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  • Two Kings. Two Prophets. Two Hearts.

    Two Kings. Two Prophets. Two Hearts.

    Last weekend, Lisa and I had the opportunity to see David at Sight & Sound in Branson.

    The production was outstanding.

    Like most people, I expected to leave thinking about Goliath.

    Instead, I couldn’t stop thinking about Nathan.

    As I watched the prophet confront David over his sin with Bathsheba and Uriah, I found myself comparing that scene with another confrontation recorded in Scripture.

    Two kings.

    Two prophets.

    Two sins.

    Two completely different responses.

    King Saul was confronted by Samuel after sparing King Agag and keeping the best of the Amalekite livestock, despite God’s clear command to destroy everything.

    King David was confronted by Nathan after committing adultery with Bathsheba and arranging for Uriah to be killed in battle.

    Neither man sought out correction.

    God sent a prophet to them.

    Both men had sinned.

    Both men were confronted.

    But that’s where the similarities end.

    When Samuel confronted Saul, his first response wasn’t confession.

    It was self-defense.

    “I have obeyed…”

    “The people took of the spoil…”

    “It was to sacrifice unto the Lord…”

    Excuse followed excuse.

    Responsibility was shifted.

    Blame was shared.

    Even after finally saying, “I have sinned,” Saul immediately added another request:

    “Honor me now, I pray thee, before the elders of my people.”

    Even in repentance, he was still concerned about preserving his image.

    Then Nathan stood before David.

    He didn’t begin with an accusation.

    He told a story.

    A rich man stole the only lamb a poor man possessed.

    David was furious.

    “The man that hath done this thing shall surely die!”

    Then Nathan spoke four words that have echoed through history.

    “Thou art the man.”

    At that moment, David could have done exactly what Saul had done.

    He could have blamed Bathsheba.

    He could have blamed loneliness.

    He could have blamed the pressures of leadership.

    He could have blamed anyone but himself.

    Instead, David uttered one of the shortest—and most powerful—confessions in all of Scripture.

    “I have sinned against the LORD.”

    No excuses.

    No blame shifting.

    No attempts to justify himself.

    Just honest repentance.

    David’s sin was enormous.

    Adultery.

    Deception.

    Murder.

    None of it was minimized.

    The consequences were real, painful, and far-reaching.

    His family suffered.

    His kingdom suffered.

    David himself suffered.

    Repentance does not erase earthly consequences.

    But it does restore fellowship with God.

    I’ve often wondered why preachers spend far more time talking about David and Goliath than David and Nathan.

    Perhaps it’s because Goliath is easier.

    We all like sermons that ask,

    “What giant are you facing?”

    Nathan asks a far more uncomfortable question.

    “Where are you refusing God’s correction?”

    One sermon inspires us.

    The other examines us.

    One points to battles around us.

    The other exposes battles within us.

    As I reflected on the production afterward, another thought settled into my heart.

    The greatest difference between Saul and David wasn’t that one sinned and the other didn’t.

    Both failed.

    Both needed mercy.

    The difference was what happened after God confronted them.

    Saul defended himself.

    David humbled himself.

    One protected his reputation.

    The other surrendered his heart.

    I don’t believe God is looking for people who never fail.

    If He were, none of us would qualify.

    I believe He’s looking for people who remain teachable.

    People who are willing to hear hard truth.

    People who care more about holiness than appearance.

    People who, when confronted by the Spirit of God, are willing to say,

    “Lord… You’re right.”

    Because every one of us will eventually have a “Thou art the man” moment.

    The question isn’t whether correction will come.

    The question is what kind of heart it will find.

    Final Word

    David wasn’t called “a man after God’s own heart” because he never sinned.

    He was called that because when God exposed his sin, he didn’t harden his heart.

    He humbled it.

    The difference between Saul and David wasn’t the seriousness of their failures.

    It was the condition of their hearts after they were confronted.

    May we never become so concerned with protecting our reputation that we stop listening to God’s correction.

    Because the path to restoration doesn’t begin with defending ourselves.

    It begins with four simple words…

    “I have sinned, Lord.”

  • More Than Being Moved

    More Than Being Moved

    Scripture: 1 Timothy 4:7–8; James 1:22–25

    “Some Christians are addicted to inspiration but allergic to discipline.”

    Yesterday my cousin, Danny, a pastor in Edmond, Oklahoma, shared those words on Facebook.

    I haven’t been able to stop thinking about them.

    The statement is intentionally provocative, but I believe it exposes something every Christian—including me—needs to examine from time to time.

    We all love moments of inspiration.

    A sermon that leaves us speechless.

    A song that brings tears to our eyes.

    An altar service where the presence of God feels almost tangible.

    Those moments are precious. They remind us that God is still speaking, still drawing, and still changing lives.

    But as important as those moments are, they were never meant to carry the full weight of our spiritual lives.

    A moment may move us.

    Only consistent obedience transforms us.

    I wonder how many times we’ve mistaken an emotional response for genuine spiritual growth.

    We’ve all been there.

    A preacher delivers a powerful message.

    We leave church determined that things are going to be different.

    “I’m going to pray more.”

    “I’m going to study my Bible every day.”

    “I’m finally going to deal with that attitude.”

    For a day or two, we’re energized.

    Then Tuesday arrives.

    Life gets busy.

    The emotions fade.

    And unless inspiration has become discipline, very little actually changes.

    That is why Paul’s words to Timothy are so important:

    ”…exercise thyself rather unto godliness.”
    —1 Timothy 4:7

    Spiritual maturity doesn’t happen by accident.

    Just as physical strength is developed through consistent training, spiritual strength is developed through consistent obedience.

    James echoes the same truth from a different perspective:

    “But be ye doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving your own selves.”
    —James 1:22

    Hearing God’s Word is essential.

    Living God’s Word is transformational.

    The Bible is filled with people whose greatest victories weren’t built on emotional moments but on ordinary faithfulness.

    Daniel wasn’t courageous because he suddenly found faith when the lions appeared.

    He had spent years praying faithfully three times a day.

    David didn’t develop his trust in God while standing before Goliath.

    That confidence had been cultivated while tending sheep, fighting lions and bears, and spending countless unseen hours with God.

    Even Jesus, before performing His first recorded miracle, spent years growing in wisdom and stature. After His baptism, He entered the wilderness—not the spotlight.

    Preparation came before public ministry.

    Perhaps that’s because God is usually more interested in forming our character than displaying our gifts.

    Scripture consistently points us toward habits, not hype.

    Pray without ceasing.

    Meditate on God’s Word day and night.

    Abide.

    Walk.

    Endure.

    Continue steadfastly.

    Remain faithful.

    Those aren’t dramatic words.

    They’re disciplined words.

    Paul called it exercising ourselves unto godliness.

    James called it being doers of the Word.

    Either way, the principle is the same.

    God shapes us through consistent obedience far more often than through occasional emotional experiences.

    I’ve spent a lot of time lately writing about waiting seasons.

    One lesson keeps surfacing again and again.

    Waiting isn’t passive.

    It’s preparation.

    And preparation isn’t built by occasional bursts of inspiration.

    It’s built by daily obedience when no one is watching.

    The prayers no one hears.

    The Bible reading no one applauds.

    The acts of kindness no one notices.

    The private victories over temptation.

    The quiet decisions to forgive.

    The choice to remain faithful when life feels ordinary.

    Those are the disciplines God uses to shape His people.

    As I’ve reflected on my own life these past few weeks, I’ve realized God hasn’t been asking me to chase another mountaintop experience.

    Instead, He’s been teaching me to be faithful in the ordinary.

    To keep praying.

    To keep studying.

    To keep writing.

    To keep serving.

    Even while I’m waiting to see what He has next.

    Perhaps that’s one of the greatest disciplines of all: trusting that God is still working when nothing seems to be happening.

    The irony is that we’re often looking for God to do something spectacular, while He’s inviting us to become faithful in something ordinary.

    Inspiration has an important place.

    It can ignite a fire.

    But discipline is what keeps that fire burning long after the emotions have faded.

    Final Word

    Danny’s post reminded me of something I need to remember for myself.

    God never intended for me to live from one emotional experience to the next.

    He calls me to walk with Him every day.

    Not because every day feels extraordinary…

    But because every day offers another opportunity to become more like Christ.

    A sermon may change your afternoon.

    A habit can change your life.

    Don’t measure your spiritual health by how often you’re moved.

    Measure it by how faithfully you obey after the feelings have faded.

    Because growth requires more than inspiration.

    It requires discipline.

    And discipline, practiced day after day, is one of the primary tools God uses to transform us into the image of His Son.

  • When Conviction Loses Compassion

    When Conviction Loses Compassion

    One of the saddest realities of our culture is that we have become convinced we must choose between truth and compassion.

    We’re told that if we stand for biblical truth, we cannot truly love people.

    Or, if we genuinely love people, we must eventually surrender biblical truth.

    Jesus accepted neither option.

    He never compromised truth.

    He never withheld compassion.

    And somehow, two thousand years later, many of us have managed to separate what He perfectly united.

    Before we go any further, let me be equally clear about where I stand. I believe God’s design for marriage and sexuality is revealed in Scripture, and I do not have the authority to redefine what God has already spoken. At the same time, I believe every person—regardless of their beliefs, identity, choices, or lifestyle—is created in the image of God and is therefore worthy of dignity, compassion, and respect. These convictions are not in conflict. In fact, they belong together.

    I recently came across a simple quote that has lingered in my mind:

    “When you hold a belief so tightly you cannot see another’s humanity, it will eventually obscure your own.”

    Whether the author intended it or not, I immediately thought of Jesus.

    Not because He abandoned truth…

    But because He never allowed truth to become an excuse for forgetting the value of the person standing in front of Him.

    Think about His ministry.

    The woman caught in adultery.

    The Samaritan woman at the well.

    Matthew, the tax collector.

    Zacchaeus.

    The lepers everyone else avoided.

    The demoniac living among the tombs.

    People whom society had already categorized, condemned, dismissed, or avoided.

    Jesus never ignored their sin.

    But neither did He ignore their humanity.

    He saw people before He addressed their problems.

    Genesis tells us something remarkable.

    Every human being is created in the image of God.

    Not just Christians.

    Not just people who agree with us.

    Not just those living according to Scripture.

    Every person.

    Sin has marred that image, but it has not erased it.

    That truth should forever change the way followers of Christ see people.

    The person addicted to drugs.

    The man sitting in prison.

    The woman who has had multiple abortions.

    The atheist.

    The Muslim.

    The political activist.

    The LGBTQ+ individual.

    The person who hurt you.

    The family member who rejected your values.

    The coworker who mocks your faith.

    Every one of them still bears the imprint of the Creator.

    If God saw enough value in them to create them…

    And enough value in them to send His Son to die for them…

    Who am I to pretend they are beneath my compassion?

    James writes something that should stop every Christian in their tracks.

    With our mouths we bless God…

    And with those same mouths we curse people who have been made in the likeness of God.

    James says these things should not be.

    Think about that.

    When I insult, mock, dehumanize, or rejoice in another person’s humiliation, I am doing so against someone who still carries the fingerprints of God.

    That doesn’t excuse sin.

    It simply reminds me that sinners are still people.

    Sometimes I wonder if we’ve become so busy defending biblical positions that we’ve forgotten why God gave us those truths in the first place.

    The purpose of truth is not to win arguments.

    The purpose of truth is to lead people to Christ.

    Jesus never confused acceptance with approval.

    He welcomed people without affirming everything they did.

    He loved them enough to meet them where they were.

    He also loved them too much to leave them there.

    To the woman caught in adultery He extended mercy…

    Then He called her to leave her sin.

    Those are not contradictory actions.

    They are the very definition of biblical love.

    Love without truth leaves people lost.

    Truth without love leaves people hopeless.

    The Gospel has always been both.

    During the past month, as conversations surrounding Pride once again filled social media, I noticed something that deeply grieved me.

    Not the disagreements.

    Disagreement is inevitable.

    Christians and our culture have very different understandings of sexuality, marriage, and identity.

    Those conversations matter.

    But what disturbed me wasn’t disagreement.

    It was the hatred.

    The mocking.

    The cruel jokes.

    The celebration of another person’s pain.

    The comments that seemed to delight in making someone feel less than human.

    I couldn’t help but wonder…

    When did we decide that cruelty became a fruit of the Spirit?

    There is nothing Christlike about humiliating someone.

    There is nothing holy about ridicule.

    There is nothing righteous about treating another image-bearer of God as though they have no value.

    If we believe someone is living apart from God’s design, shouldn’t that move us toward compassion instead of contempt?

    After all…

    That’s exactly how Jesus treated us.

    The Apostle Paul wrote words that every believer should remember:

    “Such were some of you.”

    Those words level the ground beneath the cross.

    Every Christian has a past.

    Every Christian has needed grace.

    Every Christian has stood in desperate need of mercy.

    The only difference between us and anyone still trapped in sin is not our goodness.

    It’s God’s grace.

    That realization should produce humility instead of arrogance.

    Compassion instead of contempt.

    Tears instead of insults.

    Perhaps the greatest danger isn’t abandoning biblical convictions.

    It’s allowing those convictions to harden our hearts.

    The Pharisees knew Scripture better than almost anyone.

    Yet they looked into the eyes of the Son of God and could not recognize Him because their hearts had become so consumed with being right that they no longer loved the people they were supposed to shepherd.

    Knowledge had replaced mercy.

    Religion had replaced relationship.

    Truth had lost compassion.

    May that never be true of us.

    As followers of Christ, we should never apologize for what Scripture teaches.

    But neither should we apologize for loving the people Christ died to save.

    Those are not opposing commitments.

    They are inseparable.

    If my convictions cause me to look down on people…

    Something is wrong with my heart.

    If my theology allows me to despise those Christ willingly died for…

    Something is wrong with my theology.

    Because every person I meet is someone Jesus considered worth stretching out His hands for.

    And if He could love them enough to die for them…

    Surely I can love them enough to treat them with dignity.

    Final Word

    The world often tells us we must choose between conviction and compassion.

    Jesus chose neither.

    He embodied both.

    He never compromised truth.

    He never forgot a person’s worth.

    As His followers, neither should we.

    Because biblical conviction should never make us less compassionate.

    It should remind us just how much compassion God first showed us.

  • Independence Day and the Kingdom That Cannot Be Shaken

    Independence Day and the Kingdom That Cannot Be Shaken

    Today America celebrates 250 years of independence.

    Two hundred fifty years.

    That is an extraordinary milestone.

    Today there will be parades, flags waving in the breeze, backyard cookouts, fireworks lighting the night sky, and families gathering to celebrate the freedoms we often take for granted.

    And we should be thankful.

    The liberties we enjoy have come at an immeasurable cost. Countless men and women have sacrificed—some giving everything—to preserve those freedoms for future generations.

    But today also serves as a reminder of another truth.

    Every nation is temporary.

    History is filled with kingdoms and empires that once seemed unshakable. They rose to greatness, shaped the world for generations, and eventually became pages in history books.

    America, as we know it, will not escape that reality.

    No nation does.

    Some look at the political division, the cultural conflict, and the uncertainty surrounding our future and wonder what lies ahead.

    As a Christian, those things concern me.

    But they do not define my hope.

    Because Scripture reminds us that God “removeth kings, and setteth up kings” (Daniel 2:21).

    Paul declared that God “hath made of one blood all nations of men… and hath determined the times before appointed, and the bounds of their habitation” (Acts 17:26).

    God is still sovereign.

    He appoints rulers.

    He establishes nations.

    He determines their boundaries.

    He raises kingdoms up.

    And when His purposes have been fulfilled, He brings them down.

    That doesn’t mean every leader is righteous.

    It doesn’t mean every decision is wise.

    It doesn’t mean Christians stop praying, voting, serving, or standing for truth.

    It means we do those things with confidence instead of fear.

    Our hope has never rested in Washington.

    Our peace has never depended upon who occupies an office.

    Our future has never been secured by any political party.

    Our hope is found in the King whose throne has never been threatened.

    So today…

    Celebrate this nation.

    Thank God for its freedoms.

    Pray for its leaders.

    Honor those who have served.

    Work to make your community better.

    But remember that your highest citizenship is not found beneath the Stars and Stripes.

    It is found in the Kingdom of God.

    Because one day every flag will be lowered.

    Every earthly government will come to an end.

    Every nation will become part of history.

    But the Kingdom of our Lord will endure forever.

    Final Thought

    I’m grateful to be an American.

    But even more, I’m grateful to belong to a Kingdom that will never fall.

    Happy Independence Day.

    May God continue to bless America—not merely with prosperity and peace, but with hearts that humble themselves before Him.

  • 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.”

  • Fifty-Nine Years Later: A Conversation With the Younger Versions of Myself

    Fifty-Nine Years Later: A Conversation With the Younger Versions of Myself

    Today I turn fifty-nine.

    Fifty-nine years.

    Nearly six decades.

    More than twenty-one thousand days of joys, sorrows, victories, failures, unexpected blessings, and lessons I never saw coming.

    People sometimes ask what I would say to my younger self if I had the chance.

    For years, I thought I would tell him how to avoid mistakes.

    How to choose differently.

    How to spare himself heartache.

    But the older I’ve become, the more I’ve realized something.

    If I could erase every painful chapter…

    I might also erase many of the places where I learned who God really is.

    So today, on my fifty-ninth birthday…

    I’d simply like to have a conversation with the younger versions of myself.

    To six-year-old Ben…

    I know you’re confused.

    You don’t understand why your mother is gone.

    You don’t understand why you’re living with your aunt and uncle while other boys live with their parents.

    You’re going to spend years wondering why your story began this way.

    I can’t answer every question.

    But I can promise you this.

    God sees you.

    Even when you don’t yet know how to see Him.

    To thirteen-year-old Ben…

    You’re trying to figure out who you are.

    You’re looking for acceptance.

    Trying to fit in.

    Wondering where you belong.

    Listen carefully.

    Don’t let the opinions of people become louder than the voice of God.

    One day you’ll discover that what God knows about you is infinitely more important than what anyone else thinks about you.

    To seventeen-year-old Ben…

    You just lost your daddy.

    The world suddenly feels different.

    There are conversations you’ll wish you could have one more time.

    Questions you’ll never get to ask.

    The ache won’t disappear overnight.

    But love has a way of surviving even death.

    And so does hope.

    To twenty-one-year-old Ben…

    You think adulthood means having all the answers.

    It doesn’t.

    You’re going to make some wonderful decisions.

    You’re also going to make some painful ones.

    Don’t confuse confidence with wisdom.

    Never stop asking God to direct your steps.

    To twenty-six-year-old Ben…

    Tomorrow you’ll marry the woman you love.

    You’re filled with hope.

    Dreams.

    Plans.

    Marriage is a beautiful gift.

    But remember…

    Love isn’t sustained by emotion alone.

    Choose faithfulness every single day.

    Especially on the days when feelings aren’t enough.

    To forty-year-old Ben…

    You’re about to become a dad.

    Not by birth…

    But by love.

    You have no idea how much that little boy is going to change your life.

    He’ll teach you things about the Father’s heart that no book ever could.

    Treasure every moment.

    Even the ordinary ones.

    Especially the ordinary ones.

    To forty-three-year-old Ben…

    Turn the car around.

    Call your wife.

    Go home.

    There is nothing waiting for you that is worth what you’re about to lose.

    Sin always promises more than it delivers.

    Grace will find you…

    But the scars are real.

    Don’t believe the lie that one decision won’t matter.

    It will.

    To fifty-five-year-old Ben…

    I know you’re sitting in front of a camera trying to make sense of another broken chapter.

    You wonder whether your best days are behind you.

    Keep talking to God.

    Even when your prayers feel like they’re only reaching the ceiling.

    He is listening.

    Even in the silence.

    To fifty-seven-year-old Ben…

    You’re packing boxes.

    Leaving another marriage behind.

    Again.

    You feel like your life has become a collection of endings.

    It hasn’t.

    God still writes new chapters after the ones we’d rather tear out.

    Don’t stop believing that.

    And now…

    Today, I stand on the other side of fifty-nine years.

    Years filled with moments I would gladly relive…

    And moments I would give almost anything to undo.

    Yet every one of them became part of the story God was writing.

    And that’s what I see most clearly today.

    If I’m honest…

    There are things I would change.

    Words I wish I’d never spoken.

    Sins I wish I’d never committed.

    People I wish I’d never hurt.

    Moments I’d gladly relive if I could.

    But I can’t.

    And maybe that’s okay.

    Because when I look back over nearly six decades…

    I don’t see a man who always got it right.

    I see a God who never stopped pursuing a man who often got it wrong.

    His mercy outlasted my failures.

    His grace proved greater than my shame.

    His patience exceeded my stubbornness.

    His faithfulness remained when mine faltered.

    If my story proves anything…

    It isn’t that I’ve lived an extraordinary life.

    It’s that I’ve served an extraordinary God.

    Today I turn fifty-nine.

    I don’t know how many birthdays remain.

    Only God knows that.

    But I do know this.

    The same God who walked beside a frightened little boy…

    Strengthened a grieving young man…

    Forgave a broken husband…

    Loved an imperfect father…

    And refused to abandon an aging disciple…

    Will still be faithful tomorrow.

    And every tomorrow after that…

    Until He calls me home.

    If He grants me another year…

    My prayer isn’t that life becomes easier.

    It’s simply that I become more like Christ.

    Final Word

    If I could leave one message for every younger version of myself, it would simply be this:

    Don’t give up on God.

    There will be days when you don’t understand Him.

    Days when you question Him.

    Days when you disappoint Him.

    And days when you wonder if He’s forgotten you.

    He hasn’t.

    One day you’ll look back and realize that through every joy, every loss, every failure, every victory, and every unexpected turn…

    The greatest constant in your life was never your strength.

    It was His faithfulness.

    Today isn’t really about turning fifty-nine.

    It’s about celebrating fifty-nine years of a faithful God.

    To Him be all the glory. conversation with the younger versions of myself.

  • 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.

  • Sunday Studies – Mercy Offends: Lessons from Jonah 4

    Sunday Studies – Mercy Offends: Lessons from Jonah 4

    Most of us know the story of Jonah.

    We remember the storm.

    The great fish.

    The reluctant prophet finally walking through the streets of Nineveh proclaiming God’s coming judgment.

    What often surprises people is that the real climax of the book doesn’t happen when Jonah is swallowed by the fish.

    It happens after Nineveh repents.

    The greatest revival recorded in the Old Testament had just taken place.

    From the king to the common citizen, the people humbled themselves before God. They fasted, repented, and turned from their violence. In response, God withheld the judgment He had promised.

    If we were writing the story, this would be the perfect ending.

    The prophet preached.

    The people repented.

    God showed mercy.

    Everyone celebrates.

    Instead, Jonah chapter 4 opens with these startling words:

    “But it displeased Jonah exceedingly, and he became angry.” (Jonah 4:1)

    Jonah wasn’t angry because his message failed.

    He was angry because it succeeded.

    He had witnessed exactly what every prophet should long to see—repentance, mercy, and revival.

    And he hated it.

    That should stop every one of us in our tracks.

    Why Was Jonah Angry?

    Jonah explains it himself.

    “I knew that You are a gracious and merciful God, slow to anger and abundant in lovingkindness…” (Jonah 4:2)

    Notice what Jonah is saying.

    He isn’t questioning God’s character.

    He knew God’s character perfectly.

    He simply didn’t want God’s mercy extended to those people.

    The Assyrians weren’t misunderstood.

    They were notoriously cruel. They conquered nations through terror, torture, and brutality. Humanly speaking, Jonah’s hatred made sense.

    What didn’t make sense to Jonah was that God’s mercy could be greater than Nineveh’s wickedness.

    Our Jonah Moments

    Before we’re too hard on Jonah, we should ask ourselves a difficult question.

    Who is our Nineveh?

    Who do we quietly believe has crossed the line beyond God’s mercy?

    Maybe it’s a murderer.

    A rapist.

    A child molester.

    An abusive spouse.

    A corrupt politician.

    Someone who destroyed your family.

    Someone who betrayed your trust.

    Most of us have someone.

    We may never say it aloud, but somewhere deep inside we think,

    “Lord… surely not them.”

    That’s where Jonah meets us.

    Justice and Mercy

    This is where many people struggle.

    If God forgives someone guilty of terrible crimes, does that mean justice no longer matters?

    Not at all.

    Scripture never teaches that forgiveness removes earthly consequences.

    David was forgiven, but still lived with painful consequences.

    Moses was forgiven, yet never entered the Promised Land.

    The thief on the cross received mercy, but still died under Roman execution.

    A murderer who genuinely repents may still spend the rest of his life in prison.

    A child molester who truly comes to Christ should still face every legal consequence and every necessary safeguard to protect others.

    Grace does not erase justice.

    It restores a sinner’s relationship with God.

    Those are not the same thing.

    What Forgiveness Looks Like

    Perhaps you’re thinking,

    “That’s easy to say until it’s your child.”

    For one Oklahoma father, it was.

    In 2006, ten-year-old Lindsay Wagoner was raped and murdered. For thirteen years, her father, Bill Wagoner, carried the crushing weight of hatred toward the man who had taken his daughter’s life.

    Eventually, Bill came to a painful realization.

    The man who murdered Lindsay had already stolen enough from his family.

    He wasn’t going to allow him to steal the rest of his life as well.

    In 2019, Bill chose to meet face-to-face with the man who murdered his daughter. He forgave him and shared with him the message of Jesus Christ and the forgiveness that had first been extended to him.

    That meeting didn’t change what had happened.

    It didn’t erase the murder.

    It didn’t remove the prison sentence.

    It didn’t make evil good.

    But it did break the chains that hatred had wrapped around a grieving father’s heart.

    Bill’s story reminds us that forgiveness is never declaring evil to be acceptable.

    It is refusing to allow evil to have the final word.

    Jonah could preach repentance to Nineveh.

    Bill Wagoner lived it.

    One wanted judgment to have the final word.

    The other chose to let mercy have it.

    That is the crossroads every follower of Christ eventually reaches.

    The Foot of the Cross Is Level

    The uncomfortable truth is this:

    The ground at the foot of the cross is perfectly level.

    The respectable church member and the violent criminal are both saved exactly the same way.

    Neither earns forgiveness.

    Neither deserves forgiveness.

    Both stand before God entirely because of grace.

    That doesn’t make their sins equally destructive in this life.

    But it does remind us that salvation has never been based upon the size of our sin.

    It has always been based upon the greatness of our Savior.

    Jonah, the Older Brother… and Us

    Jonah wasn’t the only one to struggle with this.

    Jesus told the story of the prodigal son.

    Most of us celebrate the younger brother coming home.

    But the older brother became angry because someone he believed deserved judgment received mercy instead.

    The Pharisees struggled with tax collectors.

    Peter struggled with Gentiles receiving the Holy Ghost.

    The workers in Jesus’ vineyard parable struggled when those who worked only one hour received the same wage.

    Again and again, Scripture exposes the same temptation.

    We love mercy…

    …until it’s given to someone we don’t think deserves it.

    Looking Into the Mirror

    The Book of Jonah ends strangely.

    There’s no neat conclusion.

    No record of Jonah changing his heart.

    Instead, God simply asks,

    “Is it right for you to be angry?” (Jonah 4:4)

    Then the book ends.

    Almost as though God intentionally leaves the final chapter unfinished.

    Because the last chapter isn’t really about Jonah.

    It’s about us.

    Will we rejoice only when God’s mercy reaches people like us?

    Or will we celebrate whenever another sinner finds forgiveness—even someone we believed was beyond redemption?

    The measure of our understanding of grace isn’t how thankful we are that God forgave us.

    It’s whether we can rejoice when He forgives someone we never thought deserved it.

    Final Word

    The real miracle in Jonah isn’t that God spared Nineveh.

    It’s that God patiently pursued Jonah while his heart was resisting mercy.

    The greatest danger isn’t that God’s grace is too wide.

    It’s that our hearts become too narrow to rejoice when His grace reaches someone we never thought it should.

    If God had drawn the line where we often wish He would…

    none of us would be invited to the Marriage Supper of the Lamb.

  • 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.