Author: Derrick Hurst (Page 12 of 152)

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.

I Am That Joy

July 21, 2025 / / 1 Comment

Inspired by Night 2 of the LCMS Youth Gathering & Hebrews 12:1–3

Some moments stay with you.

For many who gathered on Night 2 of the LCMS Youth Gathering, there was a phrase that echoed through the arena and hit deep into the soul:

“I am that joy.”

“Looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God.”  Hebrews 12:2 (ESV)

What was the joy set before Jesus?
You were.

That truth landed like a wave. Jesus endured the mockery, the nails, the weight of sin not out of obligation or guilt but with joy. And that joy was you. It was your restoration. It was your freedom. It was your life made new in Him.

You are the joy that kept Him on the cross.

That realization changes everything, especially in the moments we feel too broken, too stuck, or too far gone to endure in Jesus.

Because if we’re honest, sometimes we don’t.
We give in to old habits.
We isolate in shame.
We spiral into addiction, self-harm, porn, or self-loathing, wondering if there’s any way back.

But Night 2 didn’t stop at the hard truth. It pointed us to hope real, honest, Spirit-filled hope.

Jesus endured the cross not just to rescue us but to recreate us. When we surrender the broken pieces to Him, the Holy Spirit goes to work not simply to polish us up, but to make us new.

“If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come.”  2 Corinthians 5:17 (ESV)

So if you’re feeling like you’ve failed to endure, hear this:

There is no shame in coming back.
There is no darkness too deep.
There is no mistake too final.

Because Jesus saw all of it and still, you were the joy set before Him.
He didn’t quit on you then.
He won’t quit on you now.

Hold This Close:

  • Remind yourself of this throughout this week: “I am that joy.”
  • When shame creeps in, remind yourself: Jesus endured for me.
  • Pray: “Holy Spirit, take the broken places in me and make me new. I want to endure in Jesus.”

Let’s walk in that joy. Let’s endure not alone, not by our own strength but in Jesus.

Endure

July 20, 2025 / / 0 Comments

There’s a reason the theme of this year’s Youth Gathering echoes loud and clear: Endure.

We live in a world where it’s easy to quit. Quit trying. Quit believing. Quit showing up. Life throws curveballs, culture applies pressure, and sometimes it feels like we’re barely holding on. But Hebrews gives us a different word. One that doesn’t ignore the struggle, but gives us power to walk through it:

“Let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God.” – Hebrews 12:1–2 (ESV)

Jesus endured.
Not just pain. Not just betrayal. Not just death. He endured the cross. The most brutal, shameful, and unjust suffering imaginable for you. For the joy of your salvation, your freedom, your future. And now, we don’t run alone. We run with Him the One who already won.

The LCMS Youth Gathering theme isn’t about mustering up fake strength or pretending everything’s fine. It’s about looking to Jesus and realizing we can endure because He already has. His victory isn’t just history. It’s your hope today.

Whether you’re facing a hard school year, a friendship that’s falling apart, mental health battles, or questions about your worth and future you need to hear this: Jesus sees you. He hasn’t left you. And He isn’t asking you to sprint through life alone.

Instead, He says: “I’ve walked this road. I know how it ends. Keep going. Keep trusting. I’m with you.”

Endurance doesn’t mean you won’t get tired. It means you keep going anyway step by step, day by day, with your eyes on the cross and your heart fixed on grace. The cloud of witnesses surrounds you (Hebrews 12:1). You are not alone. The #lcmsyg community across the country is running this race too and together, we hold on to the One who holds us.

So when life feels heavy, don’t quit. Look to Jesus. Remember the cross. He endured it for the joy of seeing you free. And because He endured, so can you.

Quick Encouragement

  • Write this verse somewhere visible to you this week: Hebrews 12:2
  • Pray something like this: “Jesus, help me to keep going. Fix my eyes on You when I feel like giving up. Remind me I’m not alone. You endured the cross for me help me endure through You.”

You’re not just surviving. You’re enduring with Jesus. And that changes everything.

The Cost of Distraction

July 16, 2025 / / 2 Comments

Ever feel like you’re drowning in noise.

Not just the sound of traffic or your neighbor’s dog or the 37th autoplay video on Instagram. I’m talking about the kind of noise that sits in your brain even when it’s quiet. The constant scroll, the endless to-do list, the pressure to keep up, to stay informed, to respond right now. We live in a world addicted to input. Every second of silence feels like wasted time, and every unoccupied moment screams to be filled with something, anything, just so we don’t have to sit still.

And if you’ve ever wondered, “Why does God feel so distant?”
Maybe it’s not that He’s silent.
Maybe it’s that we’ve forgotten how to listen.

Distracted Doesn’t Mean Disconnected, But It’s Dangerously Close

We don’t need a theological degree to know that something’s off.

You open your phone to check the weather and somehow 22 minutes later you’re watching a video about penguins ice-skating in slow motion. Or you sit down to breathe, maybe even pray, and your brain jumps straight to that email you forgot to send or the headline that just pinged your smartwatch.

We say we don’t have time for soul care, for reflection, for deeper things. But the truth is that we’re giving our attention to things that don’t even remember our names. And the tradeoff is killing us.

Peace? Gone.
Clarity? Unclear at best.
Spiritual depth? Drowned in noise.

There’s a cost to all this distraction. And it’s not just that we’re tired. It’s that we’re starving. Relationally. Emotionally. Spiritually. Starving!

Stillness Feels Like Rebellion

It almost seems like stillness is weird now. It feels unnatural. Like we’re doing something wrong if we’re not multitasking. But in a world that equates noise with importance and busyness with value, stillness is straight-up rebellious.

And yet, it’s exactly where God works best.

There’s a line from the Bible that says, “And behold, the Lord was not in the wind… not in the earthquake… not in the fire… but in the sound of a low whisper.” (1 Kings 19:11–12)

A whisper. Not a podcast. Not a push notification. Not a viral reel. Not a packed schedule. He was in the whisper.

God doesn’t compete for our attention like everything else. He’s not going to shout over the chaos. He waits until we’re ready to actually listen. And that’s the scary part. It’s scary because most of us never slow down long enough to be still.

The Fix?

It’s not going to be easy. But it will be worth it.

You won’t stumble into stillness accidentally. You have to fight for it. You have to get uncomfortable. You have to turn things off and shut things out and be okay with the fact that it might feel awkward and even a little boring at first. But you also have to believe this:

Stillness isn’t the absence of something. It’s the presence of Someone.

And maybe, just maybe, when the noise dies down and the distractions fade, we’ll find that God’s been whispering all along. Not with judgment. Not with pressure. But with love, grace, clarity, and peace.

You’re not crazy for feeling overwhelmed. You’re not broken for struggling to hear. But don’t ignore the ache inside you that knows something deeper is calling.

This is Part 1 of our series “Is It Me, or Is the World Just Louder Than God?”
Up next: Digital Detox and Soul Repair.

Because let’s be honest, your soul wasn’t made for 24/7 notifications.
And it’s time to get it back.

Why Everyone’s Tired of Faking It

July 14, 2025 / / 0 Comments

(Part 1 of 4 in the “Performing or Belonging?” series)

It often goes without saying – we’re exhausted.

Not from work. Not from parenting. Not from the latest crisis-of-the-week. So many people exhausted from pretending.

Smiling when we’re breaking. Posting like we’re thriving. Walking into rooms, churches included, wondering if we’re being judged for not having it all together.

We’ve been trained to perform. Perform at school. Perform at work. Perform in our friendships. Even perform at church. And somewhere along the way, we got the twisted idea that love, acceptance, and community were things we earn by being impressive.

But here’s the truth: Performance-based belonging is killing us. Slowly, quietly, spiritually.

You feel it, don’t you?

That subtle anxiety before walking into a room, wondering if you’ll be enough. That instinct to sanitize your story before telling it. That inner voice whispering, “Don’t let them see the real you. They couldn’t handle it.”

And the wild part? We’ve made this normal! We celebrate “being polished.” We admire the curated feed. We’ve confused authenticity with oversharing and vulnerability with weakness. But deep down, we all want the same thing: to be known and still loved. No mask. No pretense.

But we’ve bought into the lie that if we’re real, we’ll be rejected. So we keep performing. Keep managing our image. Keep walking into spaces like churches, friendships, even family dinners and thinking, “Don’t screw this up. Be who they want you to be.”

Let’s call it what it is: fake community. It’s shallow, it’s exhausting, and it’s not what God designed us for.

Want to know the truth? You were never meant to perform for love. You were made to belong in it. Real belonging doesn’t ask you to audition. It doesn’t hand you a mask. Real belonging walks into your mess and says, “Yeah, I see it. I still choose you.”

That’s what Jesus does.

No pretense. No filter. He doesn’t wait for you to clean yourself up. He doesn’t bless the fake version of you. He meets the real you tired, broken, guarded and offers something this world can’t: grace.

And if grace is real, then performance can die.

It’s time to stop faking it. It’s time to stop trying to impress people we don’t trust to love us. It’s time to build something better. It’s time for real relationships, real community, where masks aren’t needed and performance isn’t currency.

That kind of community doesn’t happen by accident. It takes guts. It takes honesty. And even a little faith. But I believe it’s possible. And if I’m being honest, I believe the church should lead the way.

Not with cheesy slogans. Not with religious guilt trips. But with raw stories, open doors, and the kind of love that says, “You don’t have to pretend here.”

If you’re tired of performing – then good. That’s the first step to finding something real.

This is Part 1 of 4 in a series exploring the tension between performing and belonging. Next up: The Pressure to Perform and why we chase approval like our lives depend on it (because for many of us, it feels like they do).

Let’s stop performing. Let’s start belonging.

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.

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