Author: Derrick Hurst (Page 11 of 150)

I am husband to Carrie, dad to Matthew, Lucas, and Natalie. I have a desire to see people grow in their relationship with Jesus. My personal mission is to move people forward in their faith life.

The Colors Still Speak

July 2, 2025 / / 0 Comments

There’s something sacred about those beloved colors of red, white, and blue. They’re more than just a color scheme for a t-shirt or those skirts around floats for a parade. They tell a story. They tell our story whether we like it or not. Every thread of that flag carries the weight of history and the hope of tomorrow. The American flag isn’t just fabric. It’s a symbol of everything we’ve fought for, everything we still believe in, and everything we pray our children will carry forward.

Red stands for the blood. Not just blood spilled, but blood given. Willingly. Courageously. From the hills of Valley Forge to the deserts of the Middle East, brave men and women have laid down their lives so this flag could wave high and free. Red reminds us that freedom has never been free. It’s been paid for with dog tags, folded flags, and silent salutes.

But red also represents valor and bravery. It symbolizes the kind of courage it takes to stand when others sit, to speak truth when it costs you, to fight for what’s right even when it’s not popular. When I see that red, I see generations of my family who stepped up to serve. I see the cost. And I honor it.

White stands for victory. Not perfection, not prideful boasting, but the hard-won triumph of liberty over tyranny. It reminds us that light still conquers darkness. That hope still overcomes fear. That this nation, for all its struggles, has always found a way to rise.

And more deeply, white symbolizes purity and innocence. These are the ideals at the core of our founding. The belief that people should be free. That every human life has value. That government exists to protect, not control. It’s not a denial of our flaws, but a declaration of what we aspire to be. It’s a challenge to live up to the principles we were founded on. Life. Liberty. The pursuit of happiness within a orderly system.

Blue reminds us of the skies that shelter us and the seas that protect us. It’s the color of depth and endurance. It stands for every watchful eye, every long night, every man, woman, and child who stands with unshakable resolve. Blue is the quiet strength behind our freedom.

It signifies vigilance, perseverance, and justice. These three traits we desperately need today. Vigilance, to guard our freedoms and resist the slow creep of apathy or rejection. Perseverance, to keep pressing forward when the road gets hard. Justice, to ensure liberty isn’t just for some, but for all. Blue is the backbone of a republic that still believes in right and wrong, and isn’t afraid to defend it.

And then there are the Stars and Stripes.

The stripes tell our story. Thirteen bold colonies that stood together, now part of a union that has endured through civil war, world wars, and cultural change. They stretch across the fabric like the timeline of a nation built on grit and grace.

The stars shine with promise. They are the fifty sovereign states, united not by sameness, but by shared belief. They represent our present and our future. They are a reminder that we are stronger together, even when we don’t always agree.

The flag is not a decoration. It’s a declaration. It says we remember. It says we’re still proud. And it says we still believe in liberty, still value sacrifice, and still love this land we call home.

So the next time you see Old Glory waving in the wind, whether it’s outside a home, on a military base, folded at a gravesite, or lifted high at a small-town parade remember what those colors mean.

They are not about a political party. They are not trendy. They are timeless.

Red for the blood, valor, and bravery.
White for the victory, purity, and innocence.
Blue for the sky, and for vigilance, perseverance, and justice.
Stars for our unity.
Stripes for our legacy.

This flag still speaks.

The only question is are we still listening.

“This Flag Still Stands for Freedom”

July 1, 2025 / / 0 Comments

There’s an American flag flying outside my home, and it doesn’t just go up for holidays. It’s there most every day, through wind, rain, snow, and sun. It flies for the men and the women who stand for me. It flies for my family, my cousins, my grandfather, my brother, and even my son – who have all served this country in one branch of the military or another. And it flies for the ideals that make this nation worth defending: liberty, responsibility, faith, and the freedom to live without fear of tyranny, either foreign or domestic.

The Fourth of July means something to me. It always has. But in recent years, I’ve noticed a shift. The cookouts and fireworks are still there, but so are the protests and hashtags and rallies with slogans like “No Kings” and “Eat the Rich.” It’s as if some folks think July 4 is just about throwing off authority and making noise.

But that’s not what this holiday is about. At least it shouldn’t be.

The Fourth of July is about building something, not just tearing something down. It’s about declaring that people can govern themselves, that our rights come from God and not the government. It’s about vision, courage, and commitment. The men who signed the Declaration of Independence weren’t just rebels. They were founders. They weren’t looking to replace one tyrant with another. They were standing for something better. Something higher. A system rooted in law, liberty, and the recognition that freedom is fragile but worth fighting for.

That’s why the flag matters so much. It’s not just a decoration or a photo-op. It represents the blood, sweat, and sacrifice of generations who believed that freedom isn’t free. That includes the men and women in my family who answered the call to serve. Those who’ve stood and still stand watch for this country every day.

When I look at that flag, I don’t see perfection. I see perseverance. I see a country that’s struggled, stumbled, and sacrificed, but always come back stronger. I see the First Amendment, the right to speak freely even when we disagree. I see the Second Amendment, the right to defend ourselves and our families because liberty must be guarded.

Freedom is not a trend. It’s not a talking point. It’s a way of life. It’s what makes America different from every other nation on earth. It’s why we defend our borders, protect our Constitution, and take pride in our national identity.

I love this country. I’m not embarrassed to say that. I won’t apologize for standing for the flag, teaching my kids to respect it, and raising them to understand that liberty is a gift and a responsibility. You can disagree with policy, criticize leaders, and demand justice that’s part of the beauty of this nation but don’t mistake liberty for lawlessness. Don’t turn the Fourth of July into just another excuse to gripe.

Because this country still stands for something.

So this Independence Day, while I’m grilling with family and sending projectiles vertically and horizontally, I’ll be thinking about what it means to live in a place where freedom still has a home. I’ll be praying for our leaders, for our troops, and for a nation that remembers who we are and what we’ve been blessed with.

Let’s teach our kids the truth about this day not that we just broke away from something, but that we stood for something. And we still do.

Happy Fourth of July. God bless America. Let freedom ring.

The Shift That No One Warns You About

June 26, 2025 / / 0 Comments

We spend years in the trenches of parenting between car seats and curfews, timeouts and tantrums, grades and guidance. For two decades (give or take), we pour everything we have into shaping, steering, and correcting. We raise them to grow up, to think for themselves, to stand on their own two feet. But here’s the reality: when they start doing exactly that, it can break your heart a little.

Because no one tells you what to do after the parenting stage shifts.

There’s a line no one draws for you, no neon sign that says: “Congratulations! You’ve officially moved from being the parent to a parent.” It’s subtle, but seismic. And if we’re not careful, we can sabotage the very adulthood we spent years cultivating.

Here’s the real challenge – distinguishing between parenting and being a parent.

Parenting is directional. Being a parent is relational.

When they’re young, your job is to correct, direct, and protect. You say no a thousand times just to keep them safe. You enforce rules because you love them more than their temporary happiness. You carry the weight of their future in your daily decisions.

But that job changes. And if we don’t let it change, we risk doing damage in the name of love.

When your child is 25 and you’re still trying to parent them like they’re 15, you’re not helping anymore. You’re controlling. You’re inserting yourself where you were never meant to stay.

That doesn’t mean you stop being a parent. It just means your role changes.

We move from “command” to “counsel.” From “authority” to “ally.”

And if we’re being real, this transition is terrifying. Because your adult child is going to make choices you wouldn’t. They’ll vote differently. Discipline differently. Date or marry someone you’re unsure about. They might even walk away from the faith you modeled.

And in that moment, you’ll feel the urge to step back into the parenting driver’s seat again. To say, “Not under my roof!” But it’s not your roof anymore. They have their own roof and if you want to be invited in, you’d better learn how to knock.

This is the fine line so many parents struggle with: how do you go from rule-enforcer to relationship-builder? How do you become a trusted voice without being a controlling presence?

Your relationship with your adult kids will never be stronger than your ability to respect their autonomy.

They don’t need your approval anymore. They need your availability. They need to know they can come to you, not that you’ll chase them down with unsolicited advice. They need space to fail, to fall, to figure it out, and to know you’ll be there, arms open, not arms crossed.

This doesn’t mean you never speak truth. But it means you speak it less like a judge and more like a friend. You earned the right to parent them. Now you must earn the right to influence them as adults.

Jesus modeled this kind of relationship. He told His disciples the truth, but He also called them friends (John 15:15). He empowered them. Released them. Trusted them. And He walked with them even when they didn’t get it all right.

Let’s raise our kids to be adults. Then let’s actually let them be adults.

You’ll grieve the old days, and that’s okay. But don’t miss the beauty of what’s ahead. You’re no longer raising them but you can still walk beside them. Encourage them. Celebrate them. Learn from them.

Because while parenting ends, being a parent never does. It just grows up with them.

Money Replaces Mission

June 19, 2025 / / 0 Comments

Drive through almost any county in America and you’ll spot them: gorgeous brick steeples hovering over empty parking lots, sanctuaries built for 300 now echoing with twenty voices and a stubborn furnace that costs more than the weekly offering. We’ve become better caretakers of drywall than of disciples. And the numbers back it up. Lifeway Research found 4,500 Protestant churches closed in 2019 while barely 3,000 opened, and the bleeding hasn’t stopped—Southern Baptists alone lost another 1,253 congregations in 2022.

Here’s the insane part: many of those congregations can’t even afford a full-time pastor. They hire pulpit supply by the Sunday, stash dwindling savings in a cemetery fund, and pray for a miracle while the boiler gulps their missions budget. Meanwhile church planters are meeting in school cafeterias, storefronts, and living rooms begging God for a permanent space and a little seed money. Kingdom opportunity is literally pad-locked behind stained-glass windows.

Jesus never called us to protect square footage. He said, “Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal, but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven… For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” (Matthew 6:19-21, ESV). When the asset owns the disciples, the heart has migrated from the kingdom to the ledger.

The Denominational Elephant in the Room

Let’s talk about headquarters. Denominational offices boast endowments that could plant a hundred churches tomorrow, but too many operate like spiritual insurance companies—hoarding premiums, paying out pennies. When has it been acceptable for a church group to sit on millions of dollars while churches close and no new ones are open? The state wide church tradition to which I belong is sitting on over 4 MILLION DOLLARS and we haven’t planted a church in over 10 years and have closed at least 4 that I know of.

We’re willing to fund committees to study decline while the children next door never hear the gospel. If the metrics in heaven track baptisms, why do the budgets on earth track square footage?

Imagine divesting 10 % of those frozen assets each year for a decade. Local plants could purchase used sanctuaries for pennies on the dollar, immigrant congregations could inherit facilities designed for worship instead of taking third-hand warehouse leases, and digital-first discipleship platforms could reach teenagers who will never set foot in a 1960s fellowship hall. That’s not charity; that’s stewardship.

A Different Kind of Legacy

If your church owns more pews than people, your greatest ministry might be letting somebody else inherit the pews. Hold a celebration service, sign the deed over to a gospel-centered planter, and watch resurrection outrun resuscitation. Legacy isn’t granite nameplates; it’s new believers who will never know your name but will praise your God because you handed them the keys.

Denominational leaders: close the loopholes that let dying congregations hoard property until the last member’s funeral. Create a fast-track for transferring assets to mission-driven plants. Sell what can’t be handed off and funnel every nickel into training disciple-makers, funding campus launches, and building online platforms that meet Gen Z where they already live—on their phones. And for goodness sake, establish and implement a church planting strategy that brings the gospel to more people!

Local churches: start the conversation now, before the roof caves in. Ask, “If we dissolved tomorrow, how could this building bless the kingdom?” Put that answer in your bylaws and—better yet—in a signed agreement with a planter you trust.

Because when Jesus returns, He isn’t coming back for heritage committees or capital campaigns. He’s coming for people. Let’s make sure our treasure sits in lives transformed, not in limestone slowly eroding behind a For Sale sign.

Stop propping up the corpse. Transfer the assets. Plant something that can actually grow. The kingdom is advancing—with or without that building. Decide which side of the locked door you want to stand on.

Raising Kids in a Confusing World

June 19, 2025 / / 0 Comments

Ever have this thought go through your mind? Raising kids today feels like building a straw fort in a windstorm.

The world is loud.
The rules keep changing.
The pressures seem to start earlier with every generation.
The questions get heavier.
And half the time, we don’t even feel confident in our own footing, let alone how to guide someone else.

Screens scream for attention. Culture pulls in every direction. And no matter how intentional you try to be, it feels like you’re always five steps behind and one mistake away from doing some kind of irreparable harm.

But here’s the thing: Kids don’t need perfect adults. They need present ones.

They need adults who are grounded enough to admit they don’t have all the answers. And steady enough to keep showing up anyway.

So how do we raise kids when the world feels upside down?

1. Choose presence over perfection.

You won’t always get it right. But showing up consistently with patience, hugs, boundaries, and grace builds something stronger than any flawless strategy.

2. Teach what’s true and model what’s real.

Your kids don’t need a scripted life. They need to see you wrestle with real things and come back to real values. Honesty, humility, faith, kindness. That’s the stuff that sticks.

3. Turn down the noise.

You don’t have to keep up with every trend. Instead of chasing what’s new, anchor your family in what’s timeless: love, respect, service, wonder, joy.

4. Let them see your limits.

It’s not a bad thing for your kids to know you’re tired, unsure, or struggling sometimes. That gives them permission to be human too. Vulnerability teaches resilience.

5. Pray more than you panic.

You won’t always have the right response in the moment. But your quiet, constant prayers over your kids matter. They matter more than you know. More than they’ll ever see.

Your job isn’t to raise perfect kids in a perfect world.
Your job is to raise loved kids in a messy one.
To point them to what’s good and true even when it’s hard.
To be a steady voice when everything else is spinning.

And if you’re doing that even just a little, you’re doing better than you think.

Keep going, even when it’s confusing. You’re raising hope in human form.

We Forgot How to Talk to Each Other

June 17, 2025 / / 1 Comment

Have you noticed it?

How quickly everything turns into a fight.
How often people talk past each other instead of to each other.
How even simple conversations feel like walking through a minefield.

We’re surrounded by noise, not connection.
By opinions, not understanding.
By constant talking, but not much listening.

It’s not just politics or big debates either. It’s in family group chats. School pickup lines. Online threads. Holiday dinners. We’ve forgotten how to talk to each other like human beings instead of headlines.

And here’s the scary part: When we stop listening, we stop seeing each other. And when we stop seeing each other, we lose our capacity for compassion.

But it doesn’t have to stay this way.

What if the way forward isn’t about winning arguments but rebuilding conversations?

1. Get curious, not combative.

When someone says something you don’t understand or disagree with, try this: “Tell me more about that.” Not everything needs a rebuttal. Sometimes people just need to be heard. And sometimes you don’t know the whole story, so ask more assume less.

2. Lead with stories, not stats.

Arguments rarely change hearts, but stories can. Share your experience. Listen to theirs. You don’t have to agree to connect.

3. Assume complexity.

Most people are carrying more than they show. Don’t reduce someone to a label, category, or soundbite. You’d want the same grace. Maybe there’s more to the situation than you realize.

4. Stay offline when it matters.

Social media is not the best place for nuanced conversations. If it’s important, have it face-to-face or voice-to-voice. Real tone. Real eyes. Real humanity. So much of communication is nonverbal, so don’t have hard conversations that could be taken wrong in a venue that doesn’t communicate nonverbally.

5. Choose connection over being right.

You can “win” an argument and lose a relationship. That doesn’t mean you compromise truth, but it does mean you prioritize love. Sometimes the most powerful thing you can say is, “I’m still here, even if we don’t agree.”

You don’t have to shout louder to be heard.
You don’t have to prove your point to prove your worth.

We need people who know how to talk and even more, how to listen.
People who bring light, not heat.
People who choose dignity over division.

Let’s be those people. And it won’t hurt if we start today.

You don’t need all the answers just an open heart and a willingness to stay in the conversation.

We’ve Made Church Too Safe

June 12, 2025 / / 0 Comments

I think it’s safe to say. The modern American church is addicted to safety.

We’ve built sanctuaries that feel more like coffee shops than spiritual battlegrounds. We’ve traded sermons that pierce the soul for talks that soothe the ego. We’ve made small groups “low commitment,” worship “non-offensive,” and mission trips “Instagrammable.” Somewhere along the way, we stopped following Jesus—and started selling a sanitized version of Him that fits nicely into a 70-minute service with great parking.

But here’s the problem: Jesus was never safe.

He touched lepers. He flipped tables. He confronted religious leaders to their faces. He loved the wrong people, said the wrong things, and died the most scandalous death imaginable. And then He had the nerve to look us in the eyes and say:

“If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me.” (Luke 9:23, ESV)

The cross is not a metaphor for a mild inconvenience. It’s a symbol of execution. So why are we so desperate to make Christianity comfortable?

Safety Has Become Our Idol

We don’t say it out loud, but it’s everywhere: safety first. Don’t offend. Don’t challenge. Don’t talk about sin, sacrifice, repentance, or surrender. Keep it light. Keep it nice. Keep it moving.

But here’s the truth: a gospel that never confronts won’t ever transform.

We’re raising generations of Christians who think following Jesus means showing up to church when it’s convenient, tossing $20 in the plate, and maybe posting a Bible verse on Instagram. Meanwhile, people are starving for something real, something dangerous, something that calls them out of mediocrity and into mission.

We have all the right branding. We have polished worship sets and clever sermon series. But Jesus didn’t die to make us marketable. He died to make us holy.

Discipleship Is Dangerous

The early church was anything but safe. Read Acts. Those Christians were bold, reckless, filled with the Holy Spirit, and completely unconcerned with cultural approval. They faced prison, persecution, and death—and they rejoiced that they were counted worthy to suffer for Jesus.

Now we can’t even handle a negative comment on social media. Now we get all bent when someone challenges us. Now if someone disagrees with us they get canceled and forgotten.

We’re not called to blend in. We’re called to stand out. We’re not called to be liked. We’re called to be faithful. And sometimes, being faithful means taking real risks—sacrificing time, money, comfort, and popularity to love radically, serve sacrificially, and speak boldly.

Jesus didn’t play it safe. So why do we?

It’s Time to Be Dangerous Again

We need churches that stop measuring success by attendance and start measuring it by obedience. We need pastors who preach truth even when it stings. We need communities where it’s okay to get uncomfortable—where confession, accountability, and repentance are normal. We need Christians who are more concerned with holiness than hashtags.

“So, because you are lukewarm, and neither hot nor cold, I will spit you out of my mouth.” (Revelation 3:16, ESV)

Jesus didn’t come to build lukewarm institutions. He came to light a fire. And maybe it’s time we let Him burn down our addiction to comfort so He can rebuild us into something powerful.

Not safe. Not soft.

But holy dangerous.

You Don’t Have to Do It All

June 10, 2025 / / 1 Comment

We live in a world that subtly, and not so subtly, says the same thing over and over:
You should be doing more.

Work more. Be more involved. Cook from scratch. Get ahead. Stay informed. Stay fit. Stay positive. Stay available.

And if you’re tired? That’s just proof you need better habits. Or a better planner. Or a better version of you.

But maybe that voice is wrong.

Because here’s the truth most of us need to hear on repeat: You don’t have to do it all.

You are not required to carry every need, fix every problem, attend every event, or please every person. Your worth is not measured by your output. And your value isn’t proven by your exhaustion.

The badge of burnout is not a badge of honor. It’s a warning sign. And maybe it’s time to pay attention.

So how do we live in a world of MORE without losing ourselves?

1. Drop the invisible expectations.

Whose standards are you living by? Take five minutes and list the expectations that weigh you down. Then cross out anything that’s not life-giving, sustainable, or aligned with your actual purpose or calling.

2. Choose your “yes” on purpose.

You can’t say yes to everything, so say yes to what matters most. Protect time for people and priorities that bring peace, not pressure.

3. Practice saying “not right now.”

You don’t have to say no forever but you can say not this season. Saying no to one thing is often the only way to say yes to what really counts. Every yes to one thing is a no to something else. Choose your yes carefully.

4. Rest without guilt.

Rest is not laziness. It’s resistance to the idea that your value is tied to your productivity. Take a nap. Read for fun. Watch the sunset. And don’t apologize for needing to take a break.

5. Accept help before you break.

You were never meant to carry everything alone. Ask for support. Say, “I can’t do this right now.” Let someone step in. That’s not weakness. It’s wisdom.

Doing less doesn’t mean you care less.
It just means you’re human, and you’re finally living like it.

So take a breath. Let something drop. Give yourself permission to be a person, not a machine.

You don’t have to do it all.

You just have to do the next right thing, with heart.

Grace over grind, every single time.

Praying Past Pathetic

June 9, 2025 / / 1 Comment

Let’s be honest: most of our prayers are weak. They’re soft. Safe. Domestic.

“Help me have a good day.”
“Please heal Aunt Carol’s bunion.”
“Let the traffic be light.”

We toss these up like God is our cosmic butler, here to make life smooth, not holy. And when Paul drops to his knees in Ephesians 3:14-21, he blows that kind of praying to pieces.

“For this reason I bow my knees before the Father… that according to the riches of his glory he may grant you to be strengthened with power through his Spirit in your inner being…” (Ephesians 3:14,16 ESV)

Did you catch that? Paul isn’t praying for a good day filled with sunshine. He’s begging God to dig into the deepest parts of your soul and rebuild you from the inside out. That’s not a Hallmark holiday wish. That’s spiritual surgery.

From Pathetic to Powerful

When Paul prays, he’s not tossing up spiritual fluff. He’s down on his knees, pleading for real transformation. Not circumstantial tweaks, but a soul overhaul. He’s praying for a strength that doesn’t come from inside, but from the riches of God’s glory.

That’s not pathetic. That’s powerful.

And it raises a question: Why are we so content to pray small when God offers so much more?

Paul’s prayer gets right to the core:

  • That you would be strengthened with power.
  • That Christ may dwell in your hearts.
  • That you’d be rooted and grounded in love.
  • That you’d comprehend the height, depth, length, and breadth of God’s love.
  • That you’d be filled with all the fullness of God.

Let’s not miss it. Paul is praying for interior transformation that leads to explosive faith and love. He’s asking that believers wouldn’t just know about Jesus, but that Jesus would dwell, that means make his home, in their hearts. Not as a weekend guest, but as the owner of the house.

More Than Surface Fixes

Most of us pray like we’re asking for God to wash the windows. Paul prays like God is tearing out walls and rebuilding the foundation.

We say: “Help me not be stressed.”
Paul prays: “Lord, fill them with Your Spirit so they stand strong no matter what hits them.”

We pray: “Fix this annoying person in my life.”
Paul prays: “Root them in love so deep that even enemies feel like neighbors.”

This is not about better behavior. This is about spiritual transformation.

What Are You Settling For?

Paul closes the prayer with one of the most powerful doxologies in the Bible:

“Now to him who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think, according to the power at work within us…” (Ephesians 3:20 ESV)

You know what that means? Even your wildest prayer is still undershooting what God is capable of. We pray weak because we think weak. We ask small because we dream small. And God says, “I can do more. Infinitely more.”

It’s not about getting everything you want. It’s about becoming everything He created you to be.

So Here’s the Challenge

Stop praying like God’s only job is to keep you comfortable. Stop praying like the deepest work God can do is make sure your Amazon package arrives on time.

Start praying like Paul:

  • On your knees.
  • Asking for power.
  • Expecting inner transformation.
  • Begging to know a love that surpasses knowledge.
  • Craving the fullness of God, not the convenience of life.

Because the Spirit of God didn’t come to make you nice. He came to make you new.

So next time you pray, skip the traffic updates. Get real. Get honest. Get deep. And pray with power. Then the traffic updates, grandma’s broken toe and your disobedient kiddo will take up different head space.

More “?” Than “.”

June 6, 2025 / / 0 Comments

Let’s talk about punctuation.

Yeah, that’s right punctuation.

No this is not grammar class. It’s not middle school English. I have no right to teach anyone about proper grammar – just ask my wife!

I’m talking about the way we speak to each other in real life. And if we’re honest, most of us are walking around throwing out periods like we’re dropping final judgments from the throne of Mount Know-It-All.

“She’s just lazy.”
“He never listens.”
“They’re obviously lying.”
“She meant to hurt me.”

Period. Drop mic. End of sentence. End of conversation. End of understanding.

But what if we traded some of those “.” for “?”
What if we stopped acting like we knew and started wondering again?
What if we paused long enough to ask before we assumed?

Lean in so you hear this fully: When we stop asking questions, we start making enemies out of people who might just need a little grace.

Look, I get it. You’re tired. You’ve been burned. You’ve been lied to, ghosted, manipulated, even taken for granted. So now, instead of wondering why someone did what they did, you just decide why! Then it’s all wrath. It’s time to punish them accordingly.

But here’s the problem: your story might be wrong. And now you’ve built a whole emotional prison based on a bad guess. It’s like the old adage about don’t assume.

Maybe she didn’t text back because her dad’s in the hospital.
Maybe he didn’t show up because he’s drowning in shame.
Maybe they didn’t invite you because they assumed you were busy, not because they hate you.

But you didn’t ask, did you? You just wrote the script, cast them as the villain, and hit “Publish” in your mind.

We do this all the time, even in the church.
We talk about people instead of to them.
We speak for people instead of asking from them.
We judge motives we never took time to understand.

And it needs to stop.

You want to build real trust in your marriage? Ask more questions.
You want to lead people better at work or in ministry? Ask before you assume.
You want to stop being chronically offended? Trade your periods for question marks.

“Help me understand why you said that?”
“Can you help me understand what you meant?”
“Is something going on that I don’t see?”
“What happened from your perspective?”

Those kinds of questions are not weakness.
They’re strength. Humble strength.
The kind that seeks truth more than the thrill of self-righteousness.

Here’s the raw truth. Some of us would rather be angry and wrong than humble and informed.

We cling to our pain because it makes us feel justified. But what if your story isn’t the full story? What if the “truth” you’re holding is only half of it?

That doesn’t mean everyone’s off the hook. It doesn’t mean you never confront. It doesn’t mean you pretend people didn’t hurt you. But when you do confront, do it with a question mark, not a gavel.

Accusations harden hearts. Questions open them.

And if we’re serious about being people of grace, if we actually believe in redemption, reconciliation, second chances, then we better get really comfortable with asking:
“What’s the rest of this story?”
“Is there more I don’t know?”
“Before I draw conclusions, can I hear your side?”

Start using more “?” than “.” and watch how your relationships shift.
Watch how your defensiveness drops.
Watch how healing and inner peace begins to sneak in.

And maybe, just maybe, you’ll stop losing good people to bad assumptions.

So go ahead ask the question. It might just save you from a thousand regrets.

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