Tag: Faith (Page 3 of 24)

Splitting Wood & Spiritual Strength

December 19, 2025 / / 0 Comments

How resistance shapes us in Advent.

If you want to know who you really are, grab an axe and head to the woodpile.

There’s something brutally honest about splitting wood. It’s you, the log, the cold, and the undeniable truth that no amount of wishful thinking will split that piece of oak for you.

You swing.
You miss.
You curse under your breath.
You readjust.
You swing again.
Eventually something gives, either the log… or your back.

And standing there in the bite of December, with woodchips sticking to your jeans and steam rising off your breath, the Advent lesson hits hard:

Strength doesn’t appear out of nowhere. It’s built. Slowly. Repetitively. Through resistance.

We love the idea of spiritual strength. We want deeper faith, stronger trust, steadier souls, and an unshakeable hope.

But we quietly, secretly, and deeply wish we could gain all of that without the swing of the axe, without the struggle, without the repetition. Heck without the resistance!

The woodpile disagrees.

And if we’re honest, so does Scripture.

“Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope.” – Romans 5:3-4 (ESV)

Suffering → endurance → character → hope. It’s the spiritual version of swing → resistance → breakthrough → warmth.

Nobody gets firewood without effort. Nobody gets spiritual fire without endurance.

When I’m out on my acreage with a pile of unsplit logs staring me down, I realize how often I want Advent to be sentimental instead of strengthening. I want warm lights and hot drinks and sweet moments not the hard work of shaping a soul.

But Advent wasn’t meant to be sentimental. It was meant to build strength.

Strength to wait.
Strength to trust.
Strength to hope in the dark.
Strength to believe God is working even when the world feels cold and stubborn.

Jesus didn’t come because we were strong. He came because we couldn’t be.

And yet, He doesn’t leave us weak.

He shapes us.
He strengthens us.
He forms us like a woodcutter forms kindling. He does it through pressure, repetition, faithfulness, and time.

So here’s this week’s invitation:

When life feels heavy and the resistance feels real… don’t despise the woodpile. God might be building the exact strength you’ve been praying for.

Breakthrough doesn’t come without the swing. Warmth doesn’t come without effort. Spiritual strength doesn’t come without God using the hard places to shape us.

Advent continues not just warming our hearts for Christmas, but forging them for the world we’re called to love.

Nothing Is Falling Apart, So Why Does This Feel So Heavy?

December 18, 2025 / / 0 Comments

Nothing went wrong enough to explain.
But enough went wrong to feel it.

No single moment you could point to and say, “That’s it. That’s the thing.”
Just a quiet accumulation. A slow stacking of disappointments. Small frustrations. Closed doors that didn’t slam—they just… didn’t open.

Like your car battery dying when it’s five degrees outside.
Not a crisis. Just inconvenient enough to complicate everything.
Cold hands. Cold wind. One more thing that takes longer than it should.

Or finding out a network you love—one that mattered, one you poured into—decided to go a different direction. No explosion. No betrayal. Just less room. A quiet removal. The kind of loss that doesn’t come with a clean ending, just a shrug and a “this is where we are now.”

Add in the rest of life—schedules that don’t line up, things that won’t thaw, plans that keep shifting—and suddenly the weight shows up. Not all at once. But enough that you feel it when you finally sit down at night.

And that can be heavier than a crisis.

Because when something clearly breaks, people understand. There’s language for it. There’s space to grieve it. But when life just quietly goes off-script—when momentum stalls and expectations dissolve—you’re left carrying something that feels too small to explain and too heavy to ignore.

You start telling yourself you should be fine.
That other people have it worse.
That this isn’t worth naming.

But the weight is real.

And this is where Advent refuses to be sentimental.

The world Jesus entered wasn’t falling apart in dramatic ways. It was just worn down. Politically tense. Spiritually tired. Full of people doing their best, waiting for something to change, and quietly losing confidence that it would.

That’s the world God chose to step into.

Not in a moment of triumph.
Not when everything was aligned.
Not when people had margin and clarity and emotional bandwidth.

Luke tells us, “For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.” (Luke 2:11, ESV)

Unto you.

Not just the desperate.
Not just the broken.
But the quietly disappointed. The worn down. The ones dealing with dead batteries, closed doors, and the kind of loss that doesn’t come with a headline.

Christmas doesn’t show up to fix everything instantly. It shows up to be present before it does.

John writes, “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” (John 1:5, ESV)

Notice what he doesn’t say.
He doesn’t say the darkness disappears.
He says it doesn’t win.

That matters when the darkness feels ordinary. When it looks like frustration instead of fear. When it sounds like, “I didn’t expect this to be this hard.”

If you’re carrying weight this season and can’t quite explain why, you’re not failing at Christmas. You’re actually standing right where the story begins.

Christmas doesn’t ask you to pretend everything is fine.
It doesn’t demand manufactured joy.

It offers presence.
It offers nearness.
It offers light that shows up quietly and stays.

So if nothing went wrong enough to talk about—but everything feels heavy—know this: you are exactly the kind of person Christmas came for.

The light is already here

When What’s Buried Needs to Come Out

December 17, 2025 / / 0 Comments

Every bourbon drinker knows about the angel’s share, the part that evaporates.
But there’s another part most people don’t think about.

The Devil’s Cut.

That’s the portion of bourbon that gets trapped inside the oak staves of the barrel.
It doesn’t evaporate into the heavens.
It doesn’t pour out with the rest of the spirit.
It sinks deep, hides out, and clings to the wood fibers like it’s got something to prove.

Distillers have to work hard, really hard, to pull it out once the barrel’s emptied.
Steam. Pressure. Water. Time.
They literally have to extract what’s hiding inside.

And once again… bourbon ends up telling the truth about us.

We All Have a Devil’s Cut

We’ve all got parts of our story we don’t talk about.
Old wounds.
Buried insecurities.
Hidden habits.
Unresolved grudges.
Memories we’ve shoved down so deep we’d rather pretend they never happened.

Call it whatever you want trauma, pride, self-protection, “I’m fine.”
But God calls it something else:

Stuff that needs to come out.

Not to shame you.
Not to expose you.
But to heal you.

Because the Devil’s Cut the part trapped deep inside may not be visible… but it still has influence.
It still flavors the spirit.
It still shapes who we’re becoming.

What stays hidden doesn’t stay harmless.

You Can Fake Fine, But You Can’t Fake Healthy

The crazy thing about the Devil’s Cut is this.
You can empty a barrel, polish it, display it proudly in your living room.
But it will still have ounces and ounces of spirit trapped deep inside the staves.

Looks empty.
Isn’t empty.

Looks clean.
Isn’t clean.

Looks finished.
Isn’t finished.

Remind you of anyone?

We’re masters at curating the exterior the good Christian image, the polished reputation, the “strong enough” persona.
But inside?
Deep in the spiritual staves?
There can still be hurt, bitterness, anger, shame, fear, or unforgiveness lurking.

Not evaporated.
Not poured out.
Just trapped.

And if God doesn’t work it out of us, it will eventually work its way through us.

God Steam-Cleans the Soul and It Isn’t Always Comfortable

There’s a reason distillers call it the Devil’s Cut.
It takes force to get it out.
Heat. Pressure. Flooding. Extraction.

Sometimes God applies heat through a hard conversation, a moment of conviction, a season of discomfort.
Sometimes God applies pressure with a challenge we can’t avoid, a weakness we can’t deny, a pattern we can’t hide behind anymore.
Sometimes God floods us with His grace not the soft, fluffy kind, but the kind that goes deep enough to loosen the things we’ve held onto too long.

It’s not God being harsh.
It’s God being holy.
And loving.
And committed to your transformation.

God refuses to leave you with a Devil’s Cut still locked inside you.

Because what’s buried in you eventually bleeds into the people around you – your family, your marriage, your leadership, your faith.

Better to let God extract it now than let the darkness seep out later.

Let God Get to the Deep Stuff

If you’re honest, you already know what your Devil’s Cut is.

That hurt from years ago you don’t want to name.
That insecurity you’ve duct-taped over with accomplishment.
That resentment you tolerate because it feels justified.
That private sin you think you have “under control.”
That pain you don’t want Jesus touching.

But He’s not asking for an apology tour.
He’s asking for access.

To the real stuff.
The deep stuff.
The buried stuff.

The part that needs refining, cleansing, extracting.

Not so He can shame you, but so He can free you.

Because the truth is:

You can’t be fully poured out for God until He brings out what’s been trapped inside you.

So let Him do the work.
Let Him apply the heat.
Let Him press where it hurts.
Let Him draw out what’s been buried.

It’s not punishment.
It’s purification.

And when the Devil’s Cut comes out, you don’t lose yourself you finally get your whole self back.

The Rep You Don’t Want to Do

December 16, 2025 / / 0 Comments

From the series: “What I Learned Between Reps (And Why You Probably Need It Too)”

I want to talk about the rep you hate.
You know the one.
The one where your muscles are screaming, your brain is negotiating, and suddenly your water bottle looks like a fantastic life choice.

Yeah. That rep.

Here’s the truth nobody wants to admit:
That rep is the one that actually changes you.

Not the warmup.
Not the reps that feel smooth.
Not the reps that make you look strong in the mirror.

It’s the ugly one.
The shaky one.
The one where your face contorts into something that belongs in a wildlife documentary.
That’s where growth hides.

I’ve hit those moments more times that I can count. Those “I could stop right here and no one would know” moments. But the problem is, I would know. And so would you because every time you skip the hard rep, you train your brain to settle.

You’re teaching yourself that comfort is more important than progress.

And hear me on this. Comfort is not evil. It’s just sneaky.
Comfort whispers: “You’ve done enough.”
Comfort lies: “This is fine.”
Comfort smiles while you stay exactly the same.

But strength?
Strength doesn’t whisper.
Strength growls.
Strength demands something from you.
Strength shows up when you push past the point your excuses were built to protect.

Here’s the lesson I learned between reps this week:

Your breakthrough is almost always on the other side of the rep you don’t want to do.

Not just in the gym.
It happens in conversations you’ve been avoiding.
In goals you keep rescheduling.
In decisions you keep pretending are not urgent.
In dreams you’ve pushed off because they feel too risky.

Everyone wants transformation.
Almost no one wants the burn that comes with it.

But the burn is the signal.
The burn means you’re in the right place.
The burn means your limits just got punched in the teeth.
And if you stay there even for one more rep you’re already a different person than you were a minute ago.

So here’s your challenge:

Do the rep you don’t want to do. Today. Not later. Not “when things calm down.”

Send the message.
Make the call.
Hit the gym.
Have the hard conversation.
Apply for the thing.
Stop numbing the fear and start confronting it.

Because here’s the secret you only learn under the barbell:
Your limits aren’t walls. They’re invitations.

And you’re tougher than your comfort zone wants you to believe.

From Forgotten to the Front Row

December 15, 2025 / / 0 Comments

When you think about the Christmas story, what do you picture? Maybe the wise men in their fancy robes or maybe the angels singing. But Luke’s Christmas spotlight isn’t on the powerful or the prestigious. It’s on the shepherds.

Shepherds weren’t the VIPs of their day. They were society’s leftovers. They were blue-collar workers, often looked down on, sometimes even considered unreliable or at worst unclean. If this were a modern concert, they’d be the folks stuck way in the nosebleed seats, ignored and forgotten. Yet in the very moment God sent the news of Jesus’ birth, He put those shepherds front and center. God brought the forgotten to the front row.

He did it because God’s kingdom doesn’t run on our human ideas of status and worth. Instead, it flips the script. The overlooked, the marginalized, the quiet and uncelebrated that’s who God chooses to carry His message. And here’s the kicker: God still does this today.

This means that no matter how “forgotten” or overlooked you feel in life, whether at work, in your family, or in your own mind God’s call can find you and put you at the center of something bigger than you ever imagined.

But here’s the challenge: Are we living like the shepherds? Are we embracing the role of being front-row followers? Those who see what others miss? Those who listen when the world is too loud to hear? And who step boldly into the light instead of hiding in the shadows?

Too often, we shrink back. We stay on the sidelines because we think we’re not “enough” not smart enough, not talented enough, not important enough. But the shepherds remind us this is a lie.

God’s invitation is for everyone, especially those who think they don’t belong. The shepherds went from watching sheep in the dark fields to being the very first to hear the best news in history. And they didn’t keep it to themselves. They ran to tell others. They became the original front-line messengers.

In our lives, this means stepping off of the sidelines of comfort and fear. It means taking risks to speak up, to show kindness where it’s unexpected, to bring hope to places it’s missing. It means lifting others who feel forgotten and making room for them to sit at the front with us.

This Christmas story isn’t just about a baby born long ago. It’s a call for us today to live boldly, to trust that God sees us even when the world doesn’t, and to be the kind of people who bring others from the back row into the spotlight of grace and love.

A final coaching question for you:
Where in your life are you choosing to sit in the back row? What would it look like to step into the front row and live like the shepherds bold, unafraid, and ready to share the good news?

The Angel’s Share

December 10, 2025 / / 0 Comments

If you’ve spent any time around bourbon, you know the distillers have a strange way of talking about loss.

You see every year a portion of the aging bourbon evaporates through the barrel.

Nope. It’s not spilled. Not wasted. Not mismanaged. Just… gone.

They call it the angel’s share. That phrase has to be read in a deep and mysterious kind of voice by the way.

I remember the first time I heard that term. I thought, Only the bourbon world could romanticize losing product and actually celebrate it.

But the longer I sit with this idea. And frankly the longer I sit with life, the more I realize they’re actually onto something spiritual.

The Loss No One Likes… but Everyone Needs

The angel’s share can take 2–5% of the barrel every single year. Yeah! That adds up fast.

Imagine running a business where a chunk of your inventory literally disappears into the air and you just shrug and smile.

But distillers understand something we often forget: If the bourbon isn’t evaporating, it isn’t maturing.

The loss is a sign that transformation is happening deep inside the wood. Something slow, hidden, and impossible to reverse.

You don’t get complex, rich bourbon without the angel’s share. And you don’t get deep, resilient faith without losing some of yourself along the way.

The Parts of Life You Think You’re Losing…May Be Exactly What God Is Using

Friends, here’s the part no one likes to say out loud:

Some of the losses you grieve were never meant to stay with you.
Some dreams needed to evaporate.
Some plans had to leave the barrel of your life so something stronger, wiser, and more Christlike could form in their place.

We don’t think that way, at least not naturally. We see loss as failure. We see change as disruption. We see evaporation as a problem to fix.

But in the hands of God? Loss becomes formation. Surrender becomes strength. Letting go becomes freedom. And the things that slip through the cracks may very well be the things that were holding you back.

What evaporates is not always what’s essential. Sometimes it’s what’s excess.

Distillers don’t panic when the angel’s share takes its portion. They expect it. They plan for it. They even build their warehouses knowing that warm summers mean more loss and more flavor.

Loss is built into the process.

When was the last time you saw your life that way?

Instead of saying, “Why is this happening to me?”
What if the question became, “Lord, what are You forming in me through this?”

Instead of asking, “Why did I lose that opportunity?”
What if the real question is, “What space is this creating for the next one?”

Instead of gripping tightly to the past, maybe we ask, “What are You freeing me from so I can grow into who You’re calling me to be?”

The angel’s share reminds us that maturity always costs something.

Let the Right Things Evaporate

Sometimes we need to let expectations evaporate. Or our need to control everything. Or our obsession with certainty. Or the pressure to be everything to everyone.

And sometimes we need to let old versions of ourselves fade, so Christ can form something new, something deeper inside us.

Don’t fear what God removes. Fear only the things you cling to that keep you from becoming who you were called to be.

A bourbon that never loses anything never gains anything. And neither do we.

So here’s the invitation: Trust the process. Trust the loss. Trust the God who knows exactly what needs to evaporate so your life can mature.

The angel’s share isn’t stealing from you.
It’s shaping you.

The Quiet Field

December 5, 2025 / / 0 Comments

Finding Stillness on Acres in Advent

There’s a kind of silence that you only get on thirteen acres in early December.

It isn’t peaceful in one of those “spa with music and scented candles” kind of way. Not that I’d find that peaceful anyway!

It’s peaceful in the “everything is frozen and refusing to move” kind of way.

The grass is brittle. The garden is dead. The mud is solid. The trees creak like old bones every time the wind pushes through. Even the chickens give me that look that says “really… you came out here for this?”

And honestly? I feel the same way.

December doesn’t ask permission before it steamrolls you. It shows up with a clipboard full of expectations:
Christmas programs.
Three worship services every week.
Sermons.
Meetings.
Family plans.
Shopping.
School programs.
Year-end everything.

The month demands so much noise from me… while the land around me goes completely quiet.

And that’s the first gut-punch lesson Advent always hands me: The world gets loud, but God often whispers.

You’d think the “holy season” would feel holy. But Advent rarely starts that way for me. It usually starts with me trying to figure out how to beat the sun to the chicken coop, how to not slip on the icy slope behind the barn, and how in the world I’m going to get everything done before the 24th.

But out there on that cold, stubborn ground I’m reminded that God does His best work in the quiet places.

“Be still, and know that I am God.”  Psalm 46:10 (ESV)

Be still?
In December?
Sure, God. Let me just pencil that in between “fix frozen coop door” and “write sermon number three for the week.”

But that’s exactly the point. Stillness isn’t what happens when everything calms down. Stillness is what happens when I stop pretending I can carry everything myself.

The fields don’t fight the season. The garden doesn’t resist the freeze. The trees don’t argue their way out of winter. They simply… stop. Rest. Wait.

Advent is the Church’s way of reminding us: You can’t force fruit in winter. But you can prepare your heart for the Light that’s about to break in.

So this week, here’s my Advent invitation not just to you, but to myself:

Step into the quiet field, even if it’s only for five minutes.

Bundled up. Breath in the cold air. Let the noise fall off you. Let your soul settle for a moment so you can hear the whisper again.

Because while the world is screaming for more, God is quietly preparing to give us what we could never give ourselves:

A Savior.
A Light in the long night.
Hope wrapped in flesh.

Out here on the acreage, Advent begins with a frozen field and a quiet whisper. And honestly? That’s enough.

The Barrel Matters

December 3, 2025 / / 1 Comment

You can tell a lot about a bourbon long before you ever pop the cork. Not by its label. Not by the hype. Not even by its age.

If you really want to know what a bourbon is becoming, you’ve got to look at the barrel.

Ask any distiller and they’ll tell you the same truth every time. Up to 70% of a bourbon’s flavor comes from the barrel it rests in.

The wood. The char. The warehouse. The seasons. The environment shapes the spirit.

And sitting with a glass the other night, it hit me: It’s the same with you and me.

You Become Whatever You Soak In

Bourbon doesn’t get to choose its barrel, but you and I often do.

We decide what environments we rest our souls in. We choose what voices we let season our thinking. We choose the habits that fill our time. The people we run with. The rhythms we tolerate. And the noise we allow to flood our heads.

And then we’re shocked when the final product of our life tastes a little… off.

Look. If you spend your days soaking in anxiety, outrage, endless scrolling, and the opinions of people who don’t actually know you, then your spirit will reflect that. If you surround yourself with cynics, don’t be surprised when your joy feels watered down. If your faith is marinating in hurry, distraction, and an inch-deep spirituality, don’t wonder why you feel spiritually thin.

Your barrel shapes your spirit. Every single time.

Here’s the wild thing about bourbon barrels. They don’t just hold the bourbon. They actually transform it.

Over time the liquid pulls flavors out of the wood. The bourbon slowly takes on its color, its warmth, its depth. It becomes like whatever it rests in.

Your soul works the same way.

Spend enough time around people who love Jesus, who call out the best in you, who pray for you, who challenge you, who remind you who you are and you’ll notice your own character start to deepen.

Your thinking gets clearer. Your reactions get slower. Your compassion grows. Your faith gets steadier.

Spend enough time in Scripture, prayer, worship, and simple, quiet obedience and you’ll start tasting like the fruit of the Spirit.

You don’t become like Jesus by trying harder. You become like Jesus by staying close.

Just like bourbon in the right barrel, transformation happens through proximity, not pressure.

Check Your Barrels

Maybe the most spiritual thing some of us could do this week isn’t reading another book or listening to another podcast or heck even skimming the latest blog from our pastor. Maybe it’s doing a little inventory of the barrels we’re sitting in.

So sip on these things.

  • Who’s shaping you?
  • What are you soaking in?
  • What environment is slowly, silently forming your character?

If the answer is “I’m not really sure,” then you might already have your answer.

Friends, faith doesn’t grow in a vacuum. It grows in an environment.

And here’s the good news. You get to choose yours.

Choose the barrel that brings out the best in you.
Choose the people who speak life, not drama.
Choose the rhythms that draw you closer to Christ, not further into chaos.
Choose the habits that deepen your soul rather than drain it.

Because at the end of the day, everybody matures into something. The question is simply: What are you becoming like?

So here’s your bourbon-fueled reminder for the week: Bourbon becomes what it rests in, and so do you.

Choose your barrel wisely.

Saying Yes Changes Everything

December 1, 2025 / / 0 Comments

Yesterday we kicked off Advent with a deep dive into Luke 1:26-38. You know the story. Mary, a teenage girl from a nowhere town called Nazareth, gets the shock of her life when an angel tells her she’s been chosen to carry the Savior of the world. Yeah, that Mary.

Here’s the kicker: Mary had zero qualifications. No royal bloodline. No political connections. No resume that screamed, “I’m ready to be a world-changer.” Just a quiet life, a lot of questions, and a giant, terrifying call.

But God didn’t pick someone likely. He picked someone available.

Why Mary’s story is a punch in the face to our excuses

How often do we sit on the sidelines because we think we’re not enough? Not skilled enough, not bold enough, not experienced enough? Mary is the ultimate “Hold my beer” moment in the Bible. She’s God’s way of saying, “Stop waiting for permission. Stop waiting for perfect. Just show up.”

When the angel shows up, Mary doesn’t get a detailed step-by-step plan. She doesn’t get all the answers or guarantees. She just says, “I am the Lord’s servant. May your word to me be fulfilled.”

Now that’s faith.

Here’s your Monday challenge

Look at your week ahead. What’s the call you’ve been pretending not to hear? What’s the opportunity that feels too big or too scary? Whatever it is, remember God’s calling doesn’t come to the “most qualified.” It comes to the available. The willing. The ready to say “yes” even when the path is uncertain.

So what’s stopping you? Fear? Doubt? That little voice telling you you’re not enough? It’s a lie. All of it! Mary was essentially just a kid. If God can work through her, He can absolutely work through you.

This week, don’t just hope for change. Step into it. Say yes to the impossible. Step out of your comfort zone. Be the unexpected hero God is calling you to be. The world doesn’t need perfect. It needs you showing up and doing what only you can do.

Get uncomfortable. Get brave. Get moving. Your ‘yes’ could be the spark that changes everything.

Ready to stop waiting and start living your calling? Share your “yes” this week in the comments. Let’s fuel each other’s courage to be the unlikely heroes God is raising up right now.

Grateful for the Little Stuff

November 24, 2025 / / 0 Comments

Let’s be honest how often do we catch ourselves griping about the little things? The slow Wi-Fi, the slightly burnt toast, the coffee that’s “just not quite right”? Yeah, those things. We act like the world is ending because our favorite show buffers for two seconds or because the line at Starbucks is one person too long.

But here’s the kicker: those “small” annoyances? They’re actually the stuff of life we really value.

I mean think about it. The Wi-Fi only matters because you’re connected to people you love or work you care about. That “not quite right” coffee is still warm in your hands and sometimes, that’s a miracle. And the line at Starbucks? It means you’re breathing, moving, living in a world full of people who also need their caffeine fix to survive Monday.

We take these things for granted. We complain like life is about to unravel when what’s really happening is this: we have what we need. The roof over our heads, food on the table, a phone in our pocket, and yes even imperfect coffee.

So today, let’s be bold enough to say thank you for the small stuff. For the mess, the glitches, the delays, and the little inconveniences. Because those things remind us we’re alive, we’re human, and we’re blessed in ways we often don’t even notice.

And hey if your toast burns, maybe that’s just the universe’s way of telling you to slow down and enjoy a second cup of coffee. Or maybe, just maybe, it’s time to embrace the chaos with a grateful heart and a little laugh.

Gratitude isn’t about waiting for the big wins. It’s about finding joy in the crumbs.

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