Tag: Spiritual Growth

  • 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.

  • 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.”

  • What the Mountains Taught Me About the Valley

    What the Mountains Taught Me About the Valley

    Last summer, while driving through Wyoming and Colorado, I noticed something that challenged an assumption I’d carried for years.

    The valleys weren’t the difficult part of the journey.

    They were broad. Open. In many places, I could see for miles. The roads were relatively gentle, and obstacles could often be spotted long before I reached them.

    It was the mountains that demanded my full attention.

    The road narrowed.

    The next curve disappeared from view.

    The drop-offs became steeper.

    The weather changed without warning.

    Every mile required a little more caution than the last.

    As I drove, a question quietly settled into my mind.

    Have we, as Christians, oversimplified the Bible’s language about mountains and valleys?

    For years, I’ve heard people describe difficult seasons as “walking through the valley” and victorious seasons as “standing on the mountaintop.” There is certainly biblical truth behind those expressions. After all, David wrote of walking through “the valley of the shadow of death,” and mountains are often places where God revealed Himself in extraordinary ways.

    But Scripture paints a richer picture than our clichés sometimes allow.

    Not every valley in the Bible is a place of despair.

    Some valleys are fertile.

    Some are filled with rivers.

    Some become places where battles are fought and won.

    Some are where people build homes, raise families, and experience God’s daily provision.

    Likewise, not every mountain represents ease or triumph.

    Abraham climbed Mount Moriah carrying the wood for Isaac’s sacrifice.

    Moses climbed Mount Sinai into God’s presence.

    Elijah climbed Mount Carmel to confront hundreds of false prophets.

    Each ascent required obedience before it brought revelation.

    Then I thought about Lot.

    When Abraham gave him first choice, Lot looked toward the well-watered plain of the Jordan. It seemed like the obvious decision. Fertile land. Prosperity. Opportunity. Yet that same plain led him toward Sodom. The problem wasn’t that Lot chose a valley. The problem was that he chose by sight instead of by faith.

    The geography wasn’t the lesson.

    His heart was.

    Perhaps that’s where we sometimes miss the point.

    We become so focused on whether we’re living in a “valley” or standing on a “mountain” that we forget the Bible never asks us to put our confidence in the terrain.

    It asks us to trust the One who leads us through it.

    Sometimes God meets us on the mountain.

    Sometimes He restores us beside still waters in the valley.

    Sometimes He calls us to climb.

    Sometimes He calls us to descend.

    Peter wanted to remain on the mountain after witnessing Christ’s glory, but Jesus led him back down because ministry was waiting below.

    Mountaintops are often places of revelation.

    Valleys are often places where that revelation is lived out.

    Looking back, I realized the most dangerous part of my drive wasn’t the open valley stretching before me.

    It was the climb where I couldn’t see what lay around the next bend.

    Yet that’s also where I became most attentive.

    I slowed down.

    I watched more carefully.

    I depended less on myself.

    Maybe that’s exactly why God sometimes leads us into seasons where we can’t see very far ahead.

    Not because He has abandoned us…

    But because faith grows best when we learn to trust the Guide more than the map.

    The older I get, the less interested I am in labeling every season of life as either a mountain or a valley.

    Instead, I’m learning to ask a different question.

    Where is God leading me today?

    Because whether the road winds through fertile plains, shadowed ravines, or steep mountain passes, His presence has always mattered far more than the landscape.

    Final Word

    We spend a lot of time asking whether we’re on the mountaintop or in the valley.

    Scripture asks a different question.

    Are you following the Shepherd?

    The terrain will change.

    Some days will be wide, open valleys filled with quiet provision.

    Others will be steep climbs where every step requires faith.

    Neither place defines your relationship with God.

    His presence does.

    So don’t place your hope in reaching easier ground.

    Place it in the One who never leaves the path.

  • 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.

  • The Only Opinion That Ultimately Matters

    “For if our heart condemn us, God is greater than our heart, and knoweth all things.” — 1 John 3:20

    Someone once shared a thought that has stayed with me:

    “Sometimes maturing in Christ means letting people believe things about you that aren’t true, remaining quiet, and trusting God to defend you.”

    That isn’t always easy.

    Everything inside us wants to explain ourselves, defend our motives, and make sure everyone knows our side of the story.

    Sometimes that’s appropriate.

    Paul defended his ministry. Jesus answered honest questions. Scripture never teaches us to remain silent in every situation.

    But it does teach us that there comes a point where our confidence must rest in something greater than public opinion.

    I’ve often said:

    “What God knows about me is infinitely more important than what people think or say about me.”

    Think about David.

    As he fled Jerusalem, Shimei cursed him, threw stones at him, and publicly accused him. David’s soldiers wanted to silence the man immediately.

    David refused.

    Instead, he entrusted his reputation to God.

    Think about Jesus.

    He was called a deceiver, a blasphemer, demon possessed, and a friend of sinners. Many of the accusations He simply allowed to stand unanswered because His mission was greater than winning the court of public opinion.

    The older I get, the more I realize that maturity isn’t learning how to win every argument.

    It’s learning which ones don’t need to be won.

    If every misunderstanding demands an explanation…

    If every criticism demands a rebuttal…

    If every accusation demands a defense…

    We’ll spend our lives trying to manage our image instead of cultivating our character.

    That doesn’t mean we ignore godly correction. In fact, mature believers should welcome correction when it’s true.

    But false assumptions, rumors, and misunderstandings are different.

    Sometimes the greatest act of faith is quietly continuing to live a life of integrity and allowing time—and God—to reveal the truth.

    One day, none of us will stand before our critics.

    We won’t stand before Facebook.

    We won’t stand before our friends.

    We won’t stand before those who misunderstood us.

    We will stand before God.

    And on that day, what He knows about us will matter infinitely more than what anyone ever thought or said about us.

    So don’t spend your life chasing the approval of people.

    Pursue the approval of the One who already knows your heart.

    Final Word

    Your reputation is what people believe about you.

    Your character is who you are when only God sees.

    Invest more energy in your character than your reputation.

  • When the Mirror Turns Around

    Most of us read ourselves into the role we’d like to play.

    We’re David facing Goliath.

    Daniel standing in the lion’s den.

    Joseph resisting temptation.

    Esther risking everything for her people.

    And to be fair, there are seasons when we find ourselves in those stories. There are times when we must stand in faith, endure hardship, or trust God in difficult circumstances.

    But the longer I live, the more I realize that Scripture was not written merely to inspire me.

    It was written to expose me.

    When I open God’s Word, I instinctively look for the hero. Yet many times, God points me toward someone else entirely.

    What if I’m not David in this chapter?

    What if I’m Saul holding the spear?

    What if I’m Martha distracted and frustrated?

    What if I’m Peter warming himself by the fire while denying the Lord?

    What if I’m Jonah running from God’s call?

    Or perhaps most uncomfortable of all…

    What if I’m Esau?

    I’ve always found Esau’s story troubling.

    How could someone trade a birthright for a bowl of stew?

    An inheritance.

    A blessing.

    A future.

    Given away for one temporary appetite.

    The more I’ve reflected on it, however, the less I find myself judging Esau and the more I find myself understanding him.

    Because I’ve done the same thing.

    Not for a bowl of stew.

    But for things that seemed important in the moment.

    Comfort.

    Convenience.

    Pride.

    Temporary satisfaction.

    The desire to have what I wanted instead of what God wanted.

    Many of the regrets we carry in life aren’t the result of ignorance. They come from moments when we knew the right path and chose another one anyway.

    That’s what makes Esau’s story so personal.

    He didn’t lose his birthright because he lacked information.

    He lost it because he valued the immediate more than the eternal.

    And if we’re honest, we’ve all stood in that same place at one time or another.

    The difficult conversation we avoided.

    The conviction we ignored.

    The prayer life we neglected.

    The relationship we damaged.

    The compromise we justified.

    The thing we knew we shouldn’t do but convinced ourselves wouldn’t matter.

    Scripture becomes powerful when it stops being a collection of heroic stories and becomes a mirror.

    A mirror doesn’t exist to flatter us.

    It exists to show us what is actually there.

    James compared God’s Word to a mirror for exactly that reason. We look into it and see ourselves. The question is whether we walk away unchanged or allow God to transform what He reveals.

    I’ve discovered that spiritual growth rarely begins when I see myself as David.

    It usually begins when I recognize the Esau, Jonah, Peter, or Martha hiding beneath the surface.

    Transformation begins when we stop asking, “Who is the villain in this story?” and start asking, “Lord, is it I?”

    The good news is that God specializes in restoring broken people.

    Peter denied Him, yet was restored.

    David failed, yet found mercy.

    Jonah ran, yet God still used him.

    The purpose of the mirror is not condemnation.

    The purpose of the mirror is correction.

    God shows us where we are so He can lead us to where we should be.

    So the next time you open your Bible, don’t just look for the hero.

    Look for yourself.

    You may discover that the greatest work God wants to do isn’t defeating a giant in front of you.

    It’s changing something within you.

    Final Thought:
    The Bible becomes life-changing when we stop auditioning for the hero’s role and allow God’s Word to reveal who we really are. Only then can He begin the work of transforming us into who He wants us to become.