Tag: love (Page 1 of 10)

Valentine’s Day: Not Just Candy and Roses

February 13, 2026 / / 1 Comment

The History of St. Valentine: The Saint of Love and Friendship - The Good Newsroom

Tomorrow, the world will convince you that love is all about chocolate, flowers, and sappy cards celebrating a guy who… got beheaded. Yep. St. Valentine didn’t exactly go down in history for his romantic poetry or his Pinterest-worthy proposals. He went down because he stood up for what he believed, even when it cost him everything.

Off with his head!

Here’s the quick version: Valentine lived in a time when the Roman Empire was all about control. Emperor Claudius II didn’t want soldiers distracted by love, so he banned marriages for young men. Valentine, being the kind of guy who didn’t take kindly to stupid laws, kept marrying couples in secret. He got caught. He got thrown in jail. And yes, he got executed. No chocolates, no roses, no Hallmark moment. Just courage. And one less head in the world.

So, here’s the takeaway for the rest of us: Valentine’s Day doesn’t have to be about flowers, expensive dinners, or forced romance. It can be about giving of ourselves boldly, courageously, and selflessly. About showing love in ways that matter, even when it’s inconvenient, risky, or doesn’t come with a shiny bow.

If you want to honor St. Valentine tomorrow, skip the clichés. Stand up for someone. Encourage a friend. Sacrifice a little comfort to make life better for someone else. That’s love worth celebrating.

And honestly? My wife deserves the real Valentine’s Day award for putting up with me. She’s the one I get to show love to every day. Not a lot of chocolates, very few dead flowers. Just several references to dead saints and tons of patience required.

Because real love isn’t a holiday. It’s courage in action.

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.

Established and Unmoved

September 29, 2025 / / 0 Comments

We all want something solid to stand on. Something that won’t shift when life shakes. Most of us know the feeling of watching the ground give way from health scares to job loss, from betrayal to grief. The question underneath all of it is this: Will I be okay when everything around me is not?

That’s the heartbeat of 1 Thessalonians 3. Paul isn’t writing theory. He’s writing with tears in his eyes, worrying about his friends, longing for them to be strong in the middle of the storm. And his answer is simple: God Himself will establish you.

Here are five things I learned from studying 1 Thessalonians 3:

1. God Sends People to Strengthen Us (vv. 1-2)

Paul can’t take the not-knowing anymore, so he sends Timothy. Not because Timothy is a superstar, but because he’s family in Christ and faithful in the gospel.

Timothy’s job is twofold:

  • To establish – to set their faith on a firm foundation.
  • To exhort – to come alongside and encourage them.

That word “come alongside” matters. Timothy isn’t shouting from a stage. He’s walking shoulder-to-shoulder, reminding them of what’s true. That’s how God works, through people He sends into your life to hold you steady.

Who has God sent to come alongside you when things weren’t going great?

2. Trouble Doesn’t Mean You’re Abandoned (vv. 3-5)

Paul says it bluntly: “You yourselves know that we are destined for this.” This, by the way, is affliction – suffering – yuck of life stuff! Suffering isn’t proof that God has walked away. It’s part of the Christian life.

But suffering is dangerous because it tempts us to believe lies. Lies that say God doesn’t care. Lies that say faith is pointless. Lies that say it’s easier to walk away. Paul fears the enemy will lure them off the foundation. That’s why Timothy’s presence is so crucial.

Bottom line: hardship isn’t the exception. It’s the expectation. But it’s not the end of the story.

3. Faith and Love Breathe Life (vv. 6-8)

Timothy comes back with good news: their faith is alive, their love is real, and they remember Paul kindly.

Paul’s reaction? “For now we live, if you are standing fast in the Lord.”

That’s wild. Paul ties his own sense of life to their perseverance. In other words your faith doesn’t just matter to you. It matters to the people around you. When you stand firm, others breathe easier. When you hold on, others find hope.

Who is your faith giving life to?

4. Faith Still Needs Mending (vv. 9-10)

Paul’s grateful, but he’s also honest: their faith still has gaps. He prays he can see them again and “supply what is lacking.”

Faith is like a fishing net. It needs constant mending. It’s not about shame or failure. It’s about being equipped, repaired, and made whole so it can hold when the pressure comes. None of us are finished products. So never stop learning and growing.

5. God Finishes What He Starts (vv. 11-13)

The chapter ends with Paul’s prayer:

  • God directs our steps.
  • God makes love overflow.
  • God establishes our hearts so we’re blameless when Christ returns.

Notice who does the heavy lifting: God! Paul and Timothy play their part, but God is the one who holds people steady.

That’s the anchor. Your grip may slip, but His won’t.

The Ever Famous So What!

  • You’re not alone. God sends people into your life to come alongside you. Don’t brush them off. They’re His gift.
  • Suffering doesn’t mean you’re forgotten. It’s part of the story, but not the end.
  • Your faith strengthens others. You may not realize it, but when you stand, you give someone else life.
  • God’s the one who establishes you. Your hope isn’t in your ability to hang on to God. It’s in His promise to hold you.

The Bottom Line

Storms will come. Lies will scream at you. Faith will feel fragile. But here’s the good news: Christ establishes you. He supplies what you lack. And He will hold you all the way to the end.

So stand firm. And when you can’t, look for the Timothys God has sent to come alongside you.

Enough is Enough.

September 11, 2025 / / 2 Comments

We are drowning in a culture of violence. From school shootings to political hatred, from homes torn apart to neighborhoods living in fear – it’s everywhere. And it’s not just “out there.” It’s here. It’s in our backyards and workplaces. It’s in our communities and even in our neighborhoods.

Kids are growing up without dads and moms. Wives are burying their husbands. Families are shattered, futures stolen. And for what? Because we’ve convinced ourselves that if someone thinks differently, votes differently, believes differently, or looks differently they’re disposable.

So here it is as plain as I can say it: disagreement is not a license to destroy.
Having a different opinion is not an invitation to yell, dehumanize, or harm.

It’s time to stop hiding behind screens. Time to stop shrugging our shoulders like nothing can change. It’s time to be human again. To remember that every person carries the image of God. To teach our kids that compassion is stronger than cruelty. To choose peace not because it’s easy, but because violence is destroying us.

Talking isn’t enough anymore. We must live differently. We must love differently. We must fight for life, not take it away.

Because this world doesn’t need more rage. It needs more courage, more kindness, and more humanity.

When Approval Becomes a Drug

July 21, 2025 / / 0 Comments

(Part 2 of 4 in the “Performing or Belonging?” series)

Let’s be honest, most of us are addicted to approval.

We don’t call it that. We call it being “driven,” “motivated,” “on our game.” But underneath the hustle is a hunger: Please notice me. Please like me. Please tell me I’m enough.

And if you think that’s not you, ask yourself this:

  • Why did you rewrite that text three times before sending it?
  • Why did you say yes when everything in you wanted to say no?
  • Why did that one piece of criticism stick in your head for a week straight?

We perform because we’re afraid.
Afraid of not measuring up. Afraid of being forgotten. Afraid that if we stop doing, we’ll stop mattering.

This world teaches us that worth is earned. That people only love winners. That image is everything. And that grind? It sneaks into every part of life including the church.

Somewhere along the line, we confused Christian faith with Christian performance. “Be a better spouse. Be a better parent. Read more Bible. Serve more. Smile while you do it.” It starts to feel less like grace and more like a spiritual rat race.

And people are tired of it? They are leaving the church over it. Not because they’re rejecting Jesus, but because they’re drowning in pressure they think He put on them.

But He didn’t.

Jesus didn’t say, “Come to me, all you who are killing it and crushing your goals.”
He said, “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” (Matthew 11:28, ESV)

Rest. Not reward for achievement. Not applause. Not another list of tasks. Rest. The kind that sinks deep into your bones and tells your soul, “You can stop performing. You’re already loved.”

That’s the gospel. And it is absolutely scandalous.

Because it means that the addict doesn’t have to hide.
The burned-out mom doesn’t have to fake it.
The guy battling depression doesn’t need to pretend he’s fine.
The believer with questions doesn’t need to perform certainty.

God doesn’t love the cleaned-up version of you. He loves the real you. The messy, insecure, unfinished, struggling version.

When we chase approval, we end up exhausted and empty. But when we root ourselves in grace, something radical happens. We start living from love, not for it.

And that changes everything.

You don’t have to prove your value. You don’t have to earn your belonging. You don’t have to perform your way into community. Not here. Not with Jesus.

Let’s call it what it is: performing is easier than being real, but it’s a prison.
It gives quick hits of affirmation and long stretches of isolation.

But belonging? That’s the long road to freedom. It’s messy, vulnerable, and sacred. And it’s worth every ounce of the effort.

This is Part 2 of 4 in our series on Performing or Belonging?
Next up: “The Longing to Belong” because every one of us is wired to be fully known and fully loved. And it’s time to stop settling for shallow substitutes.

Raising Kids in a Confusing World

June 19, 2025 / / 0 Comments

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

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

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

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

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

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

1. Choose presence over perfection.

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

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

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

3. Turn down the noise.

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

4. Let them see your limits.

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

5. Pray more than you panic.

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

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

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

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

The Shadow Side of Leadership

June 4, 2025 / / 1 Comment

Leadership has a spotlight. People see you on the platform, hear your words, watch your decisions, and feel your energy. They see the meetings, the prayers, the big ideas, the vision cast into motion. But behind that spotlight, there’s a shadow few people talk about. It’s the part of leadership that doesn’t make it into the highlight reels or Instagram stories. It’s quiet. It’s invisible. And for many of us, it’s achingly personal.

For me, the shadow shows up when I walk through the door at home.

After pouring myself out all day listening, guiding, teaching, and carrying the emotional and spiritual burdens of others, I often come home on the verge of empty. Not because I don’t love my family deeply, but because I’ve already spent everything I had to give. My family often doesn’t get the version of me who stood strong at the funeral or prayed boldly in the hospital. They get the version who crashes on the couch, struggling to engage in conversation, completely zoned out to the world around me, and often too tired to really be present.

It’s a strange contrast: I can rally the energy to lead a meeting of twenty or preach to a crowd of hundreds, but when I’m in the comfort of my home with my family I’m sometimes disconnected and have a hard time holding down a real conversation. I know the right thing to do. I want to be fully present. But sometimes the cost of being “on” all day means I end up emotionally “off” at home.

There’s guilt there. And a bit of shame too. And then there’s the quiet wondering: Is this what they signed up for?

This is the shadow side of leadership where passion meets limitation, where strength in public masks weariness in private. Most people don’t see the pastor who silently prays on the drive home just to have enough energy left to be fully engaged when he gets home.

But here’s what I’m learning: acknowledging the shadow doesn’t make me a failure. It makes me human.

And more than that, it makes space for grace. Not just from others, but from God. His power is made perfect in weakness, not in performance. My family doesn’t need the best version of me; they need the real one. The one who admits when he’s tired. The one who asks for help something I don’t do very well at all. The one who chooses to show up even when it’s hard.

Leadership in the spotlight may inspire people. But how we live in the shadows, that’s where real integrity is forged.

So to all the tired leaders, the weary parents, the ones who give their best in public but feel spent in private: You are not alone. Your shadow doesn’t disqualify you. It just means you’re carrying more than most people can see.

And maybe today, that’s the place where God wants to meet you. Not in your strength, but in your surrender.

Stop Mistaking Empathy for Compassion

May 15, 2025 / / 0 Comments

They’re Not the Same, and It’s Hurting Us

Let’s cut through the fluff: empathy is not compassion. And pretending they’re the same is making us soft in all the wrong places, blind to what’s broken, and oddly proud of standing still while people suffer.

Empathy says, “I feel your pain.”
Compassion says, “I see your pain, and I’m going to help you do something about it.”

See the difference? One sits in the mud with you and calls it solidarity. The other reaches in, lifts you up, washes you off, and walks with you toward healing. That’s compassion — and it’s what we need more of.

Let’s be honest: empathy sounds nice. It’s trendy. It sells. It wins likes on social media. “I see you.” “I hear you.” “I’m with you.” But here’s the hard truth: empathy, when left alone, is passive. It doesn’t fix anything. It just wallows in shared misery. And worse — it can become a mask for cowardice. We use it to avoid confrontation, delay hard conversations, and excuse inaction.

We say, “I don’t want to judge,” when what we mean is, “I don’t want to deal with the mess.” We say, “I’m just empathizing,” when we’re actually enabling. Empathy left unchecked coddles dysfunction. It listens without challenging. It observes pain without interrupting the cause. And in the end, it lets sin fester, addiction deepen, and wounds rot — all in the name of “understanding.”

That’s not love. That’s apathy dressed in empathy’s clothing.

Now look at compassion. Real compassion feels — yes — but it moves. It confronts. It speaks the truth in love. It’s gentle, but it’s not soft. It’s kind, but it’s not afraid to correct. It knows that healing sometimes stings and growth is often uncomfortable. Compassion refuses to leave people in their pain — it enters in with purpose.

Think of Jesus. He had compassion on the crowds — and He healed them. He taught them. He fed them. He called them out of darkness into light. He didn’t just say, “Wow, that’s tough,” and keep walking. He did what needed to be done — even when it meant flipping tables or confronting hypocrisy. That’s what love looks like when it has a backbone.

So let’s get this straight:
Compassion does what empathy won’t.
It makes the hard phone call.
It says, “You’re not okay — and I’m going to help you get there.”
It tells the addict, “I love you, but I’m not going to watch you destroy yourself.”
It tells the friend, “You’re spiraling, and I’m stepping in.”
It’s the parent who says “no” out of love.
The leader who holds a line.
The friend who speaks truth, even if it hurts.

This world has had enough of people “feeling for” others without actually helping them. What we need is a revival of compassion — gritty, loving action that heals instead of coddles.

You can feel with people all day long and never lift a finger to help them change. But compassion? Compassion rolls up its sleeves. It doesn’t just listen. It acts. It builds. It restores.

Empathy might leave you stuck. Compassion will carry you forward.

So here’s the challenge: stop applauding yourself for your feelings, and start asking what your love is actually doing. Is it changing anything? Healing anyone? Calling anyone to more?

Empathy whispers, “Stay where you are.”
Compassion says, “Let’s go — I’ll walk with you.”

Choose wisely. One path leads to deeper pain. The other leads to real freedom.

When the World Goes Quiet: The Hidden Face of Trauma

May 7, 2025 / / 0 Comments

Trauma doesn’t always look like what we expect. It’s not always tears or trembling hands. It isn’t necessarily someone lying in bed, unable to move, or openly speaking about the nightmares that haunt them. More often, it’s hidden in plain sight—in the bright light of day, in the loud, busy moments when the world keeps spinning. Trauma wears a mask, and many people wear it so well you’d never know it was there at all.

In the daylight, trauma can look like a successful professional who hits every deadline. It can sound like laughter at a lunch meeting or appear in the form of perfectly crafted social media posts. Highly functioning individuals are often the ones carrying the heaviest burdens, because they’ve learned how to keep going no matter what. Not because they’ve “healed,” but because continuing to move feels safer than stopping. To stop would mean facing what waits in the silence.

And that’s when trauma speaks loudest—when the world shuts down.

In the quiet of night, when distractions fade and the demands of the day are gone, trauma comes out from the corners where it hides. For some, it shows up as insomnia or racing thoughts that make sleep impossible. For others, it’s a sudden wave of sadness, anxiety, or fear that seems to come from nowhere. The mind replays moments long buried, feelings long suppressed. There’s no applause for surviving in the dark. There’s no one to witness the fight. But it rages on.

We often assume that if someone is functioning—working, parenting, creating, joking—they must be okay. But trauma doesn’t work like that. It doesn’t need permission to exist. It doesn’t check your calendar before showing up. Trauma from years ago can feel as fresh as something that happened yesterday. And recent trauma can hide behind a smile so convincing even the person wearing it might forget it’s there—for a time.

This is why compassion matters. This is why slowing down and looking beyond the surface matters. Not everyone will talk about what they’ve been through. Not everyone has the language, the safety, or the support to name their pain. But that doesn’t mean it’s not there.

So the next time you’re tempted to assume someone is “fine” because they seem fine, take a pause. Understand that for many, survival looks like achievement. Coping looks like productivity. And healing? Healing is often messy, invisible, nonlinear, and deeply personal.

Let’s normalize checking in with our strong friends. Let’s hold space for those who appear to have it all together. And most importantly, let’s remember that trauma isn’t defined by how loud it screams in public—but by how silently it haunts when no one is watching.

In the stillness, when the world goes quiet, some people are still fighting battles. Just because you can’t see them, doesn’t mean they’re not real.

The Weight of the Towel: When Serving Hurts

April 29, 2025 / / 0 Comments

Part 3 of the “Towel-Bearers: Redefining Leadership” Series

You said yes to serve.
You said yes to love.
You said yes to Jesus – (after he said yes to you).

But somewhere along the way, that towel you picked up started to feel like a weight chained to your soul.

You’re tired. Not just in your body—but in your spirit.
You still show up. Still pour out. Still smile when you’re asked, “How’s ministry going?” But underneath it all, you’re running on fumes.

Welcome to the weight of the towel.

Serving Hurts Sometimes. And That’s Not a Sign You’re Doing It Wrong.

Myth: “If I were really called to this, it wouldn’t feel this hard.”

Jesus was called. Perfectly. And still—He sweat blood in the garden.

He served, knowing the cross was waiting. He washed Judas’ feet, knowing the betrayal was coming.
He kept showing up—not because it didn’t hurt—but because love is stronger than pain.

So yeah, it’s going to hurt sometimes.
Not because you’re broken.
But because you’re becoming like Jesus.

3 Realities of Leading With a Tired Soul

1. You Will Run Out—That’s Why You Need to Be Filled

You’re not the source. Never were. You were never meant to carry the weight of every need, every crisis, every expectation.

Even Jesus withdrew to lonely places to pray (Luke 5:16).
If the Son of God had to unplug to be filled—what makes you think you can run without stopping?

This is your reminder: Rest is not weakness. It’s worship.
You’re not abandoning the mission when you sabbath—you’re sustaining it.

2. Just Because It Hurts Doesn’t Mean It’s Not Holy

Pain doesn’t always mean you’re out of place. Sometimes, it’s proof you’re walking the right path.

Paul didn’t plant churches from a place of comfort—he planted them with scars.
Real servant leaders don’t avoid pain—they endure it for the sake of others.

But here’s the catch: Suffering in silence isn’t sainthood—it’s pride. Don’t wear burnout like a badge. Talk to someone. Let people in. You’re not less spiritual for needing help—you’re more human.

3. You’re Not Saving Anyone—Jesus Is

You’re not the Messiah. You’re not the answer. You’re a messenger.

When the weight gets too heavy, remember: you were never meant to carry the cross. You’re just called to carry the towel.

Let Jesus carry you.

To the Worn-Out Leader…

You don’t have to be strong every day.
You don’t have to fix everything.
You don’t have to carry this alone.

God sees you.
Not the polished version. Not the public one. The real you.

He sees the tears you’ve cried in your car.
The text messages you never got a response to.
The late nights. The misunderstood moments. The quiet serving no one ever applauded.

And He says, “Well done.”

Want more?
Stay with us for Part 4 of Towel-Bearers: Redefining Leadership:
“Not Your Platform: The Kingdom Isn’t About You” — a gut-check on ego, branding, and who the spotlight really belongs to.

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