#TheStruggleIsReal

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Several years ago, I participated in a leadership development program through my company. One of our assignments was to create a timeline of our lives and share our stories with the group.

I sat down expecting to list the major milestones, achievements, and significant moments. But as I mapped out the years, I noticed a pattern I hadn’t expected. The story wasn’t a steady climb upward. Alongside the successes were disappointments, failures, losses, and seasons when doors closed unexpectedly.

Yet when I stepped back and looked at the whole picture, something stood out. Again and again, growth seemed to emerge from difficulty. Some of the seasons I would never have chosen became the very seasons that prepared me for what came next.

Not because those seasons were enjoyable. Not because I would want to repeat them. But with the benefit of perspective, I could see that God had been at work in ways I never recognized while I was living through them.

Eventually, I realized something I couldn’t see in the moment: the difficult seasons of our lives are not interruptions to God’s plan. Very often, they become part of God’s plan.

The challenge is that most of life isn’t lived with the benefit of hindsight.

Most of us don’t experience our struggles from the perspective of ten years later. We experience them in real time. We face unanswered questions, difficult circumstances, and burdens we wish we didn’t have to carry. We don’t know how the story will unfold. We don’t know what God is doing behind the scenes.

That’s what makes Paul’s words in 2 Thessalonians so compelling.

The believers in Thessalonica were not reflecting on a difficult season from the safety of the future. They were living through one. They were facing persecution, opposition, and pressure because of their faith. Yet when Paul writes to them, he begins in a surprising place. Rather than focusing on their suffering, he points to their growth.

He tells them that their faith is “growing more and more” and that their love for one another is increasing (2 Thessalonians 1:3-4).

I often wonder if that’s how they would have described themselves.

My guess is they would have talked about the persecution.

The uncertainty.

The fear.

The exhaustion.

But Paul sees something they cannot yet see. He sees evidence that God is still at work.

In many ways, Paul is writing with hindsight while the Thessalonians are living without it.

Paul can identify growth they probably don’t recognize. He can see perseverance developing in them even while they are struggling to endure. He can see God’s work in places that probably feel painful and confusing.

Sometimes that’s exactly what Scripture does for us. It helps us see realities that our circumstances tend to hide. It reminds us that God may be doing something in us long before we recognize it ourselves.

One of the most encouraging truths in this chapter is that suffering is not proof that God has stopped working. In fact, Paul suggests the opposite.

While the Thessalonians were focused on what was happening to them, Paul was focused on what God was doing in them. Their suffering had not interrupted God’s work. God was using it to deepen faith, increase love, and build endurance.

That doesn’t mean suffering is good.

It doesn’t mean loss doesn’t hurt.

It doesn’t mean Christians should pretend everything is fine.

Paul never minimizes their pain. Their suffering is real. Their struggle is real. Their grief is real.

Likewise, faith does not require us to deny disappointment or hide our questions. The Christian response to suffering is not denial. It is bringing our pain honestly into the presence of God and trusting Him in the middle of it.

James writes that “the testing of your faith produces perseverance” (James 1:2-4). Paul sees exactly that happening in Thessalonica. Their suffering is difficult, but it is not meaningless.

That brings us to the second truth Paul wants these believers to understand: God has not forgotten them.

Suffering has a way of narrowing our vision. We become consumed by the problem immediately in front of us. The unanswered prayer. The diagnosis. The uncertainty. The loss.

The Thessalonians could see today’s struggle.

Paul reminds them to remember tomorrow’s hope.

Their suffering was not evidence that God’s plan had failed. It was evidence that God’s story was still unfolding. The future still belonged to Christ.

As Paul writes elsewhere, “the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us” (Romans 8:18). Notice what he does not do. He does not deny the suffering. He simply refuses to let suffering be the whole story.

That matters because some of us are looking for an explanation when what we really need is reassurance.

We need to know that God sees.

God knows.

God has not forgotten us.

And perhaps most importantly, God is present with us.

The God who shapes us through suffering never abandons us in suffering.

The psalmist reminds us that “the Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:18). God is not waiting for us on the other side of the valley. He walks with us through it.

Paul closes the chapter by praying that God will continue accomplishing His purposes in the lives of these believers (2 Thessalonians 1:11-12). That’s an important reminder because God’s goal is not merely helping us survive difficult seasons. His goal is transformation.

The Thessalonians may have felt like they were simply trying to make it through another day. Paul sees something bigger. He sees God shaping them, strengthening them, and preparing them.

As Paul reminds the Philippians, “He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus” (Philippians 1:6). God is still at work.

Looking back on my own timeline today, I can see evidence of God’s faithfulness in places where I once saw only frustration. I can see His presence in seasons when I wondered if He was absent. But I only know those things because I am looking backward.

Most of life isn’t lived that way.

Most of life is lived in the middle of the story.

Maybe that’s where you are today.

Maybe you’re carrying grief, disappointment, uncertainty, or questions that have not been answered.

If so, remember this: we cannot yet see the whole timeline, but God can.

Faith is not built on having all the answers. Faith is built on knowing God’s character.

Faith says, “I don’t yet see what God is doing, but I know who God is.”

And because we know who He is, we can trust that He is growing our faith, securing our hope, and accomplishing His purposes, even when we cannot yet see it.

Because even now, even here, even in this chapter, God is still at work.

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

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Stupid Question or The Wrong Question

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There are certain conversations that seem to find their way back into the church every few years.

Sometimes it’s sparked by a war. Sometimes it’s an election. Sometimes it’s a natural disaster, a cultural shift, or a technological advance that feels like it belongs in a science fiction novel. Whatever the catalyst, it doesn’t take long before someone asks the question.

“Do you think we’re living in the end times?”

I understand the question. I’ve asked versions of it myself.

The older I get, the more I understand that the question is usually about more than biblical prophecy. Beneath it sits something much more personal. We want to know whether things are going to be okay. We want to know where history is heading. We want reassurance that the chaos we see around us is not actually chaos at all, but part of a story that remains firmly in God’s hands.

The Christians in Thessalonica carried some of those same concerns.

When Paul wrote his first letter to them, they weren’t merely curious about the future. They were worried about people they loved. Some believers had died, and the church was struggling to understand what that meant in light of Christ’s promised return. Had those people missed something? Would they somehow be absent when God’s promises were fulfilled?

Paul responds with one of the most hope-filled passages in the New Testament. He reminds them that Jesus is coming, that death is not the end of the story, and that those who belong to Christ will not be forgotten. The promise rests not on human understanding but on God’s faithfulness.

It’s a comforting answer.

What comes next is what surprises me. Because after addressing their concerns, Paul turns toward the question that naturally follows. If Christ is returning, then when?

You can almost feel the anticipation building. This is where we expect more details. This is where we expect the timeline, the explanation, the clues that will help everything make sense.

Instead, Paul essentially says that there is nothing more he needs to write.

The day will come. You don’t know when. Live accordingly.

Every time I read that passage, I find myself slightly dissatisfied.

I want more than that. I want details. I want clarity. I want God to fill in the blank spaces.

And maybe that’s why Paul’s response is so important. He understands something about human nature that hasn’t changed in two thousand years. We are often fascinated by questions that allow us to postpone the ones that actually require action.

Knowing when Jesus might return feels significant. Deciding how I should live today is harder. One invites speculation. The other demands obedience.

Years ago, I learned that lesson in an arena full of teenagers.

At the time, I was serving as a youth pastor in Flagstaff. Our youth group had traveled to a large revival event at the Skydome. If you’ve ever attended one of those large gatherings, you know the atmosphere. There is a particular kind of energy that develops when thousands of students gather in one place.

Music fills the room long before the service begins. Groups of teenagers move through the concourse in clusters. Youth pastors exchange the same exhausted smiles that communicate both excitement and concern.

Everyone is trying to make sure the students they brought with them leave with the same group they arrived with.

My daughter was four years old at the time.

She loved going wherever I was going. Looking back now, I realize those years pass far more quickly than they seem when you’re living them. At the time, it felt normal that she wanted to walk beside me everywhere. Now it feels like a gift I didn’t appreciate nearly enough.

As the event was ending, the arena became increasingly chaotic. Students were moving toward the altar area. Friends were saying goodbye. Small groups were praying together. Volunteers were trying to direct traffic. And I was doing what youth pastors do during moments like that. I was counting heads. I knew where most of my students were. Most of them.

Which, if you’ve ever worked with teenagers, is not the same thing as all of them.

I remember scanning the crowd repeatedly, trying to make sure nobody had slipped away unnoticed. Mentally, I was already solving the next problem before it arrived. Who was riding with whom? How long would loading take? Did everyone know where to meet?

In the middle of all that, Alex tugged on my sleeve.

“Mom, I want to go to the altar and pray.”

I barely looked down.

Not now.

I don’t remember my exact words. I only remember my mindset. I was occupied with things that felt urgent.

A few minutes later she asked again.

Then again.

Each time I gave some variation of the same response.

Later.

Soon.

Not right now.

The uncomfortable thing about remembering that moment is recognizing that my reasons were not selfish reasons.

I wasn’t scrolling my phone.

I wasn’t distracted by something frivolous.

I was doing ministry.

I was trying to take care of people.

I was carrying out responsibilities that genuinely mattered.

Which is precisely why I didn’t recognize what I was missing.

Eventually my senior pastor took her by the hand and offered to walk her to the altar himself.

I gladly accepted the help.

At the time it felt like one problem solved.

Only later did I realize it was actually an opportunity surrendered. When he returned, he found me and said something that immediately got my attention.

“You need to know what your daughter just did.”

As it turns out, after arriving at the altar, Alex had gathered several children around her age, sat down with them, and led them in a prayer to accept Jesus.

Even now, years later, I can still feel the mix of emotions that hit me.

Pride… Joy… Gratitude… And conviction… A lot of conviction.

Because while I had been focused on managing ministry, a four-year-old had been participating in it. While I was worrying about everything that was happening next, she was responding to what God had placed directly in front of her. I would give almost anything to go back and watch that moment unfold.

Not because it changed the course of history.

Not because it became a famous story.

But because it revealed something important about the kingdom of God.

God is often present in moments we overlook while pursuing things we consider more important. The older I get, the more I wonder how much of the Christian life is simply learning to pay attention.

Not attention to headlines.

Not attention to predictions.

Not attention to endless speculation about the future.

Attention to God.

Attention to people.

Attention to the quiet promptings of the Holy Spirit that can be drowned out by noise, busyness, and even good intentions.

When Paul moves through the rest of 1 Thessalonians 5, his focus isn’t on helping believers understand hidden mysteries. It’s on helping them become the kind of people who remain awake to God’s activity in the world. He talks about encouragement, patience, gratitude, prayer, discernment, goodness, and responsiveness to the Spirit.

In other words, he moves from prophecy to presence… From information to formation.

From speculation about what God will do someday to faithfulness in what God is doing today.

And maybe that’s because readiness for Christ’s return has never primarily been about possessing the right information.

Maybe readiness is learning to live with our eyes open.

Jesus is coming.

That promise remains certain. But until He does, I don’t want to miss another altar moment because I’m busy trying to figure out what comes next.

Maybe Paul was right. Maybe the timing was never the most important question. Maybe the better question is whether we’re paying attention today, in this moment, with what is right in front of us.

Just maybe.

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

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Come back and visit at ListenLearn.Live Ministries

My Lime Tree Is Preaching Better Than Most Christians

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The lime tree in my backyard is ugly.

I don’t mean that cruelly. It’s just an objective observation. It’s short, gangly, and determined to grow in every direction except the one I would prefer. If trees had personalities, this one would be the awkward kid in middle school who never quite figured out what to do with his arms.

And yet every year it produces an absurd amount of fruit. Not just a lot of fruit, but genuinely good fruit. The kind of fruit that actually gets used.

One of my favorite things to do is walk outside, pick a lime, cut it open, and squeeze it into a Diet Coke. It doesn’t matter which lime I grab. They’re all excellent. Every one of them is packed with juice and flavor. Which makes the whole thing even more annoying because if I were judging these trees by appearance alone, this one would finish dead last.

  • Not the orange tree.
  • Not the lemon tree.
  • The lime tree… The ugly one.
  • The one nobody would pick first.

I’ve found myself staring at it a lot lately. Not because I have some strange fascination with citrus trees, but because every time I walk past it, I feel like it’s trying to tell me something.

The problem is I don’t particularly like the lesson.

I’ve spent most of my life trying to become impressive. Not consciously, at least I don’t think so. But when I look back, I can see how much energy I’ve invested in being competent, respected, capable, and successful. I like doing things well. I like seeing results. I like feeling like progress is happening. I suspect most of us do.

Nobody wakes up in the morning hoping to be average. Nobody sets out thinking, “Today I’d like to be completely unnoticed.”

The older I get, the more I realize there’s a difference between the things I claim to value and the things that actually impress me.

  • I say I care about faithfulness.
  • I say I care about character.
  • I say I care about becoming more like Jesus.

But if I’m not paying attention, I’ll still find myself admiring influence more than faithfulness, visibility more than character, and success more than fruit.

That’s why that stupid lime tree keeps bothering me.

Lately, I’ve found myself paying more attention to things that don’t look particularly impressive at all. Patience. Kindness. Faithfulness. Gentleness. Love. The kinds of things that rarely make headlines, never trend, and don’t show up on a résumé. Which is probably why they matter so much.

I’ve been preparing a sermon from 1 Thessalonians 4, where Paul says something that is either incredibly comforting or deeply inconvenient, depending on your perspective:

“It is God’s will that you should be sanctified.” 1 Thessalonians 4:3

I wish Paul had been a little more specific.

“It is God’s will that you get that promotion.”

“It is God’s will that your kids turn out great.”

“It is God’s will that everything goes according to plan.”

Instead, he talks about sanctification?

It’s one of those church words that sounds much more complicated than it actually is. At its core, it simply means that God is making us more like Jesus.

The trouble is that sanctification seems to happen at about the same pace as citrus trees grow.

Which is to say, annoyingly slow.

You can look at a tree every day and be convinced nothing is happening. Then one day you realize it isn’t the same tree you started with.

Maybe people are like that too.

Maybe that’s why Paul could write with such confidence:

“He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.” Philippians 1:6

Maybe that’s why we’re often the worst judges of our own spiritual growth. We’re too close to it. We see every inconsistency, every failure, every unfinished corner of our character. We notice the fruit we don’t have rather than the growth that is already taking place. We focus on what still needs work while God may be seeing something entirely different.

One morning while I was watering those trees, I had a thought that genuinely stopped me in my tracks.

I’m not frustrated with any of them.

I don’t walk out into the backyard disappointed in the lemon tree because it hasn’t produced fruit yet. I don’t get irritated with the orange tree because its fruit is still maturing. And I certainly don’t criticize the lime tree for being awkward-looking.

I understand that growth takes time.

I understand that seasons are different.

I understand that roots matter even when I can’t see them.

Maybe that’s why Scripture so often describes God as patient:

“The Lord is compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in love.” Psalm 103:8, NIV

And then came the uncomfortable realization:

If I can be patient with a tree, why do I assume God is impatient with me?

For some reason, that’s harder to believe.

Maybe because I know myself too well.

I know where I’m inconsistent.

I know where I’m immature.

I know the things I thought I would’ve figured out by now.

I know the places where growth still feels painfully slow.

Yet somehow I assume God sees all of that and responds with frustration.

The lime tree has me wondering if that’s true.

Maybe the Gardener is more patient than I imagine. Maybe He understands exactly what season I’m in. Maybe He isn’t discouraged by the pace of growth. Maybe He knew from the beginning this wasn’t going to happen overnight.

That’s good news.

Because I suspect there are a lot of people walking around exhausted from trying to become impressive.

  • Trying to become successful.
  • Trying to become enough.
  • Trying to become whatever they think everyone else already is.

Meanwhile, God may simply be inviting us to stay rooted. To abide. To remain connected to Him. To trust that fruit grows where life is present.

The funny thing is that nobody visits my backyard and comments on the shape of the lime tree.

They comment on the fruit.

Which, when I think about it, sounds a lot like Jesus.

“If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit…” John 15:5,

Maybe there’s a lesson in that.

Maybe a life filled with love, kindness, grace, patience, and faithfulness is far more beautiful than we realize. Maybe fruitfulness and visibility aren’t the same thing after all. Maybe the measure of a life isn’t how impressive it appears from a distance, but what it consistently produces over time.

The lime tree certainly seems to think so.

It will probably never be the prettiest tree in the yard. It doesn’t seem particularly concerned about that. It just keeps growing. Keeps producing. Keeps being what it was created to be.

The funny thing is that when people come to my house, nobody asks about the shape of the lime tree.

Nobody comments on how awkward it looks.

Nobody seems bothered by the fact that it grows in directions I never would’ve chosen.

  • They care about the fruit.
  • That’s all they care about.
  • They want the lime.

They’re interested in what the tree produces, not how impressive it appears. And the more I think about it, the more I wonder if that’s true of us too.

Maybe one day nobody is going to care about how successful we looked.

  • How important we seemed.
  • How many people knew our names.
  • How carefully we curated the image.

Maybe what will matter is whether there was any fruit.

  • Whether we learned to love.
  • Whether we became more like Jesus.
  • Whether the Spirit actually changed us.

Because I’m starting to suspect the ugliest tree in my yard understands something that I often forget:

Fruitfulness and visibility are not the same thing.

And if that’s true, then some of us may need to rethink what success actually means.

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

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Come back and visit at ListenLearn.Live Ministries

She Thought She Was Just Being Obedient

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I don’t know if she remembers that conversation. Honestly, I doubt it.

She probably thought she was being obedient. She probably thought she was saying something kind and then moving on with her day.

Instead, I carried those words for years.

Looking back, what strikes me isn’t simply that her words encouraged me. It’s how ordinary the whole thing was. No sermon. No position of authority. No dramatic moment. Just one person paying attention long enough to speak courage into someone else’s uncertainty.

Maybe that’s why this has stayed with me.

I spent years assuming impact came from doing something big. A title. A position. A platform. Something people could point to and say, “Look what they accomplished.”

Yet one of the most significant moments in my life came from a conversation that lasted less than a minute.

Reading 1 Thessalonians 3, I keep seeing the same pattern. God strengthens His people through His people. He encourages His church through His church. He matures us together rather than in isolation.

If I’m honest, I find that a little frustrating.

I’d much rather God give me a book. Or a conference. Or a podcast. Or some kind of five-step plan. I like plans. Plans feel controllable.

People don’t. Instead, God keeps handing me people.

  • People who encourage me.
  • People who challenge me.
  • People who occasionally annoy me.
  • People who see things in me that I can’t see in myself.

Apparently one of God’s favorite tools for shaping us is other human beings.

Paul told the Galatians,

“Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.” Galatians 6:2

The older I get, the more surprising that verse feels. I tend to think of spiritual growth as something between me and God. Yet Scripture keeps dragging other people into the picture.

Apparently carrying one another’s burdens isn’t an optional part of discipleship. It’s one of the ways discipleship actually happens.

The same thing is true in Proverbs:

“As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another.” Proverbs 27:17

Which sounds inspiring until you remember that sharpening usually involves friction. Maybe that’s why growth is so often uncomfortable. Maybe that’s why God so often chooses people instead of formulas. Maybe that’s why the conversations we assume are insignificant aren’t insignificant at all.

The writer of Hebrews says, “Encourage one another daily…” Hebrews 3:13

Daily.

Which tells me two things:

  • First, people need encouragement far more often than I realize.
  • Second, God knew that long before I did.

I don’t know if that woman remembers what she said to me.

But I do.

And that’s what I haven’t been able to stop thinking about. How many opportunities have I missed because I assumed something small couldn’t possibly matter? How many encouraging thoughts have I kept to myself? How many times has God nudged me to say something and I’ve decided it probably wasn’t important enough?

Maybe that’s one of the lies we tell ourselves.

  • That impact has to be dramatic.
  • That significance has to be visible.
  • That if we can’t see the results, nothing meaningful happened.

But what if some of the most important things we ever do are things we’ll never know we did? What if the conversation you barely remember becomes the conversation someone else never forgets?

I don’t know… But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.

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

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Come back and visit at ListenLearn.Live Ministries

Motives That Matter

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Last week we sat with a truth that should take the pressure off every one of us: the outcomes belong to God (1 Thessalonians 1:8). The Thessalonians didn’t try to be impressive. They didn’t try to be influential. They didn’t try to be significant. They simply obeyed. And God took their ordinary obedience and made it ring out across Macedonia and Achaia. Their quiet faith became a loud testimony.

So when Paul opens Chapter 2 with, “You yourselves know… our visit to you was not a failure” (1 Thessalonians 2:1), he’s correcting their perspective. He’s saying, Don’t mislabel what God is doing. Don’t call small things insignificant. Don’t call quiet obedience a failure. Last week was about what God did. This week is about why it mattered.

Motives matter.

Paul takes us under the hood of his ministry and shows us what was driving him. And what he reveals is both inspiring and uncomfortable—because it forces us to ask what’s driving us.

He writes, “We are not trying to please people but God, who tests our hearts” (1 Thessalonians 2:4). That’s a hard sentence. It’s honest. It’s direct. And it’s the kind of truth that doesn’t let us slip past it. Paul is saying, If you want a life that matters, you have to pay attention to what’s happening inside you.

Before Paul ever talks about courage, strategy, or impact, he talks about motives.

He reminds the Thessalonians of what happened in Philippi—the beatings, the humiliation, the public shaming (Acts 16:22–24). Everything in their circumstances said, Protect yourself. Stay quiet. Don’t risk this again. But Paul says, “With the help of our God we dared to tell you His gospel…” (1 Thessalonians 2:2). They didn’t speak because it was safe. They spoke because the Thessalonians needed truth.

Courage is one thing. But courage without clean motives can still go sideways.

So Paul goes deeper: “Our appeal does not spring from error or impure motives” (2:3). “We are not trying to please people but God” (2:4). “We never used flattery… nor were we looking for praise” (2:5–6).

Paul and Timothy lived for one audience. And that shaped everything.

Motives show up in everyday choices. They show up in the moments no one sees. They show up in the decisions we make when we’re tired, stressed, or afraid. They show up in the places where we want to be liked, or safe, or comfortable.

Sometimes the easiest way to see our motives is to ask a simple question: Would you rather…?

  • Would you rather be seen as kind… or obey God when kindness costs you something?
  • Would you rather avoid an awkward moment… or speak truth gently when someone needs it?
  • Would you rather be known as easy to get along with… or hold a boundary God asks you to hold?
  • Would you rather look spiritual… or actually follow Jesus when no one is watching?
  • Would you rather protect your reputation… or confess sin and let God make you whole?

Most of us don’t choose the world’s approval intentionally. We slide into it.

So pause long enough to notice what’s happening inside you. Where have you been living on autopilot? Where has comfort been steering your choices more than conviction? Where is the Spirit nudging you right now?

Paul moves from motives to lifestyle because motives shape how we live.

He describes how he and Timothy lived among the Thessalonians: gentle like a mother (2:7), caring and invested (2:8), hard‑working and honest (2:9), encouraging like a father (2:11–12). Their lives made the message believable.

That’s the question sitting underneath this chapter: What does your life say? Are you living for the world’s approval or God’s? Are you awake or drifting?

Jesus repeatedly says, “Stay awake” (Matthew 24:42; Mark 13:37; Luke 12:35–40). Most people don’t reject God. They drift. They settle into habits. They follow the wide road because it’s familiar. They move through life on autopilot.

When the Spirit nudges your conscience, do you notice? Or do you keep moving toward what’s comfortable?

Living awake is intentional. Living asleep is automatic.

While I was writing this I was reminded of the first car I bought myself. It was a 1980 Mustang hatchback, a 5‑speed manual. I loved that car.

With a manual transmission, you can’t drift off. You have to listen to the engine. You have to watch the RPMs. You have to feel when it’s time to shift. You have to participate in the movement of the car. Driving that Mustang required attention. It required intentionality. It required me to be awake.

My Tiguan today? It’s automatic. I can get in, put it in drive, and go. I don’t have to think. I don’t have to listen. I don’t have to engage. I can be a passive navigator—just along for the ride. (No, it does not drive itself and I’m very diligent…but that’s not the point.)

A lot of us live our spiritual lives like an automatic transmission. We move forward, but we’re not awake. We’re not listening. We’re not shifting when the Spirit prompts. We’re just drifting with the flow of the world. Staying with the smooth flow of traffic.

Paul and Timothy lived like a manual transmission—tuned to the Spirit, responsive, intentional. And because they lived awake, their lives pointed people to Jesus.

Paul ends the chapter with joy. “What is our hope, our joy, our crown…? It is you” (1 Thessalonians 2:19–20). They didn’t come to be liked. They came to please God. But they rejoiced when people came to Jesus.

This is the pattern Scripture gives us: Live for God’s approval → God draws people → their transformation becomes our joy.

So take inventory. Are you drifting or awake? Automatic or intentional? Tuned to the Spirit or tuned to the crowd?

When we live for God’s approval, people notice. God draws them. Our lives become Scripture in motion. And the outcomes belong to Him.

Last week we learned that God takes our obedience and creates significance (1 Thessalonians 1:8). This week Paul shows how that obedience becomes significant in God’s hands: when our motives aim at God, our lives become the kind of lives God uses. God takes ordinary obedience and turns it into extraordinary impact.

Motives shape direction. Direction shapes impact.

And the closest thing some people will ever get to reading the Bible is watching how we live.

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

Like, share, comment, and add your email to receive blog posts, podcasts, and more!

Come back and visit at ListenLearn.Live Ministries

When You Obey the Small, God Writes the Big

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Last week, we as a church confronted a truth most of us resist: significance isn’t measured by size, visibility, or outcomes. Significance is measured by obedience. Not impressive obedience. Not platform‑building obedience. Just the simple, quiet kind that says, “Lord, I’ll do what You’ve put in front of me today.”

Paul shows us what that looks like in real people in 1 Thessalonians 1. And it’s not glamorous. It’s not strategic. It’s not the stuff of leadership podcasts. It’s small. It’s ordinary. And it’s exactly the kind of obedience God loves to multiply.

I want to share a recent experience with you.

I work in a field where training and technical skill matter. A few months ago, I was in a very detailed training session. For the first time with a specific program, I felt genuinely confident. We were doing a listen–do–teach model, and I finally felt like I owned it.

Then came the next step: a procedure involving a piece of equipment that touched a very raw part of my personal life.

My whole body reacted. My face must have been screaming because one of the instructors — a seasoned leader with a background in patient care — noticed. She had been watching me go from confident to undone. She didn’t call attention to it. She didn’t correct me. She simply caught my eye, smiled gently, and motioned for me to come over.

She put her arm around my shoulder and said, “What’s going on, friend?”

I started tearing up. My hands shook. My voice cracked.

“I just can’t do that part. I’m sorry. I just can’t.”

She didn’t shame me. She didn’t push me. She didn’t make it a moment. She simply said, “You don’t have to.”

I told her a little about my daughter — about her lungs collapsing as a newborn, about the ventilator, about how that memory still lives in my body. And how I didn’t feel capable of doing that procedure, especially in front of a room full of peers. Frankly speaking, admitting that was hard.

She nodded and said, “I’m so glad you told me. Sometimes we forget that people carry stories into these rooms.”

She took me to a quiet station and walked me through everything. I completed the training. I explained the process, the purpose, the outcomes — without having to perform the part that caused me to struggle.

It was such a small thing for her… It was significant for me.

She might not know it, but it changed how I teach. I pay more attention now. I listen better. I notice people.

She wasn’t trying to be significant. She wasn’t thinking about her title or her expertise. She wasn’t trying to be a hero. She simply noticed what was right in front of her — a colleague who was struggling. And God multiplied it.

Paul saw this same pattern in the Thessalonians.

When he writes to them in 1 Thessalonians 1, he doesn’t praise their size, their strategy, or their outcomes. He praises their obedience — their faithful work, their loving deeds, their enduring hope. Small things. Everyday things. Things that don’t look significant until God gets involved.

Paul says their work was produced by faith — the kind of faith Galatians 5:6 describes as “faith expressing itself through love.” Their labor was prompted by love — the kind Jesus says will mark His disciples in John 13:35. Their endurance was inspired by hope — the kind Jesus speaks of in John 16:33 when He says, “In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”

And then Paul says something astonishing: their faith “rang out” everywhere. Their quiet obedience became a global testimony.

They didn’t plan that.

They didn’t intend that.

They didn’t strategize that.

They didn’t imagine that.

God amplified it.

I saw that same pattern again this past week.

At a company gathering, one of the speakers — look him up, he’s amazing: Shola Richards — introduced a new concept: kossip. It’s kind of the opposite of gossip. Instead of tearing people down behind their backs, you hype them up with the truth of their love in action.

During the session, someone at my table shared a story about a young man on our support team. He had gone out of his way to help her. I was surprised — it was the same person I was planning to kossip about. See how that works!

He had helped me the week before with a complex technical setup. He researched everything, sent me instructions, prepared what I needed, and made sure everything was ready on time. And then, after I told him I was nervous about messing something up, he created a little “Betsy phone‑a‑friend” chat with two technicians who were on call and available during each of my meetings. And yes — I needed them. When one of the devices wasn’t working, someone calmly asked, “Betsy, did you hit start?” It’s ok to laugh…it’s funny. At least he didn’t have to ask if I had plugged it in, right?

Later I learned he had volunteered to stay behind during the event where we were all kossiping about him, to keep things running smoothly with his department. During our kossip session, we decided to nominate him for a quarterly recognition — something no one in his role had yet received.

He wasn’t trying to be significant.

He wasn’t trying to be recognized.

He was simply doing his job — right where he was — the best way he knew how.

And God multiplied it.

Just like the Thessalonians.

The Thessalonians didn’t begin with the end in mind. They didn’t chase influence or visibility. They simply obeyed what was right in front of them — faithful work, loving deeds, enduring hope. And God wrote the ending. God amplified what they offered. God carried their witness farther than they ever could have imagined. That is the pattern of the Kingdom: small obedience in human hands becomes significant in God’s hands.

Obedience is your part. Significance is God’s part.

May we be a church known not for our size, but for our obedience.

Our obedience is all we own. The outcomes belong to God.

And in that truth, friends, there is real freedom — because Jesus carries what we cannot.

So walk in the small things with faithful work, loving deeds, and enduring hope.

Trust God with the outcomes.

Stay rooted in Christ, and be who you’re called to be — then watch what He does with that.

He can take what feels small and make it known to the ends of the earth.

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

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Come back and visit at ListenLearn.Live Ministries

A Different Kind of Strength

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We picture strength as grit, toughness, resilience, the ability to push through. But real strength — the kind Paul describes in Philippians 4 — looks different. It’s quieter. It’s steadier. It’s formed in places we never would have chosen.

Paul isn’t writing from comfort. He’s writing from confinement. He’s writing as someone who has lived through conflict, loss, pressure, and uncertainty. And yet, Philippians 4 is one of the most hopeful, grounded, forward‑leaning chapters in the whole New Testament.

It’s Paul saying: Strength isn’t what you build. Strength is what God forms in you.

And He forms it in four deeply human ways.

Paul begins with a call to unity — not because unity is easy, but because it’s essential. He names two women who are struggling to get along and asks the community to help them reconcile.

It’s a reminder we don’t always want: Strength begins with shared life, not solo effort.

We are shaped by the people around us. We grow through the people who challenge us, support us, frustrate us, and walk with us. Strength isn’t independence. Strength is interdependence — the willingness to stay connected even when connection is hard.

Romans 12:18 says, “If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone.” Galatians 6:2 says, “Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.”

Strength is communal. Strength is relational. Strength is choosing unity when division feels easier.

Paul moves from community to peace — not the soft, sentimental kind, but the practiced kind. The kind that takes work. The kind that grows in the middle of anxiety, not the absence of it.

He says: Rejoice. Be gentle. Bring every anxiety to God. Think on what is true, honorable, just, pure, lovely.

This is not passive peace. This is practiced peace.

It’s emotional peace — choosing trust when fear is loud. It’s mental peace — choosing clarity when your thoughts spiral.

Isaiah 26:3 says, “You will keep in perfect peace those whose minds are steadfast, because they trust in you.” Colossians 3:15 says, “Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace.”

Strength isn’t pretending you’re calm. Strength is letting God steady your inner world when the outer world is chaotic.

This is the part of Philippians everyone quotes — often without context:

“I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” (Philippians 4:13)

Paul isn’t talking about achievement or success. He’s talking about endurance — the ability to remain steady in every circumstance because Christ strengthens him.

Right before this verse, Paul explains that he has learned contentment:

  • in plenty and in scarcity
  • in comfort and in hardship
  • in hope and in disappointment

Philippians 4:13 is Paul saying: “The only reason I can live with this kind of steady contentment is because Christ strengthens me.”

It’s not a verse about accomplishing anything you want. It’s a verse about enduring anything you face — because Christ holds you together.

Strength is not the ability to control your circumstances. Strength is the ability to trust Christ inside them.

Paul ends with generosity — not because generosity is the point, but because generosity reveals the point.

The Philippians gave freely because they trusted fully. Their generosity wasn’t about money. It was about confidence — confidence in God’s provision, God’s care, God’s faithfulness.

Paul says, “My God will supply all your needs according to His riches in glory.”

This is the landing of the entire letter: A forward‑leaning, Christ‑centered community can be generous because they are confident God will meet their needs.

Strength is not self‑reliance. Strength is God‑reliance. Strength is trusting that God sees, God knows, God provides, and God sustains.

Maybe you need strength in community — the courage to reconcile, forgive, or ask for help. Maybe you need strength in peace — the ability to breathe again when anxiety tightens your chest. Maybe you need strength in contentment — the grace to stop striving and rest in God’s sufficiency. Maybe you need strength in confidence — the trust to give generously, live generously, and believe God will meet your needs.

Strength isn’t loud. Strength isn’t flashy. Strength isn’t self‑made. Strength is God forming something steady inside you — something that holds when life shakes.

Paul ends Philippians with a communal call: Stand firm. Think clearly. Pray honestly. Give generously. Trust confidently.

Strength is not a solo journey. Strength is a shared commitment.

We press on together. We lean forward together. We become a different kind of community — one marked by peace, contentment, generosity, and confidence.

A different kind of joy leads to a different kind of obedience. A different kind of obedience forms a different kind of life. And a different kind of life becomes a different kind of strength.

This is the forward‑leaning life Christ is forming in us — together.

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

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A Different Kind of Life – Philippians 3

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Photo by RUN 4 FFWPU

We spend a lot of time looking backward. Not just in cars — in life. We replay old mistakes, rehearse old wounds, revisit old identities, and sometimes cling to old versions of ourselves because they feel familiar. But backward isn’t where freedom is. Backward is where bondage tries to keep us.

Jesus said, “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.” He wasn’t being harsh. He was being honest. You can’t move forward while staring backward. You can’t live a straight, steady, forward‑leaning life if your attention is chained to what’s behind you.

And when Paul writes Philippians 3, he’s saying the same thing — not with farming language, but with his own story. He’s naming a tension we all know in our bones: the pull of the past and the promise of something better ahead.

Paul says, “Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead…” He’s not talking about denial. He’s talking about direction.

He’s talking about a different kind of life — one shaped not by what’s behind us, but by Who is ahead of us.

Every one of us knows what it feels like to chase the wrong things. Achievement. Reputation. Performance. Success. We build our worth on what we produce, what we prove, what we earn — and still feel empty.

We also know what it’s like to feel stuck in the past. To be identified by old stories: addict, failure, victim, divorcee, liar, cheat, sinner. We know what it’s like to want a different kind of life but not know how to step into it.

Paul gets this. He lived it. He had the résumé, the reputation, the status — and none of it held. He also had a past full of violence and religious arrogance. But Jesus interrupted his story, and everything changed.

Philippians 3 is Paul saying, “I tried all of that too. And I’m done staring backward.”

Paul says everything he once valued is now “loss” compared to knowing Christ. Not because those things were evil — but because Christ is far better.

What we value becomes the driving force of our lives. If we value approval, we chase it. If we value success, we sacrifice everything for it. If we value comfort, we avoid anything that costs us something.

A different kind of life begins when Christ becomes our treasure — not our accessory.

Jesus said, “Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” Your heart follows your treasure. Your life follows your heart. Your identity follows your life.

If Christ becomes your highest value, everything else finds its rightful place.

Paul says, “Not that I have already obtained all this…” And, “I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it.”

He’s saying, “I’m still growing. I’m still being formed. I’m still becoming.”

A different kind of life isn’t about perfection. It’s about movement. It’s about choosing a new direction even when you’re still learning how to walk in it. It’s about shifting your life toward what’s real and good, even if you’re still figuring it out.

Paul isn’t claiming he’s arrived. He’s saying he’s pursuing.

A forward‑leaning life is a life in motion — not flawless, but faithful.

Paul says, “I press on toward the goal…”

This is singular focus. Steady pursuit. Eyes forward. Heart aimed at heaven.

Scripture echoes this everywhere:

  • “Run in such a way as to take the prize.” (1 Cor. 9:24)
  • “Set your focus on Jesus.” (Heb. 3:1)
  • “He has called us with a holy calling.” (2 Tim. 1:9)

Joy isn’t found in what we hold onto. Joy is found in Who we press toward.

Paul has laser focus. Blinders on. He’s straining toward one thing — Jesus.

A different kind of life is a forward‑leaning life.

Then, Paul lifts their eyes and says, “Our citizenship is in heaven…”

This is the “why” behind everything he’s been saying.

You belong to a different Kingdom. You are shaped by a different King. You are headed toward a different future.

Identity isn’t something you manufacture. It’s something you receive. And when Christ becomes your value, your pursuit, and your focus, your identity begins to shift. You stop being defined by your past and start being shaped by your future — the one Christ is forming in you.

Your identity becomes rooted in the Creator, not attached to His creation.

A different kind of life requires honest questions:

What do you need to stop staring at in the rearview mirror? What old story keeps trying to name you? What past moment keeps trying to define you? What do you need to release so you can move forward? Where do you need to change your focus? What do you need to press toward?

Because when Christ becomes your highest value, your desires begin to change. Your priorities shift. Your heart starts wanting what He wants for your life. And as you follow Him, He gives you the desires of your heart — not because you get everything you want, but because your heart becomes aligned with His.

That’s where identity is found. That’s where freedom is found. That’s where a different kind of life begins.

Paul wrote to a community, not a person. A different kind of life isn’t lived alone. It’s lived with people who pray for each other, carry each other’s burdens, encourage each other, and hold each other accountable.

We press on together. We lean forward together. We live this different kind of life together.

We refuse to stare backward. We choose to move forward with hope. We fix our eyes on Jesus. We press on.

A different kind of life is possible — not because we’ve arrived, but because Christ is ahead of us, calling us forward.

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

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Come back and visit at ListenLearn.Live Ministries

A Different Kind of Obedience – Philippians 2

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Obedience is a word that can feel heavy. It can sound like pressure, performance, or perfection — like something we’re supposed to muster up on our own. But when Paul talks about obedience in Philippians 2, he’s not talking about white‑knuckling our way into Christlikeness He’s talking about something far more honest, far more communal, and far more dependent on God than we usually admit.

Philippians is a letter written to a community — not a single person. Paul isn’t writing to “you” the individual; he’s writing to “you all,” the gathered people of God. And that matters, because obedience in Scripture is never just about personal behavior. It’s about how we live together. How we treat each other. How we witness to Christ through our shared life. Hear me friends, Christians can’t exist in a vaccuum.

Obedience isn’t a solo project. It’s a community practice.

And Paul makes that clear when he says, “For God is working in you, giving you the desire and the power to do what pleases Him.” (Phil. 2:13)

That verse begins and ends with God. The desire comes from Him. The power comes from Him. Our part is response — using what the Spirit provides to actually live it out.

Obedience isn’t something we force. It’s something God initiates, empowers, and completes.

Most of us know what it feels like to try to “be better.” We try to be patient. We try to be forgiving. We try to be humble. We try to be less reactive, less defensive, less self‑protective. And sometimes we succeed for a moment — until someone pushes the wrong button, or life gets heavy, or we get tired.

Trying harder isn’t transformation. It’s exhaustion.

Paul says obedience doesn’t start with our effort. It starts with God’s work inside us. God gives the desire. God gives the power. God shapes the heart. God forms the will. Our part is to cooperate — to act on what He’s already doing.

This isn’t passive. It’s responsive.

It’s the difference between rowing and sailing. Rowing is all effort. Sailing is cooperation — catching the wind that’s already blowing.

Obedience is catching the wind of the Spirit.

Paul begins this section with a call to unity. He talks about encouragement, comfort, compassion, humility, and putting others first. He points to Jesus — who emptied Himself, who served, who loved, who obeyed even when it cost Him everything.

Then Paul points to Timothy and Epaphroditus — two real people who lived out the same humility, service, and obedience Jesus modeled.

Paul is building a picture: Jesus obeyed. Timothy obeyed. Epaphroditus obeyed. Now you — the whole community — obey together.

Obedience is not just about personal holiness. It’s about how we treat each other. How we forgive each other. How we carry each other’s burdens. How we correct each other with gentleness. How we work through conflict without tearing each other apart.

The hardest part of following Jesus is people. The hardest part of discipleship is the “one‑anothering.”

But that’s exactly where obedience becomes visible.

Obedience is not just reading Scripture. It’s living it with real humans who sometimes frustrate us, misunderstand us, or disappoint us. And it’s choosing unity anyway — not fake unity, but the kind shaped by humility, honesty, and love.

Philippians 2:13 isn’t an isolated idea. It’s a thread woven through the entire story of God.

  • 2 Chronicles 30:12 — God gives people unity of mind to follow His word.
  • Ezra 1:5 — God moves hearts to act.
  • Ezekiel 36:27 — God puts His Spirit in us and moves us to follow His ways.
  • Jeremiah 31:33 — God writes His law on our hearts.
  • 2 Thessalonians 1:11 — God brings our desires and deeds to fruition.
  • 1 Corinthians 12:6 — God works in all of us.

The pattern is clear: God initiates. God empowers. We respond.

Obedience is not self‑improvement. It’s Spirit‑empowered transformation.

Paul doesn’t say, “Work hard until you get it right.” He says, “Work out your salvation with reverence,” because God is already working in you. Respect the process!

Obedience is not about achieving perfection. It’s about participating in what God is already doing.

It’s about saying yes to the nudge of the Spirit. Yes to the conviction. Yes to the invitation. Yes to the uncomfortable step toward reconciliation. Yes to the hard conversation. Yes to the act of service you don’t feel like doing. Yes to the forgiveness that feels impossible. Yes to the humility that feels costly.

Obedience is not about being flawless. It’s about being willing.

Paul says, “Do everything without grumbling or arguing.” Not because he wants us to be quiet, but because he knows how quickly community can fracture.

  • He says we shine like lights — not as individuals, but as a people.
  • He says we are children — not child — of God.
  • He says we hold out the word of life — not alone, but together.

Obedience is most visible in how we treat each other. It’s most tested in conflict. It’s most refined in community.

The world doesn’t recognize Jesus because we behave perfectly. The world recognizes Jesus when we love each other well.

Philippians 2:13 is the center of this whole chapter: “For God is working in you, giving you the desire and the power to do what pleases Him.”

God gives the desire. God gives the power. We respond with yes.

Obedience is not about earning God’s love. It’s about responding to it.

It’s not about proving ourselves. It’s about participating in what God is already doing.

It’s not about perfection. It’s about surrender.

It’s not about pressure. It’s about presence.

It’s not about trying harder. It’s about trusting deeper.

Hebrews 13:20–21 says:

“May God equip you with everything good for doing His will, and may He work in us what is pleasing to Him through Jesus Christ.”

That’s obedience. God equips. God works. We respond.

So maybe the question today is simple:

Where is God inviting you to cooperate with what He’s already doing? Where is He giving you a desire you didn’t have before? Where is He giving you power you didn’t think you had? Where is He nudging you toward unity, humility, forgiveness, or courage?

Obedience isn’t about being perfect. It’s about being willing.

It’s about catching the wind of the Spirit — together.

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

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A Different Kind of Joy – Philippians 1

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Joy is one of those words we toss around like it’s simple. Like it’s a mood. Like it’s a personality trait. But real joy — the kind Scripture talks about — is something deeper, steadier, and far more honest than the smile‑and‑pretend version we sometimes settle for.

James says, “When troubles of any kind come your way, consider it an opportunity for great joy.” That’s not a slogan. It’s a reality that feels almost impossible when life is heavy. Joy doesn’t mean liking the hard stuff. It means trusting God inside it.

And that’s where Philippians hits us right in the center of our real lives.

Paul wrote this letter from a place none of us would choose. He wasn’t free. He wasn’t comfortable. He wasn’t winning. He was chained, watched, and unsure if he’d live or die. Yet Philippians is the most joy‑filled letter he ever wrote — not because life was good, but because God was close.

That’s the heartbeat of joy: God’s presence, not God’s presents.

Joy isn’t the result of everything going right. Joy is what grows when we stay close to Jesus even when nothing around us has changed yet.

Let’s be honest: every one of us carries something heavy.

Some are grieving someone they loved. Some are facing medical news they never expected. Some are praying for kids who feel far from God. Some are dealing with consequences they wish they could undo. Some are stretched thin financially. Some are lonely. Some are tired in a way sleep can’t fix.

Nobody is walking an easy road… regardless of what it may seem.

So when Scripture talks about joy, it’s not telling us to fake it. It’s not telling us to ignore pain or slap a smile on top of heartbreak. Joy isn’t denial. Joy isn’t pretending.

Joy is choosing to trust that God is with you — really with you — right in the middle of whatever you’re facing.

Nehemiah said, “The joy of the Lord is your strength.” Not the joy of circumstances. Not the joy of people’s approval. Not the joy of everything working out.

Joy is the strength that comes from knowing you’re not alone.

Galatians calls joy a fruit of the Spirit. Fruit doesn’t appear overnight. It grows slowly, quietly, steadily — often in conditions that don’t look ideal.

Joy grows in hospital rooms. Joy grows in seasons of uncertainty. Joy grows in long nights of prayer. Joy grows in the middle of pressure, conflict, and disappointment.

Joy grows because God is present.

Psalm 16 says, “You will fill me with joy in Your presence.” Not in success. Not in comfort. Not in ease. In His presence.

Joy is choosing to stay close to Jesus when escape would be easier. Joy is choosing to love when frustration feels justified. Joy is choosing to trust when fear feels louder.

Joy doesn’t just happen. Joy is chosen.

Philippians 1:12–19 is Paul’s reflection on his situation. He says everything that has happened to him — the chains, the confinement, the uncertainty — has actually helped spread the gospel.

And then he names something we don’t talk about enough: Some believers were preaching Christ out of jealousy. Some out of rivalry. Some out of selfish ambition. Some were even hoping Paul’s imprisonment would make their own ministry look better.

Pressure from the outside is hard. Pressure from the inside can be even harder.

But Paul doesn’t let their motives decide his joy. He doesn’t excuse their behavior. He doesn’t pretend it’s fine. He doesn’t call it holy. He simply says: “Whether their motives are false or genuine, Christ is being preached — and because of that, I rejoice.”

Paul knows he can’t control their hearts. He can’t control their attitudes. He can’t control their behavior.

But he can control his response. Paul chooses joy because Paul chooses Jesus.

Joy is a choice — and it’s found in God’s presence, not His presents.

So maybe the real question is this: Where have I been waiting for life to get easier before I let joy in?

  • Where have I let pressure steal my joy?
  • Where have I allowed someone else’s motives to shape my attitude?
  • Where have I chosen comfort instead of choosing people?
  • Where have I chosen escape instead of choosing purpose?

Joy isn’t geography. Joy isn’t financial security. Joy isn’t being liked. Joy isn’t ease.

Joy is choosing Jesus — His presence, His strength, His way — right in the middle of whatever we’re facing.

The same Jesus Paul rejoiced in can be the reason you find joy today. Not because your circumstances magically shift, but because He is with you inside them.

Joy doesn’t wait for life to get easier. Joy grows when we choose to stay close to Jesus. Joy grows when we trust His presence more than our fear. Joy grows when we let Him shape our response instead of letting pressure shape it.

Joy is a choice — and it’s found in God’s presence, not His presents.

So today, may you choose the kind of joy that comes from Him alone — the joy that doesn’t erase grief but gives strength inside it. The joy that doesn’t deny reality but invites God into it. The joy that doesn’t depend on people’s motives but rests in God’s steady love.

Joy is choosing Jesus. Right here. Right now. Right in the middle of whatever you’re facing.

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

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Come back and visit at ListenLearn.Live Ministries