Life has always had things to worry us, hasn’t it? Often, it centers on survival itself. Where are we going to sleep? What are our children going to eat? What are we going to wear? These are the fundamental issues people have worried about since the beginning. Even when we have a good job and make decent money, many of us have lived long enough to know what it’s like to lose a job in a tough economy—and just like that, everything we’ve found security in is suddenly gone.
Maybe we’ve lived a healthy life, only to be hit with a diagnosis out of nowhere. One moment we’re planning memories with grandchildren, and the next, we’re faced with our own mortality.
All of us have either walked through these kinds of life changes or know someone who has. This is life under the sun in a broken world. No one is immune to hardship. And just because we give our lives to King Jesus doesn’t mean that time and chance won’t touch us.
But sometimes, the things we worry over aren’t life-and-death decisions. While they may not lead to our ruin, they still weigh heavily on our hearts.
“Should I take this new job?”
“What if we move and it’s the wrong choice for our kids?”
“What if the economy crashes?”
“What if…”
That little phrase can capture us and chain our actions into inaction. We replay worst-case scenarios in our minds until they feel real. We taste the regret and fear as if the failure had already happened.
It’s a miserable place to sit.
No amount of mental gymnastics can guarantee the outcome. We stew over decisions that don’t have obvious answers. And the anxiety only grows when we desperately want to do right—but can’t predict the future.
But Jesus has something to say to us about this very thing.
“Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing?
Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they?” (Matthew 6:25–26 ESV).
The most comforting thing about how Jesus ends this section of the Sermon on the Mount is that these words come from the Creator of the universe Himself. They are true—because He is truth. As He looks out at a sea of people who wake up each day with just enough to get through that day, He reminds them how much they matter to Him.
Jesus tells us plainly: if He takes care of the birds, how much more will He take care of us—those He loves infinitely more?
We don’t follow Him for no reason. This isn’t a transaction. We enter into a relationship with Him. And He continues:
“And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life?
And why are you anxious about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin,
yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.
But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is alive and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith?” (Matthew 6:27–30 ESV).
Isn’t that beautiful? God cares for the rest of creation—but He loves us even more. And while He doesn’t promise us Gucci or Air Jordans, He does promise to meet our needs.
When Jesus founded His kingdom, He designed it so that those who have can care for those who have not. That’s kingdom living.
“Therefore do not be anxious, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’
For the Gentiles seek after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them all.” (Matthew 6:31–32 ESV).
People have always worried over food, clothing, and shelter. The Gentiles—the non-children of God—live in a world where they have to chase these things daily. But when we give our lives to Jesus and call Him King, we join His family. And He takes care of His own.
Still, even His children can get lost in the fog of “What if…”
We lose the job. We get the diagnosis. Life can get cloudy real fast. What we thought was God’s provision suddenly looks like it’s been taken from us. But God promises us something even in the fog: a family.
Sometimes we’re the ones helping a brother or sister. Other times, we’re the ones being helped. That’s the design. That’s the kingdom.
And even when the diagnosis is terminal or the economy collapses, we’re never alone. We’re not abandoned. Jesus ends this section of His sermon with this promise:
“But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you.
Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.” (Matthew 6:33–34 ESV).
Jesus doesn’t call us to disengage from life—but to engage wisely. To do what we can—like seeking the kingdom—not obsess over what we can’t—like controlling the future.
So, what are the things we can control when hardships come? When tough decisions are looming?
The truth is, we don’t control outcomes. We control inputs: praying, serving, trusting, walking in the light.
We can’t add an inch to our height by worrying—but we can choose to do the right things today.
Have we prayed today?
Have we opened the Word?
Have we shown love to a neighbor in need?
These are the things that reflect our faith—our pistis—our allegiance to King Jesus.
And the rest? That’s God’s domain.
Have we entrusted what we can’t see into His hands? Are we doing what we can in the fog while trusting Him with what’s beyond our view?
Jesus says today has enough trouble of its own. So let’s give tomorrow to Him.
It’s all about Jesus.
We don’t follow a Lord who demands certainty—we follow a Lord who invites trust.
So what’s something we can do today to build the kingdom?
Let’s do that. And let’s trust Him with the rest.
What a wonderful Savior we serve.
I am in the book of Zechariah in my daily Bible reading. God reminds the prophet what He had done when the Jews turned their backs on Him. Though He had given them everything, they took it, spent it upon themselves, and still walked away from the God who had blessed them.
Zechariah represents the prophets who bring a message of warning and reminder. God can remove people from His blessings, but His overwhelming love will always offer a way back. His anger is short-lived, and His grace comes in great measure.
But in the language of the prophet, we begin to see that God was setting up something far more wonderful for all who would call on His name.
“Thus says the LORD of hosts: Peoples shall yet come, even the inhabitants of many cities.
The inhabitants of one city shall go to another, saying, ‘Let us go at once to entreat the favor of the LORD and to seek the LORD of hosts; I myself am going.’
Many peoples and strong nations shall come to seek the LORD of hosts in Jerusalem and to entreat the favor of the LORD.” (Zechariah 8:20–22 ESV).
This is a glimpse into a gathering of the nations that the Jews never fully expected. This is a coming Kingdom made up of a new people—men and women from all over the earth. By bringing back the remnant, God was preparing the way for a new relationship between God and man. The Edenic paradise was being drawn near once more.
“Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Zion! Shout aloud, O daughter of Jerusalem! Behold, your king is coming to you; righteous and having salvation is he, humble and mounted on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey.” (Zechariah 9:9 ESV).
Some 2,500 years after Zechariah wrote these words, we now see with our own eyes the mighty Kingdom of King Jesus. This is the mystery the prophets longed to understand. Yes, God had something in mind far greater than the restoration of Israel’s land. He was consummating the promise made to Abraham—that through him, all the nations of the earth would be blessed.
Our King has overcome the powers and principalities of this world and has taken back the world as His inheritance.
And one day, those who are His will kneel next to our King as the eventual victory over sin and death is complete. Those who give their faith to Him will be invited into His eternal dwelling. Those who reject Him will be cast away from His presence.
For those who belong to Him, persevere. The victory has already been won.
For those who have not yet given their faith to King Jesus, I beg you—please do so today. You are His image bearer, created for things so amazing that human understanding can scarcely comprehend what He has prepared for us. His Spirit will make you a new creation in Jesus if you simply submit to Him and His rule.
Will we not call upon our King today?
I am in the book of Luke in my daily Bible reading. The book starts off with the angel Gabriel appearing to Zechariah to announce the birth of his son, John. We know the story, don’t we? Zechariah doubted Gabriel’s word because he and his wife, Elizabeth, were old and Elizabeth was barren.
But with all the details we’ve studied in this story, we may have missed the thunderous unsaid words the original audience would have heard loudly.
“In the days of Herod, king of Judea, there was a priest named Zechariah, of the division of Abijah. And he had a wife from the daughters of Aaron, and her name was Elizabeth.
And they were both righteous before God, walking blamelessly in all the commandments and statutes of the Lord.
But they had no child, because Elizabeth was barren, and both were advanced in years.” (Luke 1:5-7 ESV).
This is how Dr. Luke introduces the couple. The facts are simple: they were righteous, they were old, and Elizabeth was barren. We read this and focus on the power of God—how He can do the impossible. We rejoice with the couple because God finally gave them a son.
But what do we sometimes miss?
It’s the decades. The decades of pain. Of reproach. Of nights filled with unanswered prayers. It’s the slow grind of hope fading as reality settles in—that God, in His sovereignty, had chosen not to answer their prayer.
While we are quick to celebrate the miracle of John’s birth, we often skip past the pain this couple carried. Life went on around them—friends and relatives celebrating birthdays and first steps while the years quietly passed with no baby in their home.
In our society, not having children can be a personal choice, and we don’t always associate it with shame. But in their society, childlessness was seen as a sign of reproach. It’s hard for us to feel the weight that Zechariah and Elizabeth carried for so many years.
And then, one day, God remembered them.
“After these days his wife Elizabeth conceived, and for five months she kept herself hidden, saying,
‘Thus the Lord has done for me in the days when he looked on me, to take away my reproach among people.’” (Luke 1:24-25 ESV).
To take away my reproach.
Those were the words of a woman who had silently borne shame for most of her life. And the original readers would have heard that shame loud and clear in Luke’s simple opening lines.
Now, here’s where it gets personal.
Because while we celebrate what God did for Zechariah and Elizabeth, we also recognize that there were many other faithful women who never had their reproach removed in this life. And that matters too.
So we ask ourselves:
What is our burden? What is our reproach? What pain do we carry that others glance past? What story do we silently live, year after year, decade after decade?
Even though Elizabeth’s story ends in joy, the pain she carried for years was real. And the same is true for us. And for our neighbor. And for the friend at church who hides their tears behind a Sunday smile.
And yet, just like Zechariah and Elizabeth, we can still walk righteously before God.
We may never fully understand why God blesses some and withholds from others. But in His sovereignty, He knows. And in His goodness, He stays with us. That is our hope, even in the silence.
I just saw something on my KDP dashboard that made me pause in quiet amazement.
Several copies of my books have now been sold overseas.
Now, I’m sure that won’t make headlines, and the world will go right on spinning. But for a guy who started writing reflections on faith from his living room—this means something. Somewhere across the ocean, people are reading words I felt led to write. They’re hearing about the God who sees us, loves us, and calls us to walk with Him daily.
And that makes me smile.
I never set out to be an “international author.” I set out to be faithful with what I had. To write what was on my heart. To share what God was teaching me. And now, that small offering has reached further than I ever expected.
Isn’t that just like God?
He takes the loaves and fish we’re willing to offer—and feeds more than we thought possible.
If you’re holding back on something God’s put on your heart—write it, speak it, live it. Don’t measure its impact by the size of the platform. Trust Him with the outcome. Because when He moves, even quiet words typed on a keyboard in Texas can cross oceans.
Thank you to everyone who has encouraged me, read the words, and walked alongside me in this journey. Whether you’re around the corner or across the world—you matter more than you know.
Let’s keep going. Together.
Where faith meets everyday life… and sometimes even a different time zone.
I am in the book of Luke in my daily Bible reading. One of the most fascinating things I read is in chapter 9.
“And he called the twelve together and gave them power and authority over all demons and to cure diseases,
and he sent them out to proclaim the kingdom of God and to heal.” (Luke 9:1–2 ESV).
I would have loved to be a fly on the wall when Jesus gathered the twelve and told them what was about to happen. Not only were they going to teach His message—they were going to heal the sick. They were going to cast out demons.
Fishermen. Tax collectors. Men with no formal training, no social standing, no religious credentials.
And yet—they were about to carry out kingdom work that no seminary could prepare them for.
I wonder how they felt. Were they giddy with excitement? Or quietly panicked at the weight of what they’d just been commissioned to do? Hindsight gives us boldness—but it doesn’t always show up in the moment of the unknown.
I’ve wrestled with the same feeling. I’ll read verses about what we will do in the new heavens and new earth, and I feel the same tight knot of inadequacy. I can’t even fully picture what Jesus means—and yet I’m supposed to believe I’ll be part of it?
“Do you not know that we are to judge angels? How much more, then, matters pertaining to this life!” (1 Corinthians 6:3 ESV).
“The one who conquers, I will grant him to sit with me on my throne, as I also conquered and sat down with my Father on his throne.” (Revelation 3:21 ESV).
“If we endure, we will also reign with him; if we deny him, he also will deny us;” (2 Timothy 2:12 ESV).
These verses don’t just stretch my imagination—they stretch my confidence. Judge angels? Sit with Jesus on His throne? Reign with Him? I know myself too well to feel ready for something that eternal, that weighty, that sacred.
And yet—it’s promised. Not just to the prophets or apostles or patriarchs. It’s promised to those who endure. It’s promised to those who remain faithful. It’s promised to people like us.
But I still wonder… will I be given great authority only to disappoint my King? Will I fumble the responsibility because I feel too ordinary to carry it out?
And that’s where the twelve come back into view. Because if Jesus could commission them—unqualified, uncertain, inadequate—then maybe He can equip us too.
The pattern of Scripture is clear: when God gives a mission, He gives the power to fulfill it.
He didn’t send Moses without signs.
He didn’t send Gideon without assurance.
He didn’t send the twelve without power and authority.
And He won’t send us without what we need.
The truth is—I have no idea what it will look like to rule in the new heavens and the new earth. I have no idea what it means to sit on His throne. I have no idea how one judges angels. And it’s in that mystery where our fear often lives. But it’s also where faith is born.
Because if God is calling us to it, He will equip us for it.
And here’s what encourages me most: we don’t have to wait until the afterlife to live with that kind of confidence. The same God who promised to equip us for eternity is already equipping us now. He dwells in us. He empowers us. He is ready to do amazing things through us—not someday, but today. Right now, we are being shaped for the work He has planned. Kingdom work isn’t on pause until glory—it’s in motion. And we’re invited to be a part of it.
That’s what I believe. That’s where I plant my feet. That’s why I don’t have to wallow in inadequacy. I don’t have to hide behind intimidation. I don’t have to explain away the promises of Scripture just because I don’t feel worthy of them.
I just have to do what the widow did—offer my two mites.
If that’s what I have, that’s what He’ll use. And when my King calls me to reign, I won’t be leaning on my résumé. I’ll be leaning on His righteousness and trusting in His power.
We don’t have to fear what’s coming. We don’t have to fear the unknown. We don’t have to fear what we are not—because our confidence isn’t in what we are. It’s in who He is.
“And they departed and went through the villages, preaching the gospel and healing everywhere.
… On their return the apostles told him all that they had done. And he took them and withdrew apart to a town called Bethsaida.” (Luke 9:6, 10 ESV).
War between men has expanded tonight.
As reports of fresh airstrikes echo across the world, many hearts are heavy and uncertain. These moments of global unrest remind us just how broken this world truly is. God never designed His image-bearers to destroy one another—but in a world marred by sin, war is a painful consequence.
It’s easy to feel shaken. But even in the chaos, we hold to what is unshakable.
Jesus still reigns.
King Jesus sits on the throne, given to Him by the Father. Every power and authority—whether on earth or in the heavens—has been placed beneath His feet.
“And Jesus came and said to them, ‘All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me.’” (Matthew 28:18 ESV).
We do not know what tomorrow holds. But we know the One who holds tomorrow. He is Lord of lords and King of kings. His rule is not threatened by missiles or broken treaties. His peace cannot be stolen by fear.
So in these sobering hours, let us cling to our King.
Let us place our confidence not in the plans of men, but in the sovereignty of Jesus. Let us rest in the One who rules with righteousness, justice, and mercy.
Because in Him—and only in Him—we find peace that surpasses understanding.
May His peace rule in our hearts, and may He bring peace to the world in His time, according to His will.
I am in the book of Luke in my daily Bible reading. Jesus is love. Jesus is grace. Because of this, we often overlook the things He says that we do not like to hear. But as our God and Judge, when He speaks words of warning, we need to listen.
Chapter 17 starts off with words that should weigh heavy on us as we walk with Him.
Here’s the first hard saying we need to consider:
“And he said to his disciples, ‘Temptations to sin are sure to come, but woe to the one through whom they come!
It would be better for him if a millstone were hung around his neck and he were cast into the sea than that he should cause one of these little ones to sin.’” (Luke 17:1–2 ESV).
When our Creator says it would be better to be thrown into the sea with a millstone tied around our neck than to do something, we should take that seriously. Very seriously.
James tells us we are tempted when we are drawn away by our own desires. And when desire conceives, it gives birth to sin. And sin, when it is fully grown, brings forth death (James 1:14–15). Temptation is the doorway that leads to death.
Jesus says temptations are sure to come. And we know that—they come at us every day, don’t they? We battle them in our hearts, in our thoughts, in our decisions.
But the warning here isn’t just about resisting temptation. It’s about being the one who brings temptation to someone else.
That’s the person Jesus warns about.
We are called to be people who lift others up—not those who cause them to stumble. We are to be encouragers, not destroyers. Guides toward righteousness, not pushers toward sin.
And Jesus does not mince words:
“It would be better for him if a millstone were hung around his neck and he were cast into the sea than that he should cause one of these little ones to sin.”
That’s harsh.
That’s specific.
That’s direct.
And those words come straight from the One before whom we will one day kneel.
He has little tolerance for anyone who plays a role in placing temptation in someone else’s path.
So let’s not ignore this clear warning. Let’s take inventory of our relationships. Are we helping others get closer to Jesus, or are we—knowingly or unknowingly—laying temptations in their way?
Young people—how are we treating our brothers and sisters in Christ when we’re dating?
Business owners—are we keeping things honest and clean with the people who help us manage the books?
Are we introducing others to sin? Are we tempting them to go places they shouldn’t go, say things they shouldn’t say, or do things they’ll regret?
Or… are we pointing them toward what is good, honorable, and pure?
Are we helping others grow stronger in faith? Or are we making the road harder for them to walk?
This is not a small thing.
As we reflect on our walk with Jesus, we need to ask ourselves honestly:
What are we placing at the feet of others?
Is it temptation—or is it encouragement?
Because we never want to stand before the Judge of all things and be known as someone who laid snares at the feet of His sheep.
Today, let us dwell on these words again:
“It would be better for him if a millstone were hung around his neck and he were cast into the sea than that he should cause one of these little ones to sin.” (Luke 17:2 ESV).
It’s a humbling thought that all we had when we went to sleep last night could be taken from us today if not for the gracious generosity of our God.
I am in the book of Joshua in my daily Bible reading. The book opens with a striking déjà vu moment: Joshua sends two spies into the land—just like he, Caleb, and ten others had done forty years earlier.
Back then, the majority came back with trembling hearts. Their report was dominated by giants, fortified cities, and impossibilities. Only Joshua and Caleb stood firm in faith, declaring that God would give them the land.
Now, decades later, a new generation walks the same path. Two new spies are sent—and this time, the report is dramatically different.
“Then the two men returned. They came down from the hills and passed over and came to Joshua the son of Nun, and they told him all that had happened to them.
And they said to Joshua, ‘Truly the LORD has given all the land into our hands. And also, all the inhabitants of the land melt away because of us.’” (Joshua 2:23–24 ESV).
What changed?
Not the land. Not the cities. Not the giants.
What changed was the generation.
Fear became faith.
Worry became confidence.
Disobedience became obedience.
The land didn’t shrink, but their trust in God grew.
When we face our own giants—when we stand before what feels unconquerable—we have a choice. Are we echoing the voices of the old generation, who let fear drown out faith? Or are we walking with the courage of the new generation, who said, “Truly the LORD has given all the land into our hands”?
When we look at the road ahead, do we see God’s promises—or just the obstacles?
Joshua had seen the victory all those years ago. The land was already theirs in God’s eyes. But the people didn’t see it. They only saw the enemy. They only saw defeat.
So let’s ask ourselves: who are we following today?
Are we walking with the few who believed—even when the multitude doubted?
Are we following the Shepherd—even when the valley is dark?
Are we trusting that what lies on the other side of our trial is a promised land better than we imagined?
King Jesus still leads. And His promises still stand.
Let’s be the generation that follows in faith.
When was the last time we spent time in God’s Word? How does it compare to the time we spent on YouTube or TV?
Happy Father’s Day to the Men Who Walk With Jesus
To the fathers who wake up and choose to lead with grace,
To the men who carry burdens no one sees but still press on—Today is for you.
Being a dad in this world isn’t easy. It takes more than provision—it takes presence. It takes more than strength—it takes surrender. The most powerful thing a father can do isn’t to raise his voice—but to bow his knee.
And when we do that—when we humble ourselves before God and lead our families not by force but by faith—we echo the very heart of our heavenly Father.
“As a father shows compassion to his children, so the Lord shows compassion to those who fear him.” (Psalm 103:13 ESV)
“Fathers, do not provoke your children to anger, but bring them up in the discipline and instruction of the Lord.” (Ephesians 6:4 ESV)
So today, we celebrate the dads who pray.
The ones who forgive.
The ones who stay.
The ones who say, “Follow me, as I follow Christ.”
You may not get a parade or a statue. But you’re building something eternal.
Happy Father’s Day to the faithful.
To the humble.
To the ones still growing, still trying, still trusting.
Keep walking. Your Father sees you.
I am in the book of Joshua in my daily Bible reading. The book of Joshua is one of the most misunderstood sections in Scripture. It’s often cited as evidence that God is either cruel or imaginary—accused by critics of genocide, wrath, and injustice. But the truth, when we slow down and listen, tells a far different story.
After the miraculous fall of Jericho, Israel swept through Canaan like wildfire, taking the land God had promised to Abraham 500 years earlier. City after city fell—not just by might, but by divine decree.
“As soon as all the kings who were beyond the Jordan in the hill country and in the lowland all along the coast of the Great Sea toward Lebanon, the Hittites, the Amorites, the Canaanites, the Perizzites, the Hivites, and the Jebusites, heard of this,
they gathered together as one to fight against Joshua and Israel.” (Joshua 9:1–2 ESV).
They weren’t caught off guard. They knew Israel was coming—and they knew who was with them. But this wasn’t just a political invasion. It was the arrival of long-delayed judgment.
“Then they devoted all in the city to destruction, both men and women, young and old, oxen, sheep, and donkeys, with the edge of the sword.” (Joshua 6:21 ESV).
“As for Makkedah, Joshua captured it on that day and struck it, and its king, with the edge of the sword. He devoted to destruction every person in it; he left none remaining.” (Joshua 10:28 ESV).
At a glance, it’s shocking. It seems extreme. Some say it proves God is guilty of genocide. One writer even suggested that if God were brought before the Hague, He’d be convicted as a war criminal.
But that accusation completely ignores the history that preceded Joshua’s conquest.
“Then the LORD said to Abram, ‘Know for certain that your offspring will be sojourners in a land that is not theirs and will be servants there, and they will be afflicted for four hundred years.
But I will bring judgment on the nation that they serve, and afterward they shall come out with great possessions.
As for you, you shall go to your fathers in peace; you shall be buried in a good old age.
And they shall come back here in the fourth generation, for the iniquity of the Amorites is not yet complete.’” (Genesis 15:13–16 ESV).
God waited. For centuries. He delayed His judgment so that the Amorites might repent. But they didn’t. Their sin increased. Their evil grew.
The people of Canaan weren’t just practicing a different religion—they were steeped in idolatry, temple prostitution, witchcraft, and child sacrifice.
“You shall not worship the Lord your God in that way, for every abominable thing that the Lord hates they have done for their gods…” (Deuteronomy 12:31 ESV).
“You shall not give any of your children to offer them to Molech, and so profane the name of your God: I am the Lord.” (Leviticus 18:21 ESV).
“For everyone who does any of these abominations, the persons who do them shall be cut off from among their people.” (Leviticus 18:29 ESV).
This wasn’t random wrath. It was divine justice.
And even in judgment, we saw grace. Rahab—a Canaanite and a prostitute—was spared because of her faith. Her entire household was saved. And through her, the lineage of King David and the Messiah Himself would come. That’s mercy.
The world today still wrestles with this story. Ironically, many of the same voices who condemn God for allowing evil to exist are the first to condemn Him when He confronts evil with justice.
But God is not on trial.
He is patient, righteous, and sovereign. And He always keeps His promises.
What we see in Joshua isn’t genocide—it’s a holy God drawing the line. It’s the moment when mercy, after centuries of waiting, gives way to justice. And it’s a warning to all of us: sin has a limit.
May we never presume on God’s patience. May we never treat His delay as indifference. And may we all kneel before Him now as willing servants—before the day comes when every knee will bow and every tongue will confess.
Let’s bow now in reverence, not later in regret.