Tag: Jesus (Page 3 of 67)

It’s a New Year. Don’t Waste It.

January 1, 2026 / / 0 Comments

Ok so it’s January 1.
A new year. A clean page.

But the calendar doesn’t change your life. You do.

If nothing changes in you, this year will look exactly like the last one. You’ll see the same patterns, same excuses, same prayers you meant to pray but never even got to amen.

A new year only becomes a new start when someone gets up and chooses discomfort over drift.

Hope is not passive.
Faith is not a spectator sport.
And complaining about life without doing anything about it is not wisdom. It’s avoidance.

If you’re frustrated, good.
If you’re tired of the cycle, pay attention.
If you’re sick of being stuck, that might be the Spirit knocking.

But remember: nothing changes for people who only talk about change.

Posting about goals isn’t growth.
Thinking about faith isn’t discipleship.
Waiting to “feel ready” is just another way to stay exactly where you are.

This year won’t be different because you want it to be.
It won’t be better because you hope harder.
It will only change when you act.

Scripture says, “Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing!” (Isaiah 43:18–19). But God doing something new doesn’t excuse you from moving forward. New things still demand obedience.

God doesn’t drag people into transformation.
He meets people who take a step.

So stop waiting for motivation.
Stop negotiating with fear.
Stop telling yourself you’ll get serious “someday.” Newsflash friend – “someday” never comes!

Read the Bible even when it feels like a dry list of names.
Pray honestly instead of vaguely. Say exactly what’s on your heart. He can take it.
Show up to worship instead of watching from a distance. If you’re in town, you’re in worship could be a motto for 2026.
Commit to community instead of floating on the edges. Relationships take effort, so do the hard work.
Serve instead of consuming. There are enough takers in the world. Don’t be one of them. Find a way to give back.

This year doesn’t need more good intentions.
It needs decisions.

It needs people willing to try, fail, learn, and try again.

So before the year gets busy. Before the excuses pile up. Before the gym feels too far away. Before the savings plan feels like it’s sapping too much money from your paycheck. Sit with these questions:

  • What’s one habit, pattern, or excuse you already know has to change?
  • What step are you avoiding because it will actually cost you something?
  • If nothing changes in your life this year, whose fault will that be?

A new year is here.
God is ready.

The real question is are you?

Be well, friends.

The Long Night & The Light That Still Comes

December 23, 2025 / / 1 Comment

There’s a certain point every December where the dark feels just plain heavy.

You notice it when you pull into the driveway at 4:50 p.m. and your headlights hit the same patch of ground they hit at 8 p.m. It’s the long night. The season where the sun seems to give up early. The time of year where the cold settles in your bones and even the land feels like it’s bracing itself.

This is the month when the chickens go to bed way too soon, the fields disappear into a huge shadow of darkness, and the only light I see is whatever spills out from the porch lamp or flickers inside the fireplace.

The long night is real in more places than the just the farm.

December brings its own shadows. It comes in the griefs that resurface. The pressure that tightens. The loneliness that sneaks up. The exhaustion that no amount of caffeine can solve. The reminder of what didn’t go as planned this year.

Nobody advertises that part of Christmas.

But the long night shows up anyway. On the land. In the house. In the heart.

And that’s exactly where Advent speaks the strongest.

Because Advent never pretended the night wasn’t long. It just proclaimed, with stubborn hope: The Light still comes.

Not because we earned it.
Not because we’re ready.
Not because we finally got our spiritual crap together.

But because God refuses to let the darkness win.

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

Every December night on this thirteen acre piece of land the same truth is preached to me.

When I walk from the barn to the house and the only illumination is a thin beam from a flashlight. When the cold wraps around me like a heavy blanket. When the trees stand like dark silhouettes against the sky.

That’s when I remember. Light doesn’t need ideal conditions. It just needs to show up.

And Jesus showed up.

Not in a palace. Not in a spotlight. Not when everyone was fine. Not when the world was filled with peace and calm.

He stepped into the long night of a world that couldn’t save itself. He stepped into Roman oppression. Into spiritual confusion. Into political tension. Into ordinary people living ordinary struggles.

He came into our darkness – not to judge us for it, but to break it.

And He’s still doing it.

He does it in hospital rooms. In quiet living rooms lit by a single Christmas tree. In sanctuaries where candles flicker against stained glass. In cars where people cry on their way home. In barns and bedrooms and kitchens and churches and cold nights out on the land.

The Light still comes. And the darkness still loses.

So as Christmas arrives and this series closes, here’s your last Christmas invite:

Don’t fear the long night. Instead look for the Light. Even the smallest flame pushes back the dark. Even the faintest glow announces hope. Even the smallest spark of faith proclaims: He’s here.

On these acres, in this season, in this life of yours Advent ends with one promise. The Light has come, the Light is here, and the Light will keep coming.

And the darkness? It never gets the final word.

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.

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.

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?

Frozen Chicken Waterers & Faithfulness

December 12, 2025 / / 0 Comments

Sometimes it’s about showing up in the hard moments of Advent.

There’s nothing quite like the sound of cracking ice out of a chicken waterer at 5:15 a.m. in December to remind you that life isn’t always inspirational.

The sun isn’t up.
The wind is disrespectfully strong.
Your gloves are never as warm as the advertisement promises.
And the chickens, God bless them, stare at you like you caused winter.

This is the part of acreage living nobody puts on Instagram.
This is the part of ministry no one writes worship songs about.
This is the part of December that Hallmark keeps pretending doesn’t exist.

But here’s the undeniable truth: Faithfulness rarely feels glamorous. Most days it looks like freezing fingers, stubborn chores, and showing up anyway.

While I’m kicking an ice block out of a bucket before the first cup of coffee, Advent hits me with another lesson:

God didn’t wait for ideal conditions to show up. So I can’t either?

He came when the world was cold.
He came when the night was long.
He came when the people were tired, worn, frustrated, waiting, fed up, and spiritually frozen.

He came into the mess not after the mess cleaned itself up.

That little water bucket in the coop preaches the Gospel better than half the sermons I write:

Faithfulness is doing what’s needed even when it’s inconvenient, unseen, and uncelebrated.

Advent reminds me that God Himself is faithful in the same way. Not flashy. Not loud. Not waiting for me to be impressive.

Just showing up. Every day. Every moment. Every season.

Jesus didn’t come because the world finally got it together. He came because we couldn’t.

And He kept showing up…
in Nazareth,
in the wilderness,
in people’s pain,
in their questioning,
in the overlooked corners of life.

If God can show up in a manger, He can show up in my frozen chicken coop. He can show up in your stress-filled December. He can show up in worship number three of the week. He can show up when the schedule is too full, the emotions are thin, and the to-do list is laughing at you.

So here’s the heart of Advent Week 2:

Advent faith isn’t built in warm moments. It’s built in cold mornings.
It’s built when you show up even when you don’t feel like it.
It’s built in small, faithful steps that nobody sees but God.

The chickens never say thank you. Life doesn’t always say thank you. Ministry certainly doesn’t always say thank you.

But faithfulness was never about applause. It’s about presence.

God’s presence with us. Our presence in the small things. His steady love. Our steady steps.

Even if those steps involve a frozen chicken waterer and breath you can see in the air.

Advent continues one cold morning at a time. And yep…God is still faithful.

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.

It’s Not About Getting Over It, It’s About Moving Forward With Hope

December 4, 2025 / / 0 Comments

Grief is a beast that doesn’t play fair. It doesn’t show up on a schedule or follow a timeline even though you’d wish it would. Some people carry it quietly for years while others face a storm so fierce it shakes every part of their soul in days. And that’s okay. Everyone travels grief at their own pace, with their own pain.

There’s no “normal” when it comes to loss. No checklist or rulebook. You can’t rush it, hide from it, or power through it like a mountain to be conquered. Grief isn’t a problem to fix; it’s a journey to walk sometimes stumbling, sometimes crawling, sometimes walking with surprising strength.

The point isn’t to just “get over it.” The point isn’t to pretend the loss never happened or shove it deep down where no one can see. The point is to keep walking, even when every step feels heavy, every breath feels sharp, and every memory cuts like a knife.

Hope is what carries us through. It’s not a vague, feel-good sentiment, but a deep, unshakable hope rooted in the promise that loss isn’t the end. That one day, healing will come in ways we can’t imagine right now. That light breaks through even the darkest of nights.

The Bible reminds us in Psalm 34:18 (ESV): “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.” You may feel crushed, shattered, or lost but you are not alone. God is near, holding you close through every tear and every step.

You don’t have to have it all together. You don’t have to be strong all the time. It’s okay to cry, to rage, to feel lost. It’s even okay to be pissed off at God. But don’t stop moving forward.

Lean into hope. Let it hold you when the weight is too much. Reach out to someone a friend, a counselor, a community because grief was never meant to be carried alone.

If you’re walking through grief today, this is your call: Keep going. Take one more step. Hold on to hope. You’re not alone, and healing is possible even when it feels impossible.

When the Toughest Choices Are the Only Right Ones

December 2, 2025 / / 0 Comments

Hard truth – Life isn’t about the easy road. Sometimes, the thing you don’t want to do – the move, the job change, the painful goodbye is exactly the thing you have to do. There’s just no sugarcoating it.

Maybe it’s walking away from a dream you built with vast amounts of your own sweat and tears. Closing the business you poured your heart into. Selling the church property that once felt like home to make way for a new ministry that’s more alive.

It sucks. It hurts. It feels like betrayal. But guess what? Sometimes the hardest things are the right things.

If you’re waiting for clarity, it might come wrapped in heartbreak. If you’re hoping for peace, it might arrive after the storm hits hardest. The hard choices? They strip you down, shake you up, and break you open to something new which is often something better.

Jesus didn’t promise comfort. He promised transformation. The path to growth is littered with tough calls and goodbye tears. The right thing rarely feels easy or convenient. It often feels like the end of everything you know.

But that’s exactly why it’s right.

So stop waiting. Stop running. Do the hard thing. Because on the other side of pain is power. On the other side of loss is life.

And if you don’t do it? You’re stuck. Stuck in yesterday’s story. Stuck in a life that’s smaller than what God has for you.

Do the hard thing. Do it bold. Do it now.

« Older posts Newer posts »

© 2026 derrickhurst.org

Theme by Anders Noren — Up ↑