed guaranteed.

    You found yourself lying awake at night, replaying conversations, imagining outcomes, searching for answers that refused to come.

    So you did what believers have always done.

    You prayed.
    You searched the Scriptures.
    You waited.
    You listened.

    And if you’re honest…

    heaven seemed painfully quiet.

    Not because you stopped believing.

    Not because you walked away.

    But because you couldn’t understand how God could feel so silent when your world had become so loud.

    Job understood that feeling.

    He searched in every direction.

    Forward.
    Backward.
    To the left.
    To the right.

    Everywhere he expected to find God…

    he found silence instead.

    Yet in the middle of his searching, Job spoke words that have comforted weary hearts for thousands of years.

    He didn’t say, “Now I understand.”

    He didn’t say, “Everything is going to be all right.”

    He didn’t even say, “I know where God is.”

    He simply declared what he knew to be true.

    “But He knoweth the way that I take.”

    What a remarkable statement.

    Job couldn’t see God.

    But he believed God could still see him.

    He couldn’t trace God’s hand.

    But he trusted God’s heart.

    Maybe that’s exactly where you are today.

    You’ve looked in every direction you know to look.

    You’re still waiting.
    Still praying.
    Still hoping.
    Still wondering.

    If that’s your story…

    hold on to Job’s.

    Your ability to see God has never determined His ability to see you.

    He knows where you are.

    He knows what you’re carrying.

    He knows every question you haven’t spoken aloud.

    He knows every tear that no one else has seen.

    He knows every burden you’ve tried to carry by yourself.

    And even if today you cannot say, “I know the way He is taking…”

    you can still rest in this unchanging truth:

    But He knows the way I take.

  • Learning To Lean

    Learning To Lean

    “Trust in the LORD with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.” — Proverbs 3:5

    I woke before sunrise with an old hymn running through my mind.

    Learning to lean…
    Learning to lean…
    I’m learning to lean on Jesus…

    At first, I thought it was simply an encouraging song.

    But as I spent time in Scripture, I realized it was asking me a deeper question.

    What am I leaning on?

    We all lean on something.

    Some lean on their own abilities.
    Some lean on financial security.
    Some lean on relationships, reputation, influence, or strength.
    Some lean on determination, believing that if they just try harder, they can make it through.

    Others lean on things that promise relief but never truly heal—addictions, distractions, habits, or anything else that numbs the weight they are carrying.

    But there is a second question we must ask.

    Why am I leaning on it?

    Because we do not lean on these things for no reason.

    We lean on money because we want security.
    We lean on people because we want acceptance.
    We lean on control because we want peace.
    We lean on success because we want significance.
    We lean on escape because we want relief.

    Every false support is promising something to the soul that only God can truly give.

    David faced that very test in a cave.

    King Saul, who had hunted him relentlessly, unknowingly walked in alone. David’s men saw the opportunity of a lifetime. One swing of the sword, and years of fear could be over.

    But David saw something else.

    He saw a promise that did not need his manipulation.

    He refused to take by force what God had promised by grace.

    David did not lean on his sword.
    He leaned on God.

    And because David was leaning on God, he did not need the throne to satisfy his soul.

    That is the difference.

    David still desired what God had promised.
    But he did not need to sin in order to obtain it.

    Perhaps that is why Solomon wrote,

    “Trust in the LORD with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.”

    Those are not two separate commands.

    They are one.

    The first half tells us what God is calling us to do.

    The second half tells us how.

    We trust Him by refusing to lean on ourselves.

    Faith is not simply believing that God exists.

    Faith is transferring the weight of our confidence from our own understanding to His wisdom, and from our own strength to His faithfulness.

    And that brings us to the other hymn that came to mind today:

    Only Jesus can satisfy your soul…

    That is the full equation.

    What am I leaning on?

    And…

    What am I expecting it to give me?

    Because whatever we lean on must be able to bear the weight of our lives.

    And whatever we look to for satisfaction must be able to reach the deepest place in our souls.

    Only Christ can do both.

    He alone can carry the weight.
    He alone can satisfy the longing.

    So maybe the question today is not just whether we believe in Jesus.

    Maybe the question is more personal than that.

    Am I leaning on Him?

    And am I trusting Him to be enough?

  • The Greater Victory

    The Greater Victory

    Scripture: 1 Samuel 24:1–12

    When most people think about David’s greatest victory, they immediately think of Goliath.

    It’s understandable.

    A shepherd boy walks onto a battlefield with nothing but a sling and five smooth stones. One giant falls, an army flees, and a nation celebrates.

    It is one of the greatest stories in all of Scripture.

    But I’m no longer convinced that was David’s greatest victory.

    This week has been filled with thoughts about David.

    First, Nathan confronting him.

    Then Psalm 51.

    Then, on the drive home Tuesday, Lisa read me something she had found on Facebook.

    It simply said that David’s greatest victory wasn’t defeating Goliath.

    It was sparing Saul.

    I asked her to read it again.

    Then I asked her to send it to me.

    The more I’ve reflected on it…

    The more I think there is profound truth in that statement.

    Not because Saul deserved mercy.

    But because David had become the kind of man who trusted God enough to show it.

    At first glance, it almost feels like we’re going backward in David’s story.

    After all, the cave came long before Bathsheba.

    Long before Nathan.

    Long before Psalm 51.

    But perhaps that’s exactly why this passage matters.

    Earlier this week we saw what a heart after God’s own heart looks like when it fails.

    Today we see what that same heart looked like before it failed.

    The setting couldn’t have been more dramatic.

    Saul had spent years hunting David.
    David had done nothing to deserve it.

    He had served Saul faithfully.
    He had fought Israel’s enemies.
    He had married Saul’s daughter.

    Yet now he was living as a fugitive.

    Then the opportunity came.

    Saul unknowingly entered the very cave where David and his men were hiding.

    David’s companions could hardly believe it.

    “This is the day the LORD spoke about!”

    To them, this wasn’t merely an opportunity.

    It was providence.

    David could finally take the throne God had already promised him.

    No more running.
    No more hiding.
    No more caves.

    He quietly crept toward Saul.

    Sword in hand.

    Then…

    He stopped.

    Instead of taking Saul’s life, he cut off a corner of Saul’s robe.

    Even then, Scripture says something remarkable.

    “David’s heart smote him…” (1 Samuel 24:5)

    That verse has always fascinated me.

    David wasn’t convicted after killing Saul.

    He was convicted after cutting a piece of cloth.

    Why?

    Because David understood something his men did not.

    The robe represented the office God had established.

    Saul may have failed as king.
    God had already rejected him.
    Samuel had already confronted him.

    But David understood that judgment belonged to God.

    Not to him.

    So David declared:

    “The LORD forbid that I should do this thing unto my master, the LORD’S anointed…”

    Those words have often been misunderstood.

    Some have used them to suggest that spiritual leaders should never be questioned or held accountable.

    But that’s not what David was saying.

    Saul had already been confronted.
    He had already been rebuked.
    He had already been judged by God.

    David simply refused to seize for himself what only God had the right to give.

    He would wait.
    Even when waiting hurt.
    Even when the opportunity seemed perfect.
    Even when everyone around him insisted this must be God’s will.

    God’s promises will never require us to abandon His principles.

    All too often we see an opportunity and immediately assume God has opened the door.

    But when we dig beneath the surface, we sometimes discover that walking through that door would require us to compromise the very principles God has already made clear in His Word.

    David refused to do that.

    He understood that God’s promise of the throne did not give him permission to violate God’s character in order to obtain it.

    Sometimes the greatest act of faith is walking away from something you have every human reason to take, because you trust that God’s way is always better than your own shortcut.

    As I’ve reflected on David’s life these past several weeks, one thought continues to surface.

    God wasn’t merely preparing David to wear a crown.
    He was preparing him to carry one.

    Anyone can display courage when facing a giant.

    It takes a very different kind of strength to lay down your sword when facing an enemy.

    Goliath tested David’s courage.
    Saul tested David’s character.

    One victory won Israel’s applause.
    The other revealed the heart God had been forming all along.

    Final Word

    David eventually became king.

    Not because he took the throne when he had the chance…

    But because he trusted God enough to wait until God placed him there.

    There are moments in life when we could force the outcome.

    We defend ourselves.

    We get even.

    We take what we believe is rightfully ours.

    The cave reminds us that the greatest victories are not always the ones everyone celebrates.

    Sometimes the greatest victory is trusting God enough to leave justice in His hands.

    Because a heart after God’s own heart doesn’t simply ask,

    “What can I do?”

    It first asks,

    “What would honor God?”

    And perhaps that’s one of the clearest marks of spiritual maturity.

    Not that we seize every opportunity placed before us…

    But that we trust God enough to refuse the ones that require us to abandon His principles.

  • If My Story Can Save Someone Else’s

    If My Story Can Save Someone Else’s

    There comes a point in life when you stop worrying about what people will remember about you…

    And you start wondering what your life will point them toward.

    I’ve made decisions I wish I could take back.

    I’ve hurt people I loved.

    I’ve failed in ways that still grieve me.

    If I could rewrite those chapters, I would.

    But I can’t.

    And maybe that’s exactly where God’s grace becomes most visible.

    Because grace isn’t proven by the lives of people who never needed it.

    Grace is proven by what God does with people who did.

    The Apostle Paul never hid the fact that he persecuted the church.

    Peter never pretended he hadn’t denied Jesus.

    David never removed Psalm 51 from the Bible.

    Their failures weren’t recorded to glorify sin.

    They were preserved to magnify God’s mercy.

    I don’t tell parts of my story because I’m proud of them.

    I’m not.

    I tell them because somewhere, someone else is standing where I once stood.

    Someone is one decision away from destroying a marriage.

    Someone is trapped in secret sin.

    Someone is convinced they’ve gone too far for God to forgive.

    If my failures can persuade one person to turn around before making the same mistake…

    If my scars can convince someone that God’s grace is still greater than their shame…

    If one person finds hope because they realized God never gave up on me…

    Then every painful chapter will have served a purpose.

    When this life is over, I don’t want people talking about my accomplishments.

    I don’t want to be remembered for clever words, popular posts, or even a ministry.

    I want them to remember a faithful God…

    Who refused to stop pursuing an unfaithful man.

    Like the song says:

    “I don’t want to leave a legacy.

    I don’t care if they remember me.

    Only Jesus.”

    Because if my life points even one person toward Him…

    Then every chapter—

    The joyful ones.

    The painful ones.

    The victories.

    The failures.

    The mountains.

    The valleys.

    Will all have been worth it.

    ⸻

    Final Word

    One day, every one of us will leave something behind.

    The question isn’t whether we’ll leave a legacy.

    The question is what that legacy will point to.

    May people never look at our lives and say, “What an extraordinary person.”

    May they instead say,

    “What an extraordinary Savior.”

  • The Blessing You Didn’t Pray For

    The Blessing You Didn’t Pray For

    “Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above…” — James 1:17

    A song came to mind this week that asks a series of thought-provoking questions.

    What if the things we call hardships are sometimes the very means by which God accomplishes His greatest work in our lives?

    It isn’t asking whether pain is enjoyable.
    It isn’t suggesting that loss somehow becomes pleasant.

    Instead, it challenges us to consider a difficult possibility:

    What if some of God’s greatest blessings arrive in packages we would never choose to open?

    That thought immediately took me back through Scripture.

    Joseph certainly wouldn’t have chosen betrayal by his brothers.
    He wouldn’t have chosen slavery.
    He wouldn’t have chosen prison.

    Yet years later, he could look back and see that God had been working through every painful chapter.

    David probably wouldn’t have chosen years of hiding in caves while running for his life.

    Moses likely wouldn’t have volunteered for forty years in the wilderness.

    Naomi certainly wouldn’t have chosen famine, widowhood, and the loss of her sons.

    None of those experiences felt like blessings when they were happening.

    Yet every one of them became part of God’s greater purpose.

    I wonder how many blessings I’ve almost missed because I was looking for the wrong wrapping paper.

    We naturally think blessings look like answered prayers.

    Open doors.
    Good health.
    Financial provision.
    Restored relationships.

    There is no question those things can be tremendous gifts from God.

    But sometimes His greatest gifts are quieter.

    A disappointment that redirected our lives.
    A closed door that protected us from walking somewhere we shouldn’t.
    A season of waiting that taught us patience.
    A trial that stripped away our self-reliance and taught us complete dependence upon Him.

    None of us pray for those things.

    Yet many of us would honestly say they became turning points in our walk with Christ.

    I’ve noticed something else.

    We usually recognize those blessings only by looking backward.

    Very few people say in the middle of suffering,

    “I can already see why God allowed this.”

    Perspective often comes long after the pain.

    Perhaps that’s why faith is so essential.

    Faith trusts that God is good before we can understand what He is doing.

    Only later do we begin to see how He was weaving together circumstances we never could have imagined.

    Romans 8:28 isn’t a promise that everything is good.

    It’s a promise that God is working through everything for the good of those who love Him and are called according to His purpose.

    That doesn’t minimize grief.
    It doesn’t erase loss.
    It doesn’t pretend suffering isn’t real.

    It simply reminds us that God never wastes any of it.

    One day, I believe we’ll look back and discover that some of the moments we would have erased from our story became the very chapters God used to shape us most into the image of Christ.

    Final Word

    We spend much of our lives asking God to change our circumstances.

    Sometimes He does.

    But often, His greater miracle is using those circumstances to change us.

    Perhaps the greatest blessings aren’t always the ones that make life easier.

    Perhaps they’re the ones that make us more like Jesus.

  • Looking Back

    Looking Back

    “Remember Lot’s wife.” — Luke 17:32

    Those three words from Jesus have always fascinated me.

    Out of all the people and stories He could have referenced, Jesus pointed His listeners back to a woman whose name we don’t even know.

    Most people focus on what she did.

    She looked back.

    But I wonder if the deeper issue wasn’t where her eyes were focused.

    Perhaps it was where her heart remained.

    Genesis tells us that God was delivering Lot and his family from Sodom before judgment fell upon the city. The angels urged them to flee and gave a simple instruction:

    “Escape for your life. Do not look behind you.”

    Yet somewhere along the journey, Lot’s wife turned and looked back.

    Why?

    Scripture doesn’t tell us.

    Perhaps she missed her home.

    Perhaps she missed friends and memories.

    Perhaps she simply feared the uncertainty of what lay ahead.

    Whatever the reason, her heart was still connected to something God had called her to leave behind.

    The older I get, the more I realize that many of us are not trapped by sinful places.

    We’re trapped by familiar ones.

    We become comfortable in seasons that were once exactly where God wanted us to be… but are no longer where He is leading us. Hu

    Sometimes it’s a ministry.
    Sometimes it’s a job.
    Sometimes it’s a group of friends.
    Sometimes it’s a dream we have carried for decades.

    We know God is leading us forward, but part of us keeps looking over our shoulder.

    Not because the past was evil.

    But because it was known.

    The future is not.

    I remember nearly thirty years ago when I stepped away from teaching the youth class in McAlester.

    The hardest part wasn’t laying down the responsibility.

    The hardest part was not looking back.

    That season had shaped me.

    I loved those students.
    I loved the ministry.
    I loved what God had done there.

    But eventually I had to learn that following God sometimes means leaving a season you loved in order to embrace one you cannot yet see.

    Abraham left Ur.
    Moses left Midian.
    David left the pasture.
    The disciples left their nets, tax booth, and fig tree.

    None of them were given a complete roadmap.

    They were simply asked to trust God enough to take the next step. And often, the next step didn’t make sense until years later.

    Perhaps that’s why this story still speaks so powerfully today.

    Many of us are asking God for clarity about the future while secretly wishing He would restore the past.

    We want the old ministry.
    The old relationships.
    The old opportunities.
    The old version of ourselves.

    But what if God is not trying to recreate what was?

    What if He is trying to create something new?

    What if looking back isn’t always longing for our past life?

    What if sometimes it’s refusing to believe God can do something different in the future?

    That question has challenged me deeply.

    Because every season of life eventually ends.

    Children grow up.
    Careers change.
    Ministries evolve.
    Doors close.
    Dreams shift.

    The question isn’t whether seasons will change.

    The question is whether we will trust God when they do.

    Lot’s wife teaches us that there is danger in living with our feet pointed toward God’s future while our hearts remain anchored in yesterday.

    The past can be honored.
    The lessons can be remembered.
    The memories can be cherished.

    But they cannot become our destination.

    God never calls us backward.

    He always calls us forward.

    Final Word:

    Maybe the question isn’t:

    “What am I looking back at?”

    Maybe the better question is:

    “Do I trust God enough to believe that what lies ahead may be different from the past… and still be exactly where He wants me to be?”

    After all, it’s hard to move forward while you’re looking back.