Tag: leadership (Page 2 of 28)

More of Jesus. Less of Me.

February 23, 2026 / / 0 Comments

There’s a short line in the Bible where a guy named John says something brutally honest about life:

“He must increase, but I must decrease.”

In normal language?

More of Jesus. Less of me.

At first that sounds strange. Maybe even unhealthy.
We live in a world that constantly tells us the opposite.

Build your brand.
Promote yourself.
Protect your image.
Be the main character.

But if we’re honest… that approach isn’t really working.

People are more anxious than ever.
More exhausted.
More pressured to prove something.

Maybe the problem isn’t that we think too little of ourselves.

Maybe the problem is that everything revolves around us.

Life Gets Heavy When You’re the Center

Try being the center of your own universe for a while.

You have to hold everything together.
Your success defines you.
Your failures haunt you.
Your reputation feels fragile.

Every criticism stings.

Every comparison drains you.

Every setback feels like a verdict on your worth.

That’s a heavy way to live.

And most people don’t realize they’re doing it. It’s just normal. Or so we’ve been conditioned to believe.

The Story Behind the Line

The line “He must increase, but I must decrease” came from a moment where John’s followers thought things were going wrong.

John had become popular. People were listening to him. His movement was growing. Everyone was looking to him for answers as sort of the fresh view on ancient truths.

Then Jesus showed up. And suddenly people started leaving John to follow Jesus instead. John’s friends panicked.

“We’re losing people.”
“We’re losing momentum.”

But John didn’t see it that way at all. He basically said:

Relax. Life doesn’t belong to us anyway. Everything we have is something we’ve been given.

Our abilities.
Our opportunities.
Even the influence we have in other people’s lives.

None of it is really ours to control forever.

And once you realize that, something surprising happens. You stop gripping life so tightly.

The Lie We’re All Taught

Most of us have been trained to believe that life works like this:

If I can build the right life…
achieve enough…
earn enough…
be impressive enough…

then I’ll feel secure.

But people who reach those goals often discover something uncomfortable.

The pressure doesn’t go away.
It actually increases.

Because now you have something to protect.

That’s why so many people who “have it all” still feel restless.

Life wasn’t designed to revolve around us.

What Happens When Jesus Gets Bigger

John had figured something out most of us spend years learning.

When life revolves around you, it shrinks.

When life revolves around something (someone) bigger, it opens up.

For John, that something bigger was Jesus.

Not a philosophy.
Not a rule system.
A person.

Someone he believed came from God and showed people what God is actually like.

And John was strangely okay stepping out of the spotlight if it meant people could see Jesus more clearly.

That sounds backwards in our culture.

But it’s also strangely freeing.

Because if life isn’t about proving yourself anymore…

You can breathe.

You don’t have to win every argument.

You don’t have to impress everyone in the room.

You don’t have to carry the pressure of being your own savior.

You don’t have to be a church person either to recognize this tension.

Every human life eventually asks the same question:

Is this all about me…or is there something bigger going on?

Because if everything rests on you, that’s a huge weight to carry.

But if there really is a God who stepped into human history in Jesus, then life suddenly has a center that isn’t fragile.

And that changes how you live.

You can admit mistakes without collapsing.
You can be humble without feeling small.
You can care about people without competing with them.
You can actually experience peace.

A Simple Experiment

Try this for a week.

When your pride flares up.
When your stress spikes.
When you feel the need to prove something.

Pause and think:

More of Jesus. Less of me.

Not as a religious slogan.

As a bit of a reset.

Maybe life works better when everything doesn’t revolve around us.

Maybe the center we’re looking for isn’t inside us.

Maybe it’s the one John was pointing to all along.

And if that’s true…

More of Jesus. Less of me changes everything.

24% of Pastors Want to Quit.

February 17, 2026 / / 1 Comment

That’s Not a Trend. That’s a Warning.

According to a recent study from Barna Group 24% of pastors are seriously considering quitting ministry altogether.

One out of four.

Admittedly that number is significantly down from where it was during the Covid era but 24% is still shockingly high!

If one out of four airline pilots were reconsidering their career mid-flight, we wouldn’t clap because it used to be 60%. If your heart surgeon was 25% likely to walk out of the operating room, you probably wouldn’t be super excited to get on that bed.

We’d call it what it is: A warning light on the dashboard at a minimum. And something any garage mechanic knows, ignoring warning lights doesn’t fix engines.

This Isn’t Just About Burnout

In case you were curious. Most pastors don’t quit because they one day just stopped loving Jesus.

They quit because:

  • The expectations never stop.
  • The criticism never sleeps.
  • The boundaries never existed.
  • The church became a machine that runs on one exhausted leader.

We have built a church model that quietly (and sometimes not so quietly) says:

“Be everywhere. Fix everything. Preach perfectly but not too long. Lead boldly. Be emotionally available. Never show weakness.”

Friends that’s not shepherding. That’s setting someone up for failure!

Consumer Christianity Isn’t Helping

If we’re being totally honest, we’ve created a monster that we’re having a hard time taming. Churches today are often treated like content platforms.

People compare sermons like podcasts.
They critique decisions like Google reviews.
They leave quietly instead of reconciling biblically.

And pastors are trying to lead people who are being discipled more by algorithms than Scripture. So many people evaluate their church experience by what the church they visited on vacation is doing. Even though they don’t evaluate the million dollar budget that campus uses to pull off that level of production.

Simply put the weight adds up.

But here’s the part that matters most: We are not powerless in this. There are solutions.

Five Pieces of Hard-Won Advice

1. Never Make a Permanent Decision Because of a Temporary Season

If you’re a pastor in that 24%, hear this clearly: Quitting because it’s hard won’t remove hard.

It will just relocate it.

Every calling has difficulty. Every workplace has dysfunction. Every community has broken people. Don’t make a permanent decision in a season of emotional depletion.

Find a way to rest.
Get counsel.
Take a sabbatical if needed.
Restructure yoru schedule.
Heck repent if necessary.

But don’t confuse fatigue with a change in calling.

Hard seasons end. Permanent exits don’t.

2. Love Your Pastor. Not Just the Version You Wish He Was

If you’re in a church, this is for you.

Love your pastor.

Not the polished online preacher you compare him to.
Not the friend-version you wish he would be.
Not the always-available-on-demand spiritual concierge.

Love the real human being called to shepherd you.

And understand this: A faithful pastor cannot overlook sin just because you’re friends.

If he offers correction or even a gentle rebuke, that’s not betrayal. That’s biblical love. If you’ve been in this situation from a pastor who’s also your friend, then you’ve experienced one of the hardest forms of love and care you can imagine. Don’t throw that one away.

We can’t say we want courageous preaching and then resent it when it hits close to home.

3. Set Safe Boundaries (Before It Gets Ugly)

Pastors are notorious for living in the margins. We laugh about the “one hour work week” myth. But here’s the truth: ministry expands endlessly if you let it.

There is always one more meeting.
One more crisis.
One more call.
One more email.

If pastors are not careful, they trade family for ministry in the name of faithfulness. And it gets ugly.

A truth I live by is simple yet changed everything for me. Every “yes” is a “no” to something else.

Say yes to every evening meeting? You’re saying no to dinner with your kids.

Say yes to every emotional demand? You’re saying no to your own soul care.

Boundaries are not selfish. They’re stewardship.

4. Build Teams, Not Pedestals

The future of the church does not belong to exhausted heroes. It belongs to healthy teams.

Shared leadership is not weakness.
Delegation is not laziness.
Plurality is not compromise.

If your church rises and falls on one personality, that’s not revival. That’s fragility. And fragile systems eventually crack.

5. Measure Faithfulness, Not Applause

Social media metrics lie.
Attendance spikes fluctuate.
Online engagement is not the same as spiritual maturity.

Pastors burn out when they measure themselves against applause instead of obedience.

Faithfulness rarely trends.
It rarely goes viral.
It often goes unnoticed.

But it lasts.

And lasting ministry matters more than loud ministry.

Let’s Be Clear

This isn’t about protecting fragile pastors. It’s about protecting the future of the church. Twenty-four percent is not just a stat!

It represents shepherds who are tired.
Families who feel the strain.
Congregations who don’t always realize the weight their leaders carry.

The trend may be improving. But it’s still a warning. And warnings are gifts if we pay attention.

The church does not need more burned-out heroes. It needs healthy shepherds.

And that starts with courage, humility, boundaries, and a community willing to love its leaders well.

Twenty-four percent is too many.

Let’s not wait until it climbs again to take it seriously.

Why Meeting Jesus Changes Everything

February 16, 2026 / / 0 Comments

A man named Nicodemus came to visit Jesus in the dark of night. Not necessarily because he was being sneaky. Well, maybe a little. There could have even been a little bit of fear that caused him to come at night. A respected teacher, a Pharisee, a man who knew the Scriptures inside and out, he thought he knew God. And yet, here he was, creeping through the shadows, hoping to “see” Jesus without anyone noticing.

Sound familiar? We like to think we know Jesus. We can quote verses. We can talk theology. We can even sit in our church pew week after week and feel okay with life. But knowing about Jesus isn’t the same thing as knowing Jesus. Nicodemus knew Jesus as a teacher. He knew the miracles, the parables, the wisdom. He didn’t yet know the revolution that Jesus was bringing. It was a revolution that starts inside, in the hidden places of your heart, and changes the trajectory of your life.

Jesus didn’t sugarcoat it: “Unless one is born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God.” Not almost born. Not sort of born. Not born once and “good enough.” Born again. From above. Spirit-born. A transformation that flips the old life upside down and starts something entirely new.

Here’s the thing about baptism. It’s a two-part story. First, there’s the water. That’s the repentance baptism John preached. It was a public declaration that says, “I see my sin. I turn away from it. I’m ready for change.” That’s important. Don’t skip it. But if it stops there, you’ve missed half the message.

The second part? The Spirit. That’s the new birth. That’s the awakening. That’s God taking residence in you, establishing a new relationship that you didn’t earn, can’t manipulate, and can’t outgrow. Water points backward in and to repentance. But the Spirit points forward to transformation.

One cleans the slate, the other writes a new story. And the story starts in the darkest place. The exact place where Nicodemus found himself because the night is when the Spirit whispers. The night is when the truth breaks through. The night is when real life begins.

This isn’t a casual invitation either. It’s an all-in call. When Jesus asks, “Do you want to be born again?” He’s not offering a weekend seminar. He’s offering new life, new perspective, and a new heartbeat.

And yes, that comes with risk. Comfort zones die. Old habits crumble. But the alternative of staying in the half-light of knowing Him only as a teacher is a life lived small, afraid, and totally missing the Kingdom of God.

So where are you today? Are you creeping through the shadows like Nicodemus, afraid of what people might think? Or are you stepping into the light, into the Spirit, into the new life Jesus offers?

Water. Spirit.
Repentance. Awakening.
Teacher. Savior.
You can know Him one way or you can know Him in a way that changes everything.

The choice isn’t subtle. And neither is the life He’s offering.

Bubble Wrap Won’t Save You

February 11, 2026 / / 0 Comments

I’ve been slowly working through The Coddling of the American Mind by Greg Lukianoff and Jonathan Haidt, and it’s one of those books that makes you stop mid-page and think, Yep… that explains a lot.

The authors argue that well-intended efforts to protect people, especially young people, from discomfort, offense, or risk have reshaped American culture in ways we didn’t anticipate. They call this mindset “safetyism.” It’s the belief that emotional and psychological safety should be prioritized above nearly everything else, and that exposure to difficult ideas or experiences is inherently harmful.

Lukianoff and Haidt trace how this mentality shows up on college campuses and in public discourse: speech codes, trigger warnings, growing intolerance for disagreement, and a tendency to see conflict not as something to navigate but as something to eliminate. They connect these trends to changes in parenting styles, social media dynamics, and a decline in unstructured play. They argue that many kids have grown up physically protected but emotionally fragile, unused to taking risks or handling friction.

One of the book’s most helpful contributions is its exploration of what they call the “three great untruths” shaping modern thinking:

  1. What doesn’t kill you makes you weaker.
  2. Always trust your feelings.
  3. Life is a battle between good people and evil people.

The authors counter that adversity often builds strength, feelings can mislead us, and the world is usually more complicated than simple moral categories. They lean on psychological research about resilience and cognitive behavioral therapy, emphasizing that growth often comes through facing discomfort rather than avoiding it.

You don’t have to agree with every conclusion in the book to find its diagnosis compelling. It’s a cultural X-ray that reveals how quickly protection can turn into paralysis.

My Reaction

What keeps echoing in my mind is that: we cannot protect ourselves from every concern in the world.

And maybe more importantly that trying to do so might be doing us real harm.

There is something deeply human about struggle. About learning to carry weight. About discovering, often the hard way, that you can endure more than you thought possible. When every rough edge is sanded down and every hard conversation is avoided, we don’t become safer. We become smaller.

I see this not just culturally, but also spiritually.

A life aimed at eliminating all discomfort will eventually avoid truth. Growth, and I mean real growth, almost always involves friction. Confession is uncomfortable. Repentance is uncomfortable. Forgiveness is uncomfortable. Loving people who disagree with you is uncomfortable. Yet those are precisely the places where transformation tends to happen.

The Christian story has never been about insulation from pain. It’s about redemption through it.

That doesn’t mean we should be reckless or cruel or dismissive of real trauma. Care matters. Compassion matters. Protection has its place. But there’s a difference between guarding someone and building a padded cell around their life.

If we teach ourselves and our kids that fragility is normal and avoidance is wisdom, we shouldn’t be surprised when courage becomes scarce.

Perhaps one of the most loving things we can do for one another is not to remove every obstacle, but to walk together through the hard things and remind each other: You’re stronger than you think. And you’re not alone.

That feels like a truth worth recovering.

Discipleship Without Discipline?

February 9, 2026 / / 0 Comments

Churches love to use the word disciple.

It sounds warm. Relational. Grace-filled. Walking with Jesus. Being loved by Him. Learning at His feet.

And all of that is true.

But somewhere along the way, many of us quietly dropped another word that used to travel with it: discipline.

Not punishment.
Not earning God’s favor.
Not religious box-checking.

But the shaping, forming, training work God does in us as we obediently follow Jesus.

In John 2, we see this tension beautifully albeit uncomfortably on full display.

Jesus turns water into wine at a wedding feast. Overflowing grace. Abundant joy. A glimpse of the kingdom breaking into ordinary life.

And then, almost immediately, He walks into the temple and overturns tables.

Same Savior.
Same chapter.
Same love.

Wine exchanged for a whip.

The Jesus who fills jars to the brim is also the Jesus who refuses to let worship become hollow or hearts remain cluttered.

Grace and cleansing are not opposites. They belong together.

Disciples Are Formed, Not Just Forgiven

We rightly celebrate forgiveness. The cross declares that salvation is God’s gift, not our achievement.

But discipleship doesn’t stop at pardon.

Jesus doesn’t simply rescue us from sin. He transforms us into new people.

Paul puts it this way:

“For the grace of God has appeared, bringing salvation for all people, training us to renounce ungodliness and worldly passions, and to live self-controlled, upright, and godly lives in the present age” (Titus 2:11–12, ESV).

Grace trains.

Grace forms.

Grace does renovation work in the temple of our lives.

And that work often feels… disruptive.

Tables get overturned.
Patterns get confronted.
Comfort gets challenged.

Not because Jesus is harsh, but because He loves us too much to leave us unchanged.

Why We Avoid Discipline

If we’re honest, discipline has gotten a bad reputation.

It sounds rigid. Cold. Legalistic. Like trying to prove something to God.

So we settle for a version of Christianity that talks a lot about believing but not much about becoming.

We attend worship.
We agree with good theology.
We appreciate Jesus.

But we resist practices that actually slow us down, re-order us, and expose what’s crowding out worship in our hearts.

Prayer that interrupts our schedules.
Scripture that confronts our assumptions.
Confession that humbles our pride.
Generosity that loosens our grip.
Sabbath that forces us to stop pretending we run the world.

These aren’t ways to earn grace.

They are ways we open our lives to the transforming grace already given.

Spiritual disciplines are not ladders we climb to reach God.

They are spaces where God reaches us.

The Goal Isn’t Control. It’s Communion

Jesus didn’t cleanse the temple because He loved rules.

He cleansed it because He loved worship.

He wanted the house of His Father to be a place where people encountered God instead of noise, distraction, and exploitation.

In the same way, the Spirit works discipline into our discipleship not to shrink our lives but to make room for something better.

Real prayer instead of constant hurry.
Trust instead of control.
Freedom instead of quiet captivity to habits we never meant to form.

The disciplines are how God clears space for joy.

Wine flows more freely when the temple is cleaned.

Following Jesus Means Letting Him Rearrange the Furniture

Most of us would happily invite Jesus to the wedding.

We’re less eager when He walks into the temple with a whip of cords.

But both moments reveal the same heart.

He comes to bring life in abundance.
And He comes to remove what keeps us from that life.

Discipleship always involves discipline not as condemnation, but as invitation.

An invitation to deeper trust.
To daily surrender.
To a faith that doesn’t just live in our heads but takes shape in our habits, calendars, relationships, and priorities.

Jesus doesn’t just save us.

He forms us.

And sometimes the most loving thing He can do is turn over a few tables.

Be the Center

February 5, 2026 / / 1 Comment

So last week we talked about the problem. The spinning world of cultural differences that pushes everyone apart. So here we ask ourselves how to not just diagnose the problem but address it positively.

If the world is flying apart…

what if Christians were meant to be the ones pulling things back together?

Not by dominating conversations.
Not by silencing disagreement.
Not by pretending differences don’t matter.

But by becoming so rooted, so calm, so anchored in Christ that our very presence slows the spin.

Actually, Jesus had language for this. He said, “You are the salt of the earth…you are the light of the world.”

Salt preserves.
Light clarifies.

Neither of them screams.

Both change their environment simply by being present.

We’ll call that gravitational living.

The Middle Isn’t Compromise. It’s Courage

In today’s culture, the middle gets mocked.

If you don’t fully rage, you must not care.
If you refuse to demonize, you must be naïve.
If you listen too long, you must be secretly switching teams.

But the middle Jesus invites us into isn’t lukewarm.

It’s not spineless.

It’s not unclear.

It’s strong enough to hold tension without exploding.

The middle is where patience lives.
The middle is where humility breathes.
The middle is where people stop performing and start being human again.

Choosing to live there is costly however.

You’ll disappoint extremists on both sides.

You’ll get misunderstood.

You’ll be accused of being too slow, too soft, too hesitant.

But Jesus was accused of the very same things.

What Makes Someone Gravitational?

Some people don’t repel.
They attract.

Not because they’re flashy.

But because when you’re around them, you feel calmer.
Heard.
Human again.

They don’t panic in disagreement.

They don’t turn every conversation into a courtroom.

They ask better questions than they make speeches.

They don’t rush to categorize you.

They leave room for mystery, repentance, growth.

They’re anchored to something deeper than outrage.

That’s not personality.

That’s formation.

That’s what happens when a life orbits Christ long enough to start reflecting His gravity.

Different Enough to Make the World Curious

Jesus never told His followers to blend in.

He told them to glow.

He told them to season the place.

He told them to stand out so clearly that people would see and then want to know where that kind of life comes from.

Not louder.
Clearer.

Not harsher.
Holier.

Not detached.
Present.

The church was never meant to be another tribe shouting from the edges.
It was meant to be a preview of a different kingdom.
A place where enemies share communion.
Where confession beats performance.
Where grace is practiced before it’s preached.
Where truth is spoken without shredding dignity.
Where people don’t have to agree on everything to remain at the same table.

That kind of community messes with the algorithms.

It doesn’t fit cleanly into headlines.

It can’t be easily caricatured.

Which is exactly why it becomes compelling. It’s why I call it gravitational living.

What If We Lived Like the Difference?

What if we stopped waiting for culture to calm down and decided to become calm ourselves?

What if we practiced hospitality in an age of hostility?

What if our churches became known not for outrage…but for steadiness?

Not for fear…but for courage?

Not for withdrawal…but for presence?

What if people walked into Christian spaces and thought:

I don’t know what these people believe yet, but I can breathe here.

That’s gravitational.

That’s salt and light.

That’s the aroma of another world leaking into this one.

The Quiet Power of a Centered Life

Gravitational people don’t rush.

They don’t need to win every argument.

They’re too busy loving neighbors, raising kids, forgiving enemies, serving quietly, praying stubbornly, and showing up week after week.

They understand that revolutions of the heart rarely trend.

They happen at dinner tables.

In hospital rooms.

In school parking lots.

In small groups.

In ordinary faithfulness.

The kind that doesn’t make headlines but reshapes communities.

Your Invitation

In a culture addicted to extremes be centered.

In a world spinning itself dizzy be anchored.

In an age of shouting be luminous.

Be the people who make others curious again.

Be the people who make complexity survivable.

Be the people who prove that conviction and kindness can coexist.

Be the gravitational pull toward Christ.

Because the gospel doesn’t push people to the edges.

It draws them home.

Bring Your Emptiness. Watch Jesus Work.

February 2, 2026 / / 0 Comments

We spend a lot of our lives pretending we’re ok.

Fine enough.
Strong enough.
Put-together enough.

But eventually something runs out.

Patience.
Joy.
Energy.
Hope.
Confidence in the future.

But contrary to popular belief, that’s not failure. It’s humanity.

And it’s exactly where John says Jesus loves to show up.

In John 2, Jesus attends a wedding in Cana. Mid-celebration, the wine runs out. In that culture, this wasn’t just awkward. It was devastating. Shame was forming. Joy was draining. No one had a solution.

No one except Jesus.

Mary simply names the problem: “They have no wine.”
No plan.
No pressure.
Just honesty and emptiness.

Then she turns to the servants and says something remarkable: “Do whatever He tells you.”

Those are the last recorded words Mary ever speaks in Scripture.

And they might be the simplest description of faith we have.

Jesus tells them to fill empty stone jars with water. They obey. Jesus transforms what they bring. And suddenly scarcity becomes abundance.

John calls this miracle a sign. It’s a sign because it points beyond the moment.

Jesus meets a present need…
while hinting at a future rescue.

When He says, “My hour has not yet come,” He’s talking about the cross. The day He would pour Himself out completely for the life of the world. This quiet miracle at a wedding is a preview of a cosmic one yet to come.

Water into wine.
Shame into joy.
Death into life.

That’s how Jesus works.

When Jesus Fills You, Everything Changes

Bringing emptiness to Jesus doesn’t just solve a problem. It changes you.

It changes how you see God.

Not reluctant.
Not stingy.
Not annoyed by your need.

Generous.
Faithful.
Overflowing with grace.

It changes how you see other people.

Jesus said He came not to be served, but to serve.

That reality starts turning us outward. Toward neighbors, coworkers, family members. Yeah even the difficult ones. Scripture pushes us there too: “As we have opportunity, let us do good to everyone.”

Grace doesn’t make us comfortable. It makes us courageous.

It changes how you live.

Paul says that in Christ we become new creations.

New hearts.
New futures.
New ways of moving through the world.

Which means faith stops being theoretical.

It becomes simple.

Costly.

Everyday obedience is chiseling away a little bit of me so reveal a little more of him.

Do whatever He tells you. A simple line from Mary that could change the entire landscape of human history if obeyed.

That’s the Invitation

You don’t have to clean yourself up first.

You don’t have to pretend you’re full.

You don’t have to solve the problem before you pray.

Bring your empty places.

The tired places.

The scared places.

The parts of your life you’ve been trying to carry alone.

Jesus is not intimidated by your lack.

He specializes in meeting people there.

Bring your emptiness. Watch Jesus work.

And then listen to Him.

Because when He fills you…

He will send you.

When Life Is Snowed In, the Invitation Still Stands

January 28, 2026 / / 0 Comments

There’s something about a big winter storm that exposes how little control we actually have.

You make plans.
You clear the driveway.
You check the forecast.

And then twelve inches of snow shows up anyway.

Schedules get wrecked. Kids are suddenly home from school. The grocery run feels like an expedition. Temperatures drop below zero and stay there for days. Add in the start of tax season, and a lot of people are carrying more than usual right now.

It’s the kind of week that drains momentum.

I was reminded of that as I thought about a moment from the beginning of Jesus’ story when He starts gathering the people who would follow Him.

They weren’t searching for a new religion.
They weren’t in a seminar.
They weren’t waiting for a life upgrade.

They were just…working.

Fishing. Walking. Talking. Living normal lives.

Jesus didn’t launch into a long speech. He didn’t hand them a checklist. He didn’t tell them to fix their lives first.

He simply said something incredibly simple: Come and see.

To a few others, the invitation sounded like this: Follow me.

That’s it.

Not, “Get everything together and then come.”
Not, “Wait until life slows down.”
Not, “Clear your schedule and solve your problems first.”

Just: come.

I keep thinking about how timely that feels.

Most of us don’t meet God when conditions are perfect. We meet Him when the roads are bad, the calendar is crowded, the money feels tight, and we’re tired of shoveling the same driveway for the fifth time in a single day.

What I love about those early encounters with Jesus is how ordinary they are. He meets people exactly where they are and invites them to take one step closer. No pressure, no hype, no pretending. Just show up.

Which makes me wonder how often we talk ourselves out of spiritual movement because the week feels too chaotic.

“I’ll slow down when things settle.”
“I’ll think about God when this season passes.”
“I’ll get back to that once life feels manageable.”

But what if the invitation isn’t waiting for better weather?

What if it’s standing right here in the middle of frozen fingers, delayed plans, and cluttered kitchens?

Come and see.

Maybe that looks less dramatic than we think.

Maybe it’s a quiet moment before you grab your phone in the morning.

Maybe it’s an honest thought on the drive to work: God, if You’re real, I could use some help today.

Maybe it’s opening up one of the stories about Jesus and reading a few lines, not because you have to, but because you’re curious.

Maybe it’s choosing patience with your kids when everyone’s stir-crazy.

Maybe it’s reaching out to someone else who’s stuck at home and checking in.

Small steps still count.

What struck me most in that story is that the people who accepted the invitation didn’t know where it would lead. They didn’t have a roadmap. They didn’t understand the full picture yet.

They just took a step.

And sometimes that’s all forward movement really is.

One simple step.

In a week like this when it’s cold, disrupted, exhausting remember you don’t need to reinvent your life. You don’t need to solve everything. You don’t need to feel especially spiritual.

You just need to respond to the invitation that still stands:

Come and see.

Follow me.

Even now.
Especially now.

The Workouts I Used to Hate

January 23, 2026 / / 0 Comments

I don’t like leg day.

Never have. And honestly never will.

Leg workouts are the ones that make you question your life choices halfway through. They’re the ones that make sitting on the toilet feel like a strategic operation. They’re the ones that make you walk like a baby giraffe learning how to use its legs for the first time.

Upper body? Fine.
Cardio? Manageable.
Legs? I’d rather reorganize the garage.

For a long time, I treated them the way most of us treat the hard parts of life. I would approach them with avoidance dressed up as good planning.

“I’ll get to that next week.”
“I already worked hard today.”
“I did a few lunges… that counts.”

But here’s the truth: Legs are not optional. They’re the foundation, literally and figuratively.

You can stack all the strength you want on top, but if what’s underneath is weak, eventually the whole thing starts wobbling. Knees complain. Balance gets sketchy. Injuries sneak in.

So I changed my approach.

I don’t train legs because I enjoy them. You’ll never make me like doing a leg workout! I train them because I need them.

Because I don’t want twigs for knees.

Because I’d like to still move well a couple decades from now.

Because a strong foundation makes everything else work better.

And somewhere between the squats and the lunges, I realized that lesson doesn’t stop in the gym.

Most of us love working on the visible stuff. The parts people notice. The impressive, Instagram-worthy progress.

But foundations?

They’re quiet. They’re repetitive. They’re usually uncomfortable.

Nobody applauds the unseen work. Things like building healthy rhythms, caring for relationships, managing stress, learning how to rest, showing up consistently when no one’s watching.

Yet those are the things holding everything else up.

Skip leg day long enough and your body lets you know.

Skip the foundational work of life long enough and something else eventually starts hurting.

Your margin shrinks.
Your patience thins.
Your energy dips.
Your joy leaks out the side.

It doesn’t happen all at once.

It shows up slowly… like realizing you’re groaning every time you sit down.

What I’ve learned is this: The workouts I used to hate are often the ones I need the most.

Not because they’re fun. But because they’re forming something important. They’re protecting future-me. They’re building strength I’ll be grateful for later.

So yeah… I still don’t love leg day.

I still move carefully afterward.

I still plan my schedule knowing tomorrow might be rough.

But I show up.

Because foundations matter.

In the gym. And everywhere else.

You Are Being Discipled. The Only Question Is: By Whom?

January 22, 2026 / / 0 Comments

Let’s stop pretending neutrality exists.

Every Christian, heck every single person in North America is being discipled every single day. The only question is whether it’s happening by the way of Jesus or by an algorithm designed to keep your attention, monetize your outrage, and slowly shape who and how you love.

That might sound dramatic. But it most certainly is not.

If you spend more time scrolling than praying, more time consuming commentary than Scripture, more time listening to talking heads than walking with other believers, then you are being formed. Just not by the church. Not by the Word. Not by the Spirit.

By a feed.

Algorithms Are Excellent Disciplers, They’re Just Not Good Ones

Social media doesn’t just show you content.
It studies you.

It learns what makes you angry.
What makes you afraid.
What makes you feel superior.
What confirms what you already believe.

And then slowly, subtly, relentlessly it feeds you more of it. And it pushes you to extremes without you being aware.

Over time, it doesn’t just shape your opinions. It shapes your reflexes.

Who you distrust.
Who you dismiss.
Who you blame.
Who you dehumanize.

And here’s the uncomfortable truth:
Many Christians today are more fluent in the language of outrage than repentance, more practiced in sarcasm than gentleness, and more shaped by cultural tribes than by the Sermon on the Mount.

And friends that didn’t happen overnight.
It happened one scroll at a time.

Loving Jesus Is Not the Same as Being Formed by Him

Let’s be totally clear. I’m not questioning your sincerity. I totally trust that you believe in Jesus.

You love Jesus.
You love worship.
You show up on Sundays.
You believe the right things.

But belief without formation produces fragile faith. And friend that’s being generous.

If your faith collapses under cultural pressure…
If your joy evaporates with the news cycle…
If your prayer life is thin but your opinions are sharp…
If you feel constantly anxious, angry, or exhausted…

That’s not a failure of love.
It’s a failure of discipleship.

Jesus didn’t say, “Go and make converts.”
He said, “Go and make disciples.”

Disciples don’t just admire Jesus.
They arrange their lives around Him.

The Cost of Neglecting Deep Discipleship

When Scripture becomes occasional instead of central…
When community becomes optional instead of essential…
When spiritual practices are replaced with spiritual content…

We shouldn’t be surprised when:

  • Faith becomes reactive instead of rooted
  • Churches fracture instead of mature
  • Christians sound more like cable news than the Kingdom of God

Formation always wins. Something will shape you.

And if you don’t intentionally submit yourself to the slow, counter-cultural way of Jesus, something faster, louder, and angrier will happily take His place.

Jesus Deserves More Than Your Leftover Attention

Jesus gave everything not a fraction, not a scroll-length moment, not a distracted nod between notifications.

He gave His body.
His blood.
His life.

And we offer Him… ten minutes if we’re not tired?

This isn’t about guilt.
It’s about honesty.

What if the exhaustion so many Christians feel isn’t from following Jesus too closely, but from trying to follow Him casually in a world that disciples aggressively?

A Loving but Serious Invitation

What if you:

  • Opened Scripture before opening an app
  • Chose a small group over another stream
  • Let a trusted believer ask hard questions
  • Practiced silence in a world addicted to noise

What if you stopped outsourcing your spiritual formation to platforms that don’t love your soul?

Jesus is not competing for your attention.
He is inviting your allegiance.

Not because He wants something from you, but because He has something for you.

Life.
Freedom.
Depth.
Peace that algorithms can’t manufacture.

So Choose Your Discipler

This isn’t a call to abandon technology.
It’s a call to reclaim formation.

To dig deep again.
To slow down.
To walk with others.
To sit with Scripture long enough for it to confront and comfort you.

Because friend, you are being discipled.

And the One who gave everything for you is still saying, quietly but firmly:

“Follow Me.”

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