When Being Right Can Still Be Wrong

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Photo by Nathan Marcam

Most of us know what it feels like to be wronged. Sometimes it’s small and annoying. Other times it hits so hard it rearranges your life. And when that happens, something rises up in us — a need for justice, for fairness, for someone to finally say, “What happened to you wasn’t okay.” The world tells us that if we don’t fight back, if we don’t make the person who hurt us feel it, then we’re weak. Or worse — we’re letting them win. “For their own good,” the world says, “you have to hit back harder.” This is the air we breathe — a world that treats payback like wisdom.

But Genesis 50:19–20 pulls us into a different way of seeing things. A way that doesn’t come naturally. A way that doesn’t come from fear or self‑protection. A way that only makes sense if God is actually involved in our stories. Joseph looks at the very brothers who sold him into slavery, who ripped him out of his home and his childhood, and he says, “Do not be afraid. Am I in the place of God? You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good…” (Genesis 50:19–20).

Joseph isn’t sugarcoating anything. He’s not pretending it didn’t hurt. He’s not pretending it didn’t change him. He says it straight: you intended to harm me. But he refuses to let their intention be the final word. Joseph is looking at his life through a different lens — not the lens of what people did to him, but the lens of what God is doing in him and through him. And because of that, he refuses to sit in the judgment seat. He knows that seat belongs to God, not him.

His words hit harder when you remember what he lived through. He wasn’t just picked on. He was betrayed by his own brothers — violently, intentionally, and without remorse. He was sold like property. He lost his freedom, his identity, his safety. He was falsely accused when he did the right thing. He was thrown into prison and forgotten. He was overlooked even when he helped others. Joseph’s life wasn’t a series of unfortunate events. It was a series of deep, life‑altering injustices.

And yet — when he finally has power, when the tables have turned, when he could have made them pay — Joseph doesn’t cling to his right to be right. He doesn’t weaponize his pain. He doesn’t demand repayment. He chooses relationship over revenge. He chooses mercy over payback. He chooses to see God’s hand where others only see human harm. That’s what makes his words so shocking: “What you meant for evil, God used for good.” (Genesis 50:20). He’s not saying the evil was good. He’s saying the evil didn’t get the last word.

And Joseph doesn’t pretend otherwise. He doesn’t rewrite the story or soften what happened. He says plainly: “You meant evil against me.” (Genesis 50:20). And it wasn’t just their intention — they actually did harm. Their choices changed the entire direction of his life. Their actions caused real pain, real loss, real trauma. Joseph lived with the consequences for years. And yet — even as he names the evil honestly — he refuses to sit in God’s place. “Am I in the place of God?” (Genesis 50:19).

Joseph gets something we often miss: naming the harm doesn’t give us permission to become judge, jury, and executioner. He tells the truth about what happened, but he trusts God with what happens next. He holds all three truths at once: you meant evil; you did evil; but God used it for good — to accomplish His purposes. The evil was real — but it wasn’t the end of the story.

Photo by Çağdaş Birsen

And we need to say this out loud: Joseph’s words are not a command to stay in harmful situations or to quietly endure abuse. Scripture never asks us to tolerate violence, injustice, or danger. Holiness is not passivity. Joseph didn’t go back to the pit. He didn’t pretend the abuse was acceptable. He named the harm, he lived in safety, and he made wise choices to protect himself and his family. What he refused to do was let the harm define him or turn him into someone he didn’t want to be. The message isn’t “accept evil.” The message is “don’t let evil shape who you become.” God can redeem anything — but He never asks us to stay where we’re being harmed. He asks us to walk in wisdom, truth, and safety while trusting that He can use even the darkest chapters to accomplish His purposes.

This is where Paul’s words in Romans land with weight: “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him…” (Romans 8:28). Paul isn’t saying everything that happens is good. He’s saying God refuses to waste anything — even the things shaped by human evil. Joseph lived this long before Paul wrote it. He didn’t pretend the evil was good. He just refused to let the evil be the final word.

Most of us live with a “why is this happening” reflex. When something painful hits, we want answers. We want fairness. We want the world to make sense. But Joseph’s worldview is different. He doesn’t ask why. He asks what now. What is God doing in this moment? That shift changes everything. It moves us from trying to control the outcome to trusting God’s character. It moves us from payback to redemption. It moves us from fear to participation in what God is doing.

Jesus teaches this same posture when He says, “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.” (Matthew 5:44). That’s not a call to ignore injustice. It’s a call to break the cycle of retaliation. It’s a call to trust that God is doing something bigger than the harm done to us.

Paul echoes this when he writes, “Do not repay anyone evil for evil… Do not take revenge… for it is written: ‘It is mine to avenge; I will repay,’ says the Lord.” (Romans 12:17–19). Paul isn’t telling us to be passive. He’s telling us to get out of God’s chair. Joseph understood this long before Paul wrote it. He understood that trusting God isn’t a theory — it’s a way of living.

One of the most counter‑cultural truths in Scripture is that God consistently prioritizes people over proving a point. Not because truth doesn’t matter — it absolutely does — but because truth in God’s kingdom is always expressed through love, humility, and a willingness to repair what’s broken. Joseph models this beautifully. He was right. His brothers were wrong. But Joseph refuses to use his correctness as a weapon. He chooses relationship instead.

Jesus reinforces this when He teaches, “If you are offering your gift at the altar and there remember that your brother has something against you… first go and be reconciled.” (Matthew 5:23–24). Being right with God can’t be separated from making things right with others.

Paul sharpens the point when he writes, “If I… understand all mysteries and all knowledge… but do not have love, I am nothing.” (1 Corinthians 13:2). You can be right and still be wrong. And in one of the most jarring statements in the New Testament, Paul tells the Corinthians, “Why not rather be wronged? Why not rather be cheated?” (1 Corinthians 6:7).

Paul is not endorsing injustice.
He is exposing what it really means to follow Jesus.

Your witness matters more than your win.
Your unity matters more than being proven right.
Your relationships matter more than your rights.

This is the same posture Joseph takes with his brothers.

If anyone had the right to demand justice, it was Jesus. Betrayed by a friend. Abandoned by His followers. Condemned by religious leaders. Executed by the state. And yet, on the cross, Jesus says, “Father, forgive them…” (Luke 23:34). The cross is the ultimate Genesis 50:20 moment. Humanity intended harm. God intended salvation. Humanity tried to end the story. God wrote resurrection.

So what does it look like to live this way? We refuse to sit in God’s seat. We tell the truth about the harm. We ask, “God, what are You doing in this moment?” We trust God with what we can’t control. We choose hope over retaliation.

Genesis 50:19–20 isn’t comforting until we let go of our need to control the outcome. But once we do, it becomes a doorway into freedom. Joseph’s story isn’t just ancient history. It’s a picture of the kind of life Jesus invites us into today — a life that trusts God with justice, values people over being right, and believes God can redeem what others meant for harm. This isn’t easy. But it is the way of Jesus. And it is the way that leads to life.

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“Don’t Judge Me” — A Phrase Worth Retiring

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Photo by Nathan J Hilton:

I hear the phrase almost every day now — from family, from friends, from people at work, even from people at church. It shows up in casual conversations, serious conversations, and everything in between. I was having conversations with friends in their homes and communities recently, and before they shared something personal about their lives — the kind of car they drive, the school their kids attend, the neighborhood they live in — they would pause and say, almost automatically, “Don’t judge me,” and then tell me the detail.

It wasn’t said as a joke. It wasn’t said lightly. It was said as protection. Protection from being measured. Protection from being misunderstood. Protection from being reduced to a single choice.

And it made me wonder why this phrase has become so common. Why do so many people feel the need to guard themselves before they’ve even spoken? And what does Jesus actually mean when He says, “Do not judge, or you too will be judged” (Matthew 7:1)?

Because I’m convinced we’ve misunderstood both the phrase and the Scripture — and in doing so, we’ve missed the freedom Jesus offers.

The New Testament uses the word “judge” in two very different ways. If we don’t separate them, everything gets confused. The first kind is discernment — the ability to see clearly and tell the difference between what is healthy and what is harmful. Jesus encourages this when He says, “Judge with right judgment” (John 7:24). Paul says something similar when he writes that a mature believer “discerns all things” (1 Corinthians 2:15). Discernment is not harsh. It is not about ranking people. It is about wisdom, clarity, and truth.

The second kind is condemnation. This is the kind Jesus warns against in Matthew 7. It is the impulse to measure people, to assign worth, to assume motives, to reduce someone to a verdict. James speaks strongly about this when he says, “Who are you to judge your neighbor?” (James 4:12). Condemnation is not about truth. It is about superiority. It is about deciding someone’s value based on your own standards.

Jesus illustrates this difference with the image of a person trying to remove a speck from someone else’s eye while ignoring the plank in their own (Matthew 7:3–5). His point is not that we should never help someone see clearly. His point is that we cannot help anyone if we refuse to see ourselves honestly. Condemnation blinds us. Discernment requires humility.

When my friends said, “Don’t judge me,” they weren’t afraid I would point out sin. They weren’t afraid of moral correction. They weren’t afraid of discernment. They were afraid of condemnation — afraid I would measure them, place them somewhere on the invisible social ladder, or decide who they are based on a single detail.

This fear is not limited to one culture. In many parts of the world, people feel pressure to present a certain image — to appear successful, respectable, educated, or strong. Social media has made this even more intense. We are constantly aware of how others might see us. So “don’t judge me” becomes a way of saying, “Please don’t lower my value in your eyes.”

But beneath that fear are deeper roots. Some people say it because they feel exposed. Some say it because they have been judged harshly before — by family, community, religious leaders, or society. Some say it because they fear being misunderstood. But underneath all of these is the same truth: we fear judgment because we have learned to tie our worth to human perception.

When worth is fragile, judgment feels dangerous. When worth is earned, judgment feels threatening. When worth is comparative, judgment feels crushing.

This is where Jesus offers a completely different way to live. In the world’s system, worth is assigned by perception. In God’s kingdom, worth is given by love. Scripture shows this again and again. We are created in God’s image (Genesis 1:27). That means our worth is built into us before we ever speak, act, succeed, or fail. It is not something we earn. It is something we receive.

We are also known and loved by God long before we perform for anyone. Psalm 139 describes a God who sees us, forms us, and understands us completely. Nothing about our story surprises Him. Nothing about our weakness disqualifies us. Nothing about our past lowers our value in His eyes.

And for those who follow Jesus, there is an even deeper truth: we are free from condemnation. Paul writes that “there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus” (Romans 8:1). Jesus tells the woman caught in adultery, “I do not condemn you” (John 8:11), and then invites her into a new way of living. He does not excuse sin, but He refuses to define people by it. He lifts shame instead of adding to it. He restores dignity instead of taking it away.

Jesus frees us from the world’s verdicts. He frees us from the fear of being measured by human standards. He frees us from the pressure to prove our worth. Choosing to follow Him is choosing to live in that freedom — to step out of the world’s system of comparison and into God’s truth about who we are.

This freedom is not abstract. It changes how we see ourselves and how we move through the world. When our worth is rooted in Jesus, we no longer need to chase approval. We no longer need to defend every choice. We no longer need to hide parts of our story. We no longer need to fear being misunderstood. Our value is secure because it rests in the One who made us, loves us, and calls us His own.

Keeping our focus on Jesus keeps us grounded in this truth. When our eyes drift back to the world’s standards, fear returns. But when our eyes stay on Him, confidence grows. We remember who we are. We remember whose we are. And we remember that no human opinion has the authority to define us.

When our worth is secure, it doesn’t just change how we feel — it changes how we live. When we know our worth in Jesus, we make decisions that don’t always make sense to people around us. We choose generosity over status. We choose forgiveness over revenge. We choose humility over self‑promotion. We choose faithfulness over convenience.

These choices can look foolish in a world that measures worth by success, wealth, or image. Paul writes that the message of Jesus looks like “foolishness” to many (1 Corinthians 1:18). But when our worth is secure, we no longer need the world to validate us. We are free to live differently. We are free to live faithfully. We are free to live without fear of being judged by human standards.

Here is the challenge — and it may feel uncomfortable: it is time for followers of Jesus to stop saying “don’t judge me.” Not because people won’t misunderstand us. Not because the world suddenly becomes kind. Not because judgment disappears. But because the phrase reveals something deeper: that we still believe human perception has power over our worth.

Jesus has already removed condemnation. Jesus has already secured our identity. Jesus has already declared our value. We do not need to fear human judgment because our worth is not in human hands. Instead of saying “don’t judge me,” we can say, “My worth is in Jesus. I am free to live faithfully, even if it looks foolish.”

We say “don’t judge me” because we fear condemnation — the world’s kind of judgment that ranks and reduces. But Jesus offers a different kind of judgment: discernment that sees clearly and restores gently. When we root ourselves in His truth, we no longer need to fear being exposed or misunderstood. His discernment frees us. His lack of condemnation heals us. And that is the kind of freedom the world is desperate to see.

Please help me share the good news of Jesus and how He can change your life, and our world!

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With You Always: The God Who Co-Missions

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Photo by Erik, A van Dijk: https://www.pexels.com/photo/golden-morning-27421320/

There are moments in Scripture when Jesus speaks words so steady and so simple that they become anchors for our whole lives. Matthew 28:20 is one of those moments:

“And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.” (Matthew 28:20, NIV)

We love this verse. But it becomes even more powerful when we remember when Jesus said it — and why. He spoke these words immediately after giving His disciples the most daunting assignment of their lives. Before He promised His presence, He handed them a mission far beyond their human ability.

“All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me.” (Matthew 28:18)
With those words, Jesus establishes His unmatched authority. Then He sends them:

“Go and make disciples of all nations… baptizing them… teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you.” (Matthew 28:19–20a)

A global mission entrusted to ordinary people. It’s overwhelming. And Jesus knows that.

So He ends with the only promise big enough to hold the weight of the mission:
“And surely I am with you always.” (Matthew 28:20)
It’s as if He’s saying, You cannot do this without Me — and you don’t have to. I am sending you, and I am going with you.

Jesus never commissions without co‑missioning.

This isn’t a new idea Jesus introduces in Matthew. This is who God has always been.

When God calls Moses to confront Pharaoh, Moses immediately feels inadequate: “Who am I that I should go?” (Exodus 3:11)
God doesn’t respond with a pep talk. He simply says, “I will be with you.” (Exodus 3:12) 

That’s the whole strategy. God sends — and God stays.

The same pattern continues with Joshua. When Joshua steps into leadership after Moses, he feels the weight of the task. God calls him to lead Israel into the Promised Land, a mission filled with uncertainty and danger. And God gives him the same promise He gave Moses:

“Do not be afraid… for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.” (Joshua 1:9)

Joshua’s courage isn’t rooted in his personality or confidence. It’s rooted in God’s covenantal presence. God isn’t asking Joshua to be brave on his own — He’s asking Joshua to trust the God who goes with him.

Jesus continues this pattern in His ministry. When He sends out the Twelve, He gives them His authority and promises the Spirit will speak through them:

“It will not be you speaking, but the Spirit of your Father speaking through you.” (Matthew 10:20)

When He sends out the Seventy‑Two, He sends them to places He Himself intends to go (Luke 10:1), gives them authority (Luke 10:19), promises provision (Luke 10:7), reminds them the harvest belongs to God (Luke 10:2), and rejoices with them when they return (Luke 10:21).

The pattern is unmistakable: God calls, God sends, God accompanies. God commissions — and God co‑missions.

If this is who God is — if this is how God works — then the question becomes: Do we believe Him? Do we trust that His presence is enough for what He’s calling us to do?

This is the same question Paul raises in Romans 8:31:“If God is for us, who can be against us?”
Not meaning nothing will come against us, but meaning nothing that comes against us can overcome the God who goes with us.

God’s grace goes before us. God invites us to respond freely. God empowers us by His Spirit to obey. God’s holy love accompanies us in every step of the journey. Faith is choosing to trust the God who co‑missions.

And this co‑missioning isn’t just for the heroes of the faith. It’s not reserved for pastors or missionaries or evangelists. This is for all of us. I don’t know about you, but I need the Holy Spirit with me to go to Walmart. God is with us in whatever He’s calling us to do — teaching, parenting, spousing, peopling. In our work, our homes, our neighborhoods, our conversations, our commutes.

Scripture says, “Whatever you do… do it in the name of the Lord Jesus.” (Colossians 3:17)
Whatever you do. God doesn’t just co‑mission the extraordinary moments — He co‑missions the ordinary ones too.

So what does this mean for your real life — your home, your work, your relationships, your calling?

It means you are never the one walking in alone. Whether it’s the workplace, the family gathering, the hard conversation, or the unknown future, Jesus walks in with you.

It means the weight you carry quietly is not carried quietly by you alone. He is with you in the questions you don’t voice and in the places where you feel unseen.

And it means whatever God is asking of you — in your family, your work, your healing, your next step — you are not sent alone. The One who calls you is the One who equips you, and the One who equips you is the One who accompanies you.

And maybe you know what it feels like to walk into a room alone — a job interview, a new school, a social gathering where you didn’t know a soul. That moment when you thought, “I wish my person were here with me.” You could almost picture the two of you strolling in together to your favorite walk‑on song, suddenly braver because you weren’t alone. Jesus is that presence for you. Your confidence isn’t in yourself — it’s in Him. And honestly, who could compare to that.

As you move into the days ahead, may you go with confidence — not in yourself, not in your strength, not in your certainty, but in the presence of the One who goes before you, beside you, and within you. Hear His promise as if He is speaking it directly to you:

“And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.” (Matthew 28:20)

And may this promise echo in your spirit:
He is with you. Always.

Please help me share the good news of Jesus and how He can change your life, and our world!

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Anchored in El Sali

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Photo by Alexey Demidov

Years ago, when I was leading a customer service department at a newspaper, I used to tell my team something that always surprised them: “I would rather have a customer call angry than have one who silently cancels.”

An angry customer is still engaged.
They still care enough to reach out.
They still want the relationship to work.

But a silent customer — the one who quietly walks away without a word — that’s the one you’ve truly lost. Because silence means disconnection. Silence means they’ve given up.

I’ve thought about that a lot over the years, especially when I read Psalm 42. Because the psalmist is not calm, collected, or cheerful. He’s overwhelmed. He’s hurting. He’s confused. But he’s still talking to God. He hasn’t silently canceled the relationship. And that alone is a powerful picture of faith.

Not perfect faith.
Not polished faith.
But faith that refuses to disengage.

The writer of Psalm 42 says, “My soul is downcast within me.” He feels forgotten and shaken. He says, “Your waves and breakers have swept over me,” describing life crashing in from every direction. But instead of letting the waves define who God is, he brings his fear and confusion straight to God.

That’s something many of us struggle with. When life gets heavy, it’s easy to let our pain tell us who God is. It’s easy to assume that if we feel overwhelmed, God must be far away. But the psalmist does something different. He names his feelings honestly, but he doesn’t let them become the whole story.

He keeps talking to God.
He keeps reaching.
He keeps holding on.

One of the most important truths in this psalm is something the writer never says directly, but shows in every verse: we are all holding onto something. When life gets hard, we reach for something to steady us — our emotions, our own strength, the approval of others, the stories we tell ourselves, or the distractions that help us escape for a moment. But none of those things can carry the weight of a human soul.

That’s why the psalmist keeps turning back to God. He calls God “my Rock” — in Hebrew, El Sali. It’s a name that means stability, safety, and strength. In the ancient world, a rock wasn’t a pebble. It was a massive cliff — a place you could hide, a place that didn’t move when everything else did.

So the psalmist is making a choice:
I will not anchor myself to the waves. I will anchor myself to the Rock.

And that choice changes everything.

There’s a moment in the New Testament where a father brings his suffering son to Jesus and says, “I believe; help my unbelief.” It’s not a confident prayer. It’s not a triumphant prayer. It’s the prayer of someone who is exhausted and afraid, but still reaching for God. Jesus receives that prayer. And that matters, because many of us think faith has to be strong to count. But Scripture shows us something different: faith that trembles is still faith. Faith that struggles is still faith. Faith that comes with questions is still faith. What matters is that we bring it to God.

Even Jesus prayed this way. In the Garden of Gethsemane, He said, “My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death.” He asked the Father if there was another way. He brought His anguish honestly, without hiding or pretending. And He stayed in the conversation. If Jesus — the Son of God — prayed that honestly, then there is room for us to do the same.

The psalmist ends with a line that feels like a deep breath: “Hope in God, for I shall again praise Him.” He’s not saying everything is fixed. He’s not saying the storm is over. He’s saying, “I know who my God is, and I know this won’t be the end of my story.” That’s the heart of this psalm. Not that life is easy. Not that faith is simple. But that God is steady, even when we are not.

God is not shaken by what shakes you.
God is not confused by what confuses you.
God is not moved by what overwhelms you.

He is El Sali — the God who is your Rock.

Maybe you’re reading this from a place of exhaustion. Maybe life has been harder than you expected. Maybe you’ve been carrying more than you can say out loud. If that’s you, hear this: you are not standing in the storm alone. El Sali — your Rock — is steady beneath your feet. You don’t have to be strong. You don’t have to have the right words. You don’t have to pretend you’re okay. You can lean toward the One who is strong for you.

The same God who held the psalmist in his despair…
the same God who met the father in Mark 9…
the same God who strengthened Jesus in Gethsemane…
is holding you now.

And because He does not move, you can have real hope — not the kind you have to manufacture, but the kind that comes from being held by the God who will not fail you.

El Sali — God my Rock.
The One who holds me when I cannot hold myself.

Please help me share the good news of Jesus and how He can change your life, and our world!

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El Roi – The God Who Sees Me

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Photo by Elif Kübra yaşar

There are moments in life when being unseen feels heavier than being hurt. You know the moments I mean — the ones where you’re surrounded by people but feel invisible, the ones where you’re carrying something no one else knows about, the ones where you’re trying to hold your life together with shaking hands. Every culture, every country, every generation knows this ache. It’s part of being human.

Into that ache comes one of the most surprising stories in Scripture — a story that speaks across borders, languages, and life experiences. It’s the story of a woman named Hagar in Genesis 16, and it reveals a God who sees what others overlook. A God who sees you. A God who stays. A God who meets you where you are, but loves you too much to leave you there.

This God has a name: El Roi — “The God who sees me.” And Hagar is the first person in the entire Bible to speak that name. Not a king, not a prophet, not a priest. A mistreated, pregnant, enslaved woman running into the desert with nowhere to go. That’s who God reveals Himself to. And that matters.

Hagar’s story begins with pain. She is used, blamed, mistreated, and finally driven out. She runs into the wilderness — not because she’s rebellious, but because she’s desperate. Many of us know that feeling. Running doesn’t always look dramatic. Sometimes it looks like shutting down emotionally, avoiding hard conversations, numbing ourselves, pretending we’re fine, or returning to old patterns simply because they feel familiar. Running is often a survival instinct, but it rarely leads us to healing.

And yet, this is where the story turns. While Hagar is running away from everything that hurt her, God is running toward her. Genesis says, “The angel of the Lord found her.” Not by accident. Not by coincidence. He went looking for her. And He goes looking for you too.

When God finds Hagar, He calls her by name. No one else in the story has done that. She has been treated like property, like a problem, like a burden — but God sees her as a person. He sees her pain, her story, her fear, her dignity, her future. And He sees the truth — the whole truth — about her situation. Not just the wounds she carries or the injustice done to her, but also the choices she’s made, the running she’s done, the fear that drives her. And He doesn’t turn away.

This is one of the most hopeful truths in Scripture: God sees the truth about you — and He stays with you. Most of us are used to people who stay only when we’re doing well, when we’re strong, when we’re easy to love. But God stays when we’re messy. He stays when we’re hurting. He stays when we’re running. He stays when we’re not at our best. He stays because His love is not fragile.

Then comes the part of the story that challenges us. God tells Hagar to return. It’s easy to misunderstand this moment. God is not sending her back into danger. He is not minimizing her pain. He is not saying, “Just go back and everything will be fine.” Sometimes people talk about obedience like it’s a shortcut to comfort — as if doing the right thing will make life smooth or painless. But that’s not the story the Bible tells, and it’s not the story most of us live.

The truth is that obedience is often hard. It may hurt. It may require humility you don’t feel ready for. It may lead you straight into the places you’ve been avoiding. Going back didn’t magically fix Hagar’s situation. It didn’t erase the tension. It didn’t guarantee that the people who hurt her would suddenly change. And the same is true for us. Doing what God asks doesn’t mean everything will get easier. Sometimes it gets harder before it gets better. Sometimes obedience feels like walking through fire.

But here’s the difference — and it’s everything: you don’t walk through the fire alone. You don’t walk through it in

Photo by Johannes Plenio

your own strength. And you don’t walk through it without purpose. God doesn’t promise ease. He promises presence. He promises grace. He promises strength for the step you’re taking — not the one you’re imagining five steps ahead. And He promises that on the other side of the fire, there is freedom. Not freedom from pain, but freedom from the patterns that keep us stuck. Not freedom from difficulty, but freedom from the fear that keeps us running. Not freedom from suffering, but freedom from the lie that we are alone in it.

Obedience doesn’t guarantee that bad things won’t happen. But it does guarantee that God will give you what you need to walk through whatever comes — and to come out more whole, more healed, and more free. Hagar didn’t return because it was easy. She returned because God met her in the wilderness, called her by name, and promised to go with her. And that’s the only reason any of us can take the hard path too.

So let me ask you gently: where do you need to hear, “God sees you”? Where have you been running? What step of obedience is God inviting you to take — even if it scares you? And who can walk with you so you don’t take that step alone?

Here’s the truth: you are not unseen. You are not forgotten. You are not alone. God sees the parts of your story you’ve never said out loud. He sees the nights you cried yourself to sleep. He sees the moments you almost gave up. He sees the choices you regret and the choices you never got to make. He sees the wounds you carry and the walls you’ve built to protect them.

And He does not turn away. He comes toward you. He calls you by name. He speaks into your wilderness. He gives you a promise alongside His command. And as you take the next step — even a small one — grace meets you where you are, and strength comes as you obey.

The God who sees you is the God who stays with you. Always.

Please help me share the good news of Jesus and how He can change your life, and our world!

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El Emet — The God Who Does Not Move

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There is a name for God in Scripture that has been pressing on my heart: El Emet — the God of Truth, the God who is faithful. Not faithful because life is easy, or because we are strong, or because we always stand firm. God is faithful because it is His nature. His promises come from who He is, and who He is does not change.

And that matters, because we change. Some days our faith feels steady; other days we feel afraid, tired, or unsure. Some days we obey quickly; other days we hesitate or hide. But God does not shift the way we do. He does not move with pressure or bend under fear. He remains who He is.

Scripture says, “If we are faithless, He remains faithful, for He cannot deny Himself.” God does not become more faithful when we are strong or less faithful when we are weak. He is constant. Jesus said, “I am with you always.” Not sometimes. Not only when we feel brave. Not only when life is peaceful. Always. His presence is not fragile. His nearness is not conditional. His faithfulness is not based on our performance. He is with us because He promised to be — and He keeps His word.

The name El Emet appears in Psalm 31:5, where David prays, “Into Your hand I commit my spirit; You have redeemed me, O LORD, El Emet.” David did not pray this from a safe place. He prayed it while running for his life. King Saul wanted him dead. David hid in caves, moved from place to place, and lived with fear, betrayal, and uncertainty.

Psalm 31 shows us his reality: “Terror on every side.” “My strength fails.” “I am forgotten like a dead man.” And yet — in the middle of danger — David says, “I trust You with my life because You are El Emet. You are steady. You are true. You do not change.” David trusted God not because life was stable, but because God was.

Psalm 31 was written about 1,000 years before Jesus. A full millennium. And then Jesus — fully God and fully man — hangs on the cross and says, “Father, into Your hands I commit My spirit.” Jesus is quoting David’s prayer. But He is not simply repeating it — He is fulfilling it.

David trusted God while fleeing Saul. Jesus trusted the Father while giving His life for the world. David was a man after God’s heart. Jesus is the heart of God revealed. David trusted God with his life. Jesus trusted the Father with His life, His death, and His resurrection. Jesus is the living proof that God is El Emet — the God who keeps His promises across generations.

Following Jesus looks different in every part of the world, but the cost is real everywhere. For some, the pressure comes from the outside — from family expectations, cultural resistance, or environments where faith is misunderstood or unwelcome. For others, the struggle is quieter — the slow pull of distraction, the weight of loneliness, the fear of disappointing people, or the battle inside the heart.

But no matter where we live or what we face, one truth remains: God’s faithfulness is not limited by circumstance. His presence is not blocked by pressure. His promises are not undone by suffering. El Emet is steady when everything else shakes.

Most of our lives are lived in small, hidden moments — a quiet prayer, a decision to forgive, a choice to hope, a moment of courage no one else sees. These moments matter deeply to God. Faithfulness in hidden places is still faithfulness. And in those places, God meets us — not with distance, but with nearness; not with fear, but with strength; not with uncertainty, but with truth.

Scripture says, “The One who calls you is faithful, and He will do it.” God does not call us and then leave us alone. He calls, and He carries. He leads, and He protects. He begins, and He completes.

God’s faithfulness invites a response from us — not to earn His love, but to walk in it; not to prove ourselves, but to trust Him; not to impress Him, but to follow Him. So here is the invitation, simple and real: take one step of faith. Trust Him with what you fear. Say yes where you have been hesitant. Obey where you have delayed. Walk forward even if the path is narrow. Choose Him over comfort. Choose truth over fear. Choose life over what looks safe.

Not because you are strong, but because He is faithful. Not because you know the outcome, but because you know His character. Not because the road is easy, but because He walks it with you.

When everything shifts, God does not. When everything feels uncertain, He remains steady. When everything around you changes, His faithfulness does not move.

El Emet — the God of Truth — is faithful. And because He is faithful, you can trust Him with your next step.

Please help me share the good news of Jesus and how He can change your life, and our world!

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Reading God’s Story Together This Year: A Chronological Journey Through the Bible

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As we close out one year and step into another, I’ve been thinking about how much can change around us — and how quickly. Circumstances shift. Seasons shift. Our own hearts shift. But God does not. His truth does not. His Word does not.

At our year‑end celebration at Tucson Community Fellowship, we spent time remembering God’s faithfulness — the ways He has carried us, provided for us, and stayed close in both the loud and quiet moments. And woven through all of it was one of our core pillars: we are a people dedicated to God’s Word. Not because it’s the only thing we value, but because it’s the foundation under everything else. God’s Word shapes how we live, how we love, how we grow, and how we walk with Him into whatever comes next.

Scripture says, “The grass withers and the flowers fall, but the word of our God endures forever.” (Isaiah 40:8)
When life feels uncertain or unstable, God’s Word remains steady. It doesn’t shift with culture or circumstance. It stands.

And because God is faithful, He keeps inviting us back — back to Himself, back to His presence, back to His Word.

There’s something about this time of year that makes that invitation feel especially clear. Not because a new calendar has power, but because our hearts are paying attention. We’re looking back at what was. We’re looking ahead at what could be. And in the middle of all of that, God gently says what He has always said: “Return to Me.”  (Joel 2:12)

Not with guilt.
Not with pressure.
Not with performance.
But with trust.

The psalmist wrote, “Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.” (Psalm 119:105)
A lamp doesn’t light the whole road — just the next step. And sometimes that’s exactly what we need. God’s Word doesn’t just give information; it gives direction. It steadies us when everything else feels unsteady.

This year, I want to invite you to take that next step with us.

Beginning this week, we’re launching a daily Bible‑reading vlog — a simple rhythm where we read through the entire Bible in one year together. And we’ll be reading it in chronological order — the story of God as it unfolded in history, not just as the books appear in our Bibles. This helps us see the bigger picture: God’s faithfulness across generations, His patience, His promises, and His heart for people.

You’ll see Pastor Kayte Sanford, myself, and other leaders from our Tucson Community Fellowship family. Each day’s reading will end with one reflection question — something practical and honest, something that helps you pause and let God’s Word settle into your heart.

And we want this to be a conversation, not a one‑way message. If you have questions about anything in the day’s reading — a verse, a theme, something that felt confusing, or something that stood out — you’re invited to ask. You don’t need to know the Bible well. You don’t need to have the “right” words. You don’t even need to be sure what you believe yet. You are welcome here.

Every Friday, we’ll gather the questions that came in throughout the week and share our responses. Not as experts, but as fellow learners — people walking the same road, listening to the same Scriptures, and trusting the same faithful God.

This isn’t about perfection.
It’s about presence.
It’s about showing up.
It’s about letting God’s Word shape us again.

Paul wrote, “Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly.” (Colossians 3:16)
That’s the invitation. Not to rush. Not to skim. But to let God’s Word take root — to let it form us from the inside out.

My prayer is simple: that as we read together, God will steady us. That His truth will anchor us. That His voice will become familiar again. And that our faith — quiet, imperfect, growing — will begin to live in new ways.

If you’ve been wanting to reengage with Scripture, this is a good time.
If you’ve been longing for direction, this is a good time.
If you’ve been feeling the pull to return to God’s Word, this is a good time.

Not because the calendar changed.
But because God is faithful.
And He is inviting you.

Let’s walk this year together — one day, one chapter, one step of faith at a time.

Love: The Final Harvest of Advent

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Photo by KaLisa Veer on Unsplash

Advent is a season of preparation and reflection. Each week we light a candle—Hope, Peace, Joy, and finally Love. These are not only themes of the Christmas story; they are signs of God’s work in our lives. Advent invites us to slow down, listen, and allow Christ to grow His life within us.

Hope is the beginning of the journey. It is like a seed placed in the soil. Scripture says, “For in this hope we were saved” (Romans 8:24). Hope means trusting God’s promises even when we cannot yet see the outcome. For those new to faith, hope is the first sign that God is near. For mature believers, hope sustains us through long seasons of waiting. Hope is the seed that begins the harvest.

Peace is like the root that grows deep and gives strength. Philippians 4:7 tells us that God’s peace guards our hearts and minds. Peace does not mean life is free from difficulty. It means Christ is present in every situation. For those new to faith, peace brings assurance. For those who have walked with Christ for many years, peace becomes a steady foundation when life is uncertain. Peace allows the fruit of the Spirit to grow strong.

Joy is the blossom that appears before the fruit. It is the sign that something beautiful is coming. When the angels announced the birth of Jesus, they called it “good news of great joy for all people” (Luke 2:10). Joy is deeper than happiness. Happiness changes with circumstances, but joy is rooted in God’s presence. For new believers, joy is the excitement of discovering God’s goodness. For mature believers, joy becomes strength in times of hardship. Joy is the blossom that tells us the harvest is near.

And then we come to Love—the final candle of Advent and the greatest of all the gifts. Love is the harvest, the fruit that shows Christ is alive in us. Scripture says, “And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love” (1 Corinthians 13:13). Love is not only an emotion. It is a decision. It is not shaped by circumstances but by God’s character. Love takes action. It moves toward others with kindness, sacrifice, and purpose.

Jesus taught this clearly. He said, “By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.” Love is the evidence of a transformed life. And this is where the message of Advent becomes profound. Jesus did not wait for the world to be worthy. He did not wait for humanity to improve. He came because of love. He loved us not because we earned it, but because it is His nature to give.

Before we reached for God, He was already reaching for us. Before we understood our need, His grace was already drawing us. Advent reminds us that God always moves first. Jesus entered a world filled with conflict and uncertainty. He came into a humble home, into a world that did not recognize Him. He came not because we were ready, but because we were lost. He came not because we were lovable, but because He is love.

This is the love He calls us to reflect. A love that does not wait for perfect conditions. A love that does not wait for others to deserve it. A love that does not hold back until it feels safe or convenient. This is holy love—a love that transforms us and then flows through us. A love that reshapes the way we respond to people, challenges, and even our own wounds. Love is the gift that gives itself away.

Photo by Sohan Rayguru on Unsplash

Imagine a vineyard at the end of the growing season. The vines stretch across the field, each one cared for by the farmer. At first, there was only the seed. That was Hope. Then the roots grew deep. That was Peace. Soon, blossoms appeared. That was Joy. And finally, the grapes ripened, full and sweet. That is Love—the harvest that shows the vine is alive.

The vine does not earn its fruit. The fruit grows because of the life flowing through it. In the same way, Hope, Peace, Joy, and Love are not things we create by our own strength. They grow in us as we remain connected to Christ. Jesus said, “I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit.” Our lives show Christ’s presence when they overflow with these gifts—especially love.

Advent is a spiritual harvest. Hope plants the seed. Peace grows the roots. Joy blossoms. And Love becomes the fruit that brings everything together. When we live out Hope, Peace, Joy, and Love, we show the world that Christ has come—not only in history, but in our lives today. Love is the harvest that reveals Christ is present in us.

As you move through this Advent season, where do you sense Christ inviting you to grow — in Hope, in Peace, in Joy, or in Love?

Please help me share the good news of Jesus and how He can change your life, and our world!

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Do and Teach

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Jesus is very clear about who and what we are called to do and be. From that we can also discern what we are not to do and be. In Matthew, Jesus speaks to live His commission to His people. It is more than an evangelistic mission statement it is specific instructions as to who we are called to be and what we are told to do.

One of the most common conversations I have with new Christians are around how they are supposed to behave and what they are supposed to do. They want a list of rules, do’s and do not’s. There is a propensity to overcomplicate Christianity with big words and long diatribes that cause more confusion than clarity. Christianity is simple to understand, the difficulty is in the living. Thankfully we don’t have to do it on our own, in fact we can’t! Jesus knew this which is why He did what He did by dying for us, and then sending His Spirit to live within us to help.

Simply, we are called to be His people, “if my people, who are called by my name, will humble themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and I will forgive their sin and will heal their land.” (2Chronicles 4:17)  Also, “A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.” (John 13:34-35)  We are called by His name, Christians, and we demonstrate our acceptance of that call by loving all His people. That should be our distinguishing characteristic.

Being called is not a command but a summons. We can decide for ourselves whether to respond. If my parents call me by my name and I chose not to answer, there may be consequences for that decision. Living a life without Christ is an unfathomable existence void of hope, peace, and joy. Why would anyone choose to live that kind of life? Still, there are those that choose not to listen. They choose to ignore the call and live for themselves in a world that will devour them. Responding to this call is by no means easy, living it out is even harder. Living out the call of a Christian means following the commands He has given, regardless of the cost to ourselves. Then we take His Commission to the world…a world that hates Him and therefore hates us.

When Jesus gave His Commission to the disciples, it was not for them alone. If it was just for them and not for the rest of us, why share it? Why include it in scripture? The disciples were mortal and could only do so much evangelism in their lifetime. If it was just for them world evangelism would have ended with John. But at the end of His Commission Jesus tells the disciples to teach them (whoever they have gone to and discipled and baptized) everything I have commanded you. This would include what He just told them to do. The Great Commission, as we have come to call it, was for everyone who was called by His name, “Then Jesus came to them and said, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.” (Matthew 28:18-20) 

Jesus was speaking to each one of us who are called by His name. If you claim to be a Christian then the best way for you to demonstrate your distinctiveness is by loving His people; so, go…make disciples of ALL nations, baptize them in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit…teach them to obey everything He has commanded us. This is who we are called to be and what we are told to do.

We do what He calls us to do and teach what He taught us to teach. We can search scripture to create lists of how we should behave, what we should and should not say and do. We can become as pharisaical as the religious leaders of Jesus day. When we do that, we are missing the point. We respond to His call, we follow the Greatest Commandment, “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.” (Matthew 22:37-40) The way we do this is by Doing what He called us to do and Teaching what He commanded us to teach.

We respond to His summons, we love Him, and those He puts in front of us, we do what He commanded us, and Teach others to do the same. Respond, Love, Do and Teach. This is the core of being a Christ follower. The ins and outs of how we do that may vary by person, community, culture, and language.

Please help me share the good news of Jesus and how He can change your life, and our world!

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This is Not a Test

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On October 4, 2023, at 11:20 AM PST the United States sounded an alarm. Several federal, regional, and local entities performed a nationwide emergency alert test. All televisions, radios, cell phones, and other cellular devices would receive the loud, alarming, test message. My children came home from school the week before talking about it. How everyone across the whole country was going to be hearing the same thing at the same time. They thought it was very cool and newsworthy. It got their imaginations going; how loud would it be, how long would it last, would their friends who were hiding their cell phones at school get caught? The excitement continued to build until the day, and the moment finally arrived.

I was in a meeting with colleagues on the other side of the country in Massachusetts when the alarms sounded. My cell phone, their phones, the radio, the television, everything started screaming at once. The same sound we get during monsoon season from the national weather service, or when there is an Amber alert, or evacuation instructions from a forest fire, we all heard it, we all took note of it. Then after a few seconds it was over and we went on about our regularly scheduled programming.

My kids came home that day, somewhat disappointed. To be honest, I had to actually ask them about it, it was so anticlimactic that once it was done they forgot about it completely. “I thought it would be louder.” my daughter said. “I thought it would last longer and there would be something like sirens or something.” was my son’s statement. A week’s worth of build up, a few seconds of distraction, then the world moved on.

“Listen, I tell you a mystery: We will not all sleep, but we will all be changed – in a flash, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed. For the perishable must clothe itself with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality. When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: “Death has been swallowed up in victory.”” (1 Corinthians 15:51-54)

The world is on a collision course with a true emergency alert. Except, this one is not warning of imminent danger, it is the onset. Once you hear this sound, there will be no time to take refuge, or find shelter. There will be no safe place to hide for those who have chosen to ignore all the warning signs that were sounded beforehand. “Therefore keep watch, because you do not know on what day your Lord will come. But understand this: If the owner of the house had known at what time of night the thief was coming, he would have kept watch and would not have let his house be broken into. So you also must be ready, because the Son of Man will come at an hour when you do not expect him.” (Matthew 24:42-44)

I am not an expert in end time theology. I will never claim to be so. I am the preacher declaring that we need to be prepared at all times, not just when we know danger is coming. We are called to live each day, and approach each conversation as if it is our last. Jesus warns us in many parables to be prepared, the Ten Virgins is one of my favorites. “But while they were on their way to buy the oil, the bridegroom arrived. The virgins who were ready went in with him to the wedding banquet. And the door was shut. “Later the others also came. ‘Lord, Lord.’ they said, ‘open the door for us!’ But he replied, ‘Truly I tell you, I don’t know you.’ “Therefore keep watch, because you do not know the day or the hour.”” (Matthew 25:10-13 emphasis added)

We are told by Jesus and throughout scripture that we will not know the day the Lord has chosen to return. We won’t have advanced warning systems, we won’t have a moment to change our hearts or minds. The moment he arrives is THE moment, and if we are not ready, if our hearts are not prepared and turned toward him, the door will be closed.

As of the writing of this article, Russia is still at war with Ukraine, China and North Korea are apparently teaming up with Russia, and Israel just declared war on Hamas (Palestine). Within our own country there is more infighting and division than I have witnessed…ever. What needs to be happening in the world before people take notice? “But mark this: There will be terrible times in the last days. People will be lovers of themselves, lovers of money, boastful, proud, abusive, disobedient to their parents, ungrateful, unholy, without love, unforgiving, slanderous, without self-control, brutal, not lovers of good, treacherous, rash, conceited, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God – having a form of godliness but denying its power. Have nothing to do with such people.” (2 Timothy 3:1-5)

There are those who will read things and think it’s inflammatory, provocative, extreme, overly dramatic, or just plain wrong. Bad things happen in the world every day, perhaps I’m being an alarmist, taking things too seriously, or too far? Or, perhaps, people think that because they don’t want to believe they need to make a change in their own lives. They like the way living for themselves feels. They want to brush off what’s happening in the world so that they don’t have to worry about tomorrow. Because, if they actually believed that Jesus is coming back, they would need to turn their lives over, give up their wants and desires, and care for others above themselves. That’s just too much to do on a Sunday afternoon.

“In the presence of God and of Christ Jesus, who will judge the living and the dead, and in view of his appearing and his kingdom, I give you this charge: Preach the word; be prepared in season and out of season; correct, rebuke and encourage – with great patience and careful instruction. For the time will come when people will not put up with sound doctrine. Instead, to suit their own desires, they will gather around them a great number of teachers to say what their itching ears want to hear. They will turn their ears away from the truth and turn aside to myths. But you, keep your head in all situations, endure hardship, do the work of an evangelist, discharge all the duties of your ministry.” (2 Timothy 4:1-5)

This is, hopefully, where you can decide if the things of this world are worth sacrificing your eternity. My dear friends, make no mistake, there will come a day when it will be too late for you to repent and turn to God. People’s disbelief doesn’t affect God. He is not Santa Clause who ceases to exist because fewer and fewer people believe in Him. He is constant, he is not dependent upon us, He is real, He is coming, and the clock is ticking. 

“Therefore God exalted him to the highest place and gave him the name that is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue acknowledge that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.” (Philippians 2:9-11, Romans 14, Isaiah 43:23)

Every knee, every tongue, not just those who believe and will praise his coming, but the knees and tongues of those who did not. Realizing their lack of acceptance has cost them their eternity.

Please help me share the good news of Jesus and how He can change your life, and our world!

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