A few words on saying less:

We all know someone who could probably talk for hours if you let them. Some people are verbal processors; Some have a stockpile of wise words to share; Others, frankly, just love to hear their own voice.

But we can say a lot without really saying anything at all. 

I’m guilty too; Sometimes I don’t know what to say but speak anyway just to fill the silence. I shudder thinking about all the occasions on which someone has come to me with a heavy burden and my immediate response has been to talk. 

A friend recently opened up to me about her battle with some pretty intense inner darkness and I poured on the advice, bible verses, and personal anecdotes to walk her through it. On one hand, I hated to watch her hurt and wanted to help. On the other, perhaps I spoke out of pride, hoping that something I said might lead her to an epiphanic moment, that my words could be the right ones to pull her through. Either way, I wound up feeling frustrated because they weren’t landing. 

With a few steps back from the conversation, it struck me that in my lows, words were not always what I needed. Even those of scripture have ricocheted off my anxious heart  I have specifically prayed out texts like Philippians 4:4-9 & 1 Peter 5:7 on countless occasions and still wound up shaky, tearful, and absolutely breathless with anxiety How did I think that my words would fix her situation? 

Sure, there are moments when advice is sought and well-received, but how many times have I opened my mouth when all someone wanted was my ears? Discernment is so much more than knowing what to say; It is knowing when to say it and when to withhold it. 

The interesting thing about being a human and having a tongue is that the venom is reciprocal; we have all hurt others with words and have been hurt by others’ words. I’ve spit my fair share of poison, but I’ll also admit that well-intentioned yet pain-inflicting responses to my cries of mental unhealth still ring in my ears. However, I’m working on giving grace here, because there are realities that are difficult for those who aren’t in the arena to comprehend. Anyone can speak out from the stands, but what they say holds no weight until they’ve been out on the court. 

I’ll shout this from the arena: Mental health is complex and throwing spiritual bandaids on behaviors that are the product of a chemical imbalance is not the way.

Quick-fixing is not burden-bearing.

Imagine the growth that can unfold in God’s time when we don’t rush so quickly to solutions for each other. Regardless of how deeply we care for our friends and want to see healing, our mistake in offering explanations might be that we think what is best for them is that they reach the other side right now. But Peter writes…

“These [trials] have come so that the proven genuineness of your faith — of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire — may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed.” – 1 Peter 1:7

I recently listened to a Tim Keller sermon in which he referenced the prophet Amos and his occupation as a shepherd and caregiver for sycamore fruit. Keller compares the journey of the sycamore fruit to the passive discipline of suffering, which enters in our life and bruises us so that we can mature. “Some kinds of fruit only ripen when they’re struck”, he says. 

If the fire is for our refining, then our role is not to eliminate suffering, whether personal or proximal. We are not the answer to each other’s pain, but we can practice faithful presence and fervent prayer while God does the deep work. The ministry of presence is often about showing up and saying less.

“Why?” is not a helpful question when it comes to suffering, because much of it is beyond understanding (See Job 42). God does not owe me answers and I choose to praise Him for the trials that have humbled me by stripping away all control.

We cannot point to the exact origins of and reasons for trials, but we can seek strength from the Lord himself in their midst. Jesus not only came to suffer and die for humanity but also conquered death by resurrecting. We should live out a rich theology of suffering, confident that pain has both an expiration date and a purpose eternal glorification for those who have put their faith in Christ. 

The darkness presses in, but we rejoice “…because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us” (Romans 5:3-5).

When suffering feels anything but light & momentary (see 2 Corinthians 4:17-18), we don’t have to diminish it. We keep meeting it on the ground with hope, the steadiest truth. We suffer well, with eternity set on our hearts. Dare to believe that joy and suffering can coexist because what stands in front of us is weightless compared to the glory to come.

table talk.

This summer, while my friends were busy being camp counselors, interning with successful companies, and saving orphans, I built a coffee table with my mom…..and LOVED it. Most moms would probably choose a spa day or some retail therapy for stress relief, but when my family hears the miter saw raging from the back porch space turned fully functional wood shop, we know that she’s “unwinding” in her own way. That’s just the heart of who she is—a consistently hard worker and daily washer of feet. Building this table with her was special because I knew that it would be the focal point of many living room gatherings throughout my final lap of undergrad. Tables are the “center of gravity” in a room; It’s crazy how four legs and a flat surface can unite a group of people.

What was most significant to me about this project, however, was knowing that my mom is the person who has taught me more than anyone about what it looks like to welcome neighbors and foreigners alike to the table. I saw biblical hospitality in piles of shoes at the front door, whether owned by friends, local college students, former drug addicts, church members, or foreign exchange students, and learned that the wider we open our doors, the more these titles blend into a shared familial identity. This coffee table is symbolic to me, a reminder that the simple gospel can unfold in our homes, just as it did in mine through my parents’ hospitality. 

Our world is absolutely starved for community. Some of us have come from broken homes, but we are all broken people who deeply desire to be known, seen, and heard by those around us. Proximity, therefore, is powerful, and I believe that tables can be sacred instruments for storytelling and fellowship. 

I find it fascinating that the church began at the table. Contrary to the stage-oriented structure of our sanctuaries or auditoriums today, the first recorded church meetings began in circular seating in homes with breaking of bread (Acts 1:12-14)!! Meal sharing was commonplace, but Jesus modeled it in countercultural ways. This plays out in Matthew 9:10-17, where we see him being hosted at Matthew’s house. Before becoming a disciple, Matthew had been a tax collector, so naturally, his friend group was made up of “tax collectors and sinners” who joined them at the table. Tax collectors had a reputation throughout Israel for being thieves, scam artists, and oppressors. It made no sense for a Jewish Rabbi to recline at the table with these types of people, but Jesus never questioned reaching out, whether to Samaritans, widows, lepers, or prostitutes, often sharing meals with them. 

This ran against the grain of Jewish culture because table eating was all about status. Dining rooms were a visual representation of affluence and seating was hierarchical, with each couch around the table designated according to societal position. The wealthy would eat reclining on couches, or Tricliniums, that surrounded the table. Typically, only men would sit and slaves would eat standing up. In spite of these expectations, Jesus cared nothing about who sat at the places of honor, but inviting those on the outskirts of society into the kingdom of God was everything to him (Luke 9:46-48; 14:12-14!!) He praised the “sinful woman” who interrupted his dinner with a Pharisee to tearfully wash his feet (Luke 7:36-50) and praised Mary for sitting at his feet to listen to him (Luke 10:38-42). Imagine how confused his disciples must have been when he washed their feet (John 13:1-17). 

Who sits at my table and whose feet am I kneeling to wash? Do they all look, behave, and think like me? Jesus had a diverse inner circle; We have something to learn from everyone. I love sitting in circles because they level us; We take a look around and realize that we’re just imperfect human beings taking a shot at communion before a perfect God. Where we choose to be vulnerable, it will get messy, but this is also where it gets beautiful. Jesus set his table with placemats of grace and truth and it freed people.

We’ll never be the answer to the loneliness and struggle of our brothers and sisters, but we can nudge one another toward Christ, living as a people who know that they are already fully known and loved by God in Him. When we are gracious and truthful in our communities, we’re allowing room for Christ to do his freeing work.

I’ve been tempted to get up and run from the table because of disagreement, dislike, and discomfort, but God has called me to stay. He’s asking me to die to myself and stay—over and over again.

Lean in, not away, and dare to linger at the table. Relentlessly ask questions and listen to understand rather than to speak. How can I be so territorial about my table when the God of the universe has prepared a seat at his table for even me, a sinner? In radical hospitality, he has called us to dwell in his house in worship. What would happen if we made our kitchen tables our tabernacles??

Psalm 23:5 // You prepare a table for me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.

 

the fatality of misplaced hope.

Isaiah 44:9-20 // “All who make idols are nothing, and the things they treasure are worthless…The carpenter measures with a line and makes an outline with a marker; he roughs it out with chisels and marks it with compasses. He shapes it in human form, human form in all its glory, that it may dwell in a shrine. He cut down cedars, or perhaps took a cypress or oak. He let it grow among the trees of the forest, or planted a pine, and the rain made it grow. It is used as fuel for burning; some of it he takes and warms himself, he kindles a fire and bakes bread. But he also fashions a god and worships it; he makes an idol and bows down to it. Half of the wood he burns in the fire; over it he prepares his meal, he roasts his meat and eats his fill. He also warms himself and says, “Ah! I am warm; I see the fire.” From the rest he makes a god, his idol; he bows down to it and worships. He prays to it and says, “Save me! You are my god!” They know nothing, they understand nothing; their eyes are plastered over so they cannot see, and their minds closed so they cannot understand. No one stops to think, no one has the knowledge or understanding to say, “Half of it I used for fuel; I even baked bread over its coals, I roasted meat and I ate. Shall I make a detestable thing from what is left? Shall I bow down to a block of wood?” Such a person feeds on ashes; a deluded heart misleads him; he cannot save himself, or say, “Is not this thing in my right hand a lie?”


Idolatry was a major problem for the Israelites. Throughout the Old Testament, they can be found repeatedly worshipping mythical gods or images, and involvement with these deities led them to engage in cult prostitution, human sacrifice, and other atrocious pagan rituals practiced by surrounding nations. A famous example is tucked in Exodus 32, where Aaron and the Israelites created a golden calf to worship (because they decided that Moses was taking too long to come down from his exchange with God in Mount Sinai). They continually chose the convenience and eroticism of worshipping counterfeit gods over the actual sacrifice that worshipping the one true God required of them.

In the passage above, the prophet Isaiah is stunned by the stupidity of idol-making. He points out that it literally involves the leftovers of ordinary human activity, being completely dependent on human hands to exist. The further irony here is that the materials of god-manufacture are created by God himself. Isaiah writes that the worshippers’ eyes are “plastered over” and their minds closed so that they cannot understand how ludicrous their idolatry is: why would God’s chosen people worship the things he has given rather than worship Him? They are bowing before scraps.

Reading this passage through Western eyes, most readers probably wouldn’t have much trouble grasping the absurdity of it. No one in their right mind would waste time drooling over statues fashioned out of raw materials. Yet, before we snicker at the Israelites, we could afford to consider that idolatry is equally present in the 21st century, though in snakelike subtly.

We, too, feed on ashes and then wonder why we’re so unfulfilled.

“We don’t have to collect all our necklaces and melt them down and give them to Aaron to make a golden calf. Anything we love to the exclusion of the Maker is a golden calf.”-Madeline L’Engle

OUCH.

idol·​a·​try // 1: the worship of a physical object as a god 2: immoderate attachment or devotion to something

Tim Keller describes it as “turning good things into ultimate things.”

It is the act of exalting created things to the place of their Creator, and it has always been a heart issue stemming from disordered loves. Wherever there is a human body, there is a deceived heart within, and wherever our innate appetite leads us into fixation on something that is not God, this is idolatry. The problem did not miraculously evaporate when people lost interest in ancient gods. Idols such as scientific discovery, wealth, religious tradition and the law were simply put on the throne in their place.

In Paul’s epistle to the Romans, he addresses the futility of idol falsehood (Romans 1:21-23) as a warning to the church that trouble and distress await those who do evil before the Lord. He recognizes that the deceived hearts of the idolators he is referencing were what turned them aside. Because of their idolatry, he says that God gave them over to a depraved mind. He will not tolerate divided affection.

Sin, is its essence, is any distortion of what is good. The Garden of Eden was in perfect Shalom. God created the earth in wholeness, exactly as it should be, but the bite taken in the Garden of Eden was rooted in idolatry of self, a desire to “be like God” (Genesis 3). Human greed warped his design.

& the most dangerous idol present in my life is myself. Full circle.

I’m really good at putting myself first. The truth, however, is that when I pursue only my own happiness, life quickly becomes opaque with the fog of a million sorry excuses for fulfillment that will never be God. I have to clear a lot out of the way(including myself) in order to see him in full transparency.

We all have countless idols. I know that I could go on and on if I were to list mine (comfort, financial stability, relationships, food, exercise, my schedule, physical appearance, people, even wise words of people…). Anything can become an idol if we choose to make it so.

A few questions can help us assess where we’re placing our hope. As a litmus test for where idolatry is present, ask yourself:

  • Who am I investing in?
  • How do I spend my time?
  • What do I think about the most?
  • What do I talk about the most?
  • What would shake my foundations if I were to lose it?

In Madeline L’Engle’s “Penguins and Golden Calves”, she draws the distinction between an icon and an idol. An icon, she says, “carries within it something of that at which it looks”. Icons are windows through which we can look to get a wider view of God. They should not obstruct our vision. If we look at the stars and then worship the stars, we have made them an idol, but if we look at the stars and then worship God, the stars have become an icon for us, or a glimpse of the indescribable. God speaks to us through many channels and often in striking simplicity. The key is that we attribute the praise accurately.

I know with every ounce of my being that a good and loving God exists, yet I still turn from him, just as the wandering Israelites did. HALLELUJAH that he sent his son Jesus Christ to save me in spite of my depravity. I could never muster up enough goodness in myself to live righteously. Yet, because Jesus died as a sacrifice for the sin of mankind, God calls me forgiven and offers me eternal life with him.

This is all he asks of us: our full affection, not our leftovers. He is righteously jealous for his children.

Lord, forgive me for trying to squeeze the life out of earthly things when my deepest needs are met in Christ. Help me to clear the stage and redirect my affection. You alone are enough. My soul is satisfied in you, O God.  

 

 

the greatest liar.

This morning as I rolled out of bed and stepped into my bathroom, I immediately spotted a huge wolf spider in the corner (*cue me stretching out my fisherman-level exaggeration hands to stress that this thing was no joke*). My heart rate went wild and I’m pretty sure that I actually stopped breathing for a few seconds, but instead of picking up something to kill it with, I ran out to summon someone else to do it for me. [I’m shuddering as I type this because spiders just bother me.]

Maybe partially due to hypersensitivity, I’ve had encounters with them all day long since then. I found a tiny one on my BED before leaving the house; I brought my things into the camp cabin where I’m living for the summer to be greeted by one in the doorway; I almost walked into another dangling from a tiny thread at my head-level; I later stepped right into a giant web.

A friend recently shared that her goal for last summer was to conquer a fear head-on. For her this meant being a lifeguard because what scared her the most was drowning. As I nodded my head in admiration, my internal dialogue went something like, “Mm, good for her, that’s great.” However, as I considered my own fears (those more deep-seated than spiders) and how her challenge would translate into my life, the naturally following thought was “No, I don’t want to face it. I’m afraid of it.” In the moment, it was as simple as that. I was ready to move on to more comfortable conversation, to play with ideologies and abstractions in the safety of a cozy room filled with like-minded people. Hiding can be far too easy.

Fear is a ruthless vine that wraps around my heart, ridden by thorns like apathy, cowardice, and inactivity. It holds me captive, gripping me until I am immobilized. It chokes the life out of me.

We are slaves to the very mechanisms we use to “protect” ourselves, because the reality is that whatever we fear has a stronghold over us. Satan will jump on any opportunity to make us believe the lie that God isn’t powerful enough or else that we can overcome by our own power.

Shackles and chains.

Perhaps the sins most prevalent in my life are those of omission, choices to be cling to comfort rather than act out of obedience when I should.

James 4:17 // If anyone, then, knows the good they ought to do and doesn’t do it, it is sin for them.

Fear can leave us glued to our respective pews on Sunday yet spiritually stagnant on Monday through Saturday.

Body of Christ, Sunday is not the main event, and church is not for our consumption but our commissioning to go out and love like Jesus.

Fellowship with the body is essential, but only a small piece of what church entails. We are to worship and break bread together and then boldly step out and declare the gospel to the ends of the earth. What really matters is how our theology moves into our hands and feet, so let’s move, church. Do something that scares you, because the Lord works immensely when we are willing to get uncomfortable and even fail at times for the sake of uplifting the body in some way.

A man’s journey of faith is never linear; The road is marked by winding turns and unpredictable barriers. We should be a dynamically serving body, willing to take risks for the kingdom and keep trusting the Lord when we don’t know what he is up to.

This doesn’t mean jumping out of a plane if you’re afraid of heights; I believe in small steps of faith every day. Put a foot forward ever so humbly in expectation that he will bring something good out of your efforts.

We weren’t given gifts and talents for our own pleasure but for his ultimate glory.

1 Corinthians 12:13-20 // Just as a body, though one, has many parts, but all its many parts form one body, so it is with Christ. For we were all baptized by one Spirit so as to form one body—whether Jews or Gentiles, slave or free—and we were all given the one Spirit to drink. Even so the body is not made up of one part but of many. Now if the foot should say, “Because I am not a hand, I do not belong to the body,” it would not for that reason stop being part of the body. And if the ear should say, “Because I am not an eye, I do not belong to the body,” it would not for that reason stop being part of the body. If the whole body were an eye, where would the sense of hearing be? If the whole body were an ear, where would the sense of smell be? But in fact God has placed the parts in the body, every one of them, just as he wanted them to be. If they were all one part, where would the body be? As it is, there are many parts, but one body. (also see Ephesians 4:1-16)

Perhaps the place where we find ourselves most stretched is the seedbed for His redemptive work. When our weakness is highlighted, his strength looks incredibly strong.

I cannot help but wonder about the “thorn in the flesh” to which Paul referred in 2 Corinthians 12:7-9. He wrote that it “tormented him” and pleaded with the Lord to take it away from him. The ambiguity of Paul’s thorn translates into a strange sense of comfort because regardless of what it was, the reality was that Paul’s life told the story of Jesus and revealed God’s power, which is “…made perfect in weakness”. We all fall short (Romans 3:23) but regardless of what thorns plague us, God is strong enough to work in the gaps in which we are weak if we will simply open our hands in surrender.

What would you do if you weren’t afraid?

Turn your palms upward and let him take your fears. Full life awaits on the other side of them.

garden-variety wonder.

My family has taken a beach vacation every summer for as long as I can remember. At the end of each trip, I would always spend a few minutes “saying goodbye” to the beach as the sun rose and last things got packed into the car. I loved the memories wrapped up in our little getaways and leaving the magic of the sand & sea always had me literally on the verge of tears.

As I meet new people from all over the map, I’m continually intrigued by the fact that where a person grows up tends to lose its novelty in their eyes. As someone nonchalantly tells me where they’re from, I often gush, considering how wonderful it would be to live in a place like that while they shrug their shoulders at what has become commonplace to them. The wonderof the beach or mountains or plains or cityscapeis squelched by years of uninterrupted accessibility.

I don’t know that everyone would necessarily ooh & ahh as I tell them I grew up in rural Appalachia and I’ve definitely been guilty of either downplaying or criticizing it.

However, as I’ve spent some time away, I’ve been more inclined to swoon when I come home to Kentucky.

Sometimes it takes leaving and later returning to a place to really break into numbness with new gratitude and reclaim that sense of wonder.


I am from homemade sweet iced tea and crawdads in the creek, from the house on the hill that has always been home. From drawn-out vowels and words rolling off tongues with no hint of urgency. From stringin’ green beans on the front porch swing and hand-plucked basketfuls of blackberries. From hide-and-go-seek at the family furniture store and piles of snails unearthed beneath the back dock. From fishin’ in the dark and five “one more round”s of kick-the-can. From carelessly bare feet and bloody knees awarded by bikes crashed at the campground, where we ran wild and slept on bonfire-scented hair. From the sound of Papaw’s bluegrass guitar and the Christmas story read from his corner chair. From the simple gospel and the “That’s right” and “Amen” echoing throughout weathered pews. I swear that those hills we rolled down so euphorically must roll on for year and everything in between them has shaped me. I’ve grown just as the wisteria above the patio and I smile upon the sweetness of childhood, upon the starry rooftop skies and the world I built in my backyard.


I’m still captivated by beach sunrises & I still don’t leave the ocean without saying goodbye.

Maybe I did always believe that the grass was greener somewhere, anywhere else,

but now I know that beauty can be found wherever we choose to see it.

I’m thankful for where I’m from and where I’m headed,

but no matter where I land, the grass beneath my feet is green enough for me.

spilt milk & bottled tears.

At the beginning of this past school year, my roommate and I hung up some cheap globe string lights. We definitely jumped the gun on decorating considering that our dorm has no air conditioning and the August humidity makes it hard for anything to stay on the walls. Inevitably, a lot of the bulbs fell and shattered within a few days. We eventually gave up and just threw the whole set away, but we kept finding little shards of cheap glass in the floor throughout the year. They had somehow invaded the whoooole room.

As I pulled a trillionth shard out of a box while unpacking my stuff for the summer, I couldn’t help but consider how ridiculous it is that we didn’t just vacuum the entire floor immediately and buy a new, more sturdy set of lights to hang when the humidity settled down. Instead, we picked the pieces up one by one as we found them between August and May. The worst part was that we used a dim lamp as a light source when a set of bulbs would have made it considerably more comfortable.

I guess you could confront me about sloth (definitely part of my problem here hahaha), but I’m really getting at the fact that sometimes we make ourselves miserable by living right in the midst of our mess. When something is weighing me down, I push it aside over and over instead of taking it to God until I’m suffocating beneath its heaviness.

Don’t we all tend to medicate with movement, going & doing & chasing because we’re too afraid to stop, stoop, and clean up our deeper hurts? I live in months (or years) of messiness when I could find freedom in a few minutes of surrender. Don’t take this literally, because a simple prayer is not a guarantee for immediate healing. That would be like claiming that a homeowner can clean his or her house one thorough round and call it good for the year. The truth is that we have to keep pulling out the vacuum.

Maybe surrender isn’t just a posture of hands open to God but also dukes up to the devil (James 4:7)? This is a battle I choose to fight because I know that what He has for me is better than both my mess and the idols that serve to distract me from facing it.

Freedom and surrender are not in opposition because submission to the Lord is the ultimate freedom. Stop running and take your mess to God (and maybe even to counseling & good friends & self-care) because who wants to walk around with shards of glass in their feet??

Hiding is not conducive to healing. You are never too far from grace, so step into the light. God sent Jesus to earth in human flesh to step right into our messes, and he cares deeply about yours.

dirty dishes.

Luke 18:9-14 // Then Jesus told this story to some who had great confidence in their own righteousness and scorned everyone else: “Two men went to the Temple to pray. One was a Pharisee, and the other was a despised tax collector. The Pharisee stood by himself and prayed this prayer, ‘I thank you, God, that I am not like other people-cheaters, sinners, adulterers.” I’m certainly not like that tax collector! I fast twice a week, and I give you a tenth of my income.’ But the tax collector stood at a distance and dared not even lift his eyes to heaven as he prayed. Instead, he beat his chest in sorrow, saying, ‘O God, be merciful to me, for I am a sinner.’ I tell you, this sinner, not the Pharisee, returned home justified before God. For those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.”

Of the two prayers, I’m afraid that mine tends to resemble that of the Pharisee more often than the tax collector.  Because “Pharisee” carries a negative connotation as read today (due to Jesus constantly calling them out in Scripture!!), I forget that they were THE most respected religious leaders of that time. But Jesus saw right through them. He called them every name in the book: “brood of vipers, whitewashed tombs, blind guides, hypocrites, fools…” The original snakes.

Brennan Manning writes in Abba’s Child, “Jesus did not die at the hands of muggers, rapists, or thugs. He fell into the well-scrubbed hands of deeply religious people, society’s most well-respected members.” The Pharisees’ dishes were clean on the outside but full of nasty residue on the inside. I am just as guilty of scrubbing my exterior self to perfection while my interior condition is anything but clean. Like the Pharisees, I want to assure myself of my own goodness. I cling to legalism and loveless obedience and believe even in times of spiritual stagnancy that I’m in the clear because—although I’m not actively working for God’s kingdom—I’m still following the rules. I’m showing up every Sunday, serving with a ministry weekly and never missing a morning devo. I’m listening to the right songs and saying all the right things. At least it looks like I’m on the right track. At least I’m not doing what they’re doing.

Many of the products on our shelves boast more about what bad ingredients are not present than what good ingredients are. Companies want us to know that our shampoo has NO sulfates, NO parabens, NO fragrances and NO dyes; our crackers are free of artificial flavoring and GMO’s and they’re even low in carbs and sodium!! We’re in the clear!!! By that standard, my heart must be in a good state just because I’m not struggling with anger,  gluttony or greed in the current season. But what about the pride and lust and idolatry and a million other offenses that appear in the ingredients on the back of the box? Stamp every health claim you’d like on the front of a chocolate bar, but it’s still a chocolate bar; The absence of a set of bad things is not assurance of wholeness. Ugh, humble me, Lord.

I should ask myself what fruit is present in my spiritual walk rather than checking off that certain offenses are not. In a world that protests everything, I want to be for something, I want to be about what matters—a pursuer of righteousness & justice—because advocacy requires far more courage than holding a picket sign.

Rather than being confident in my own righteousness, what if I walked in confidence that the blood of Jesus is powerful enough to make even me righteous?

I pray that I never become blind to my own sin because even on my best days, I’m full of it. The good news is that Jesus died so that I don’t have to live in bondage to it. God loved us enough to grant us free will, but because he sent his sinless son to die so that we might be saved, we should want to walk in obedience out of our love for him. Yet, we can never do enough or be “good enough” to earn his affection because the price has already been paid. The deal is sealed!! The Lord longs for our daily humility and repentance. All we have to do is lean into that grace which covers it ALL: no matter how far our wandering feet have taken us. He has a track record of showing how much he loves us and will be faithful again & again!!!

“God have mercy on me, a sinner!”