Even With a Broken Heart — The Journey Still Matters

Some days, I carry more than just the schedule, the smiles, and the Sunday expectations. Some days, I carry heartbreak. Not just my own—but the deep ache of others walking through divorce, sickness, grief, and disappointment. The kind of pain that lingers long after the prayers are spoken and the church doors close.

It’s not always just my burden I carry. It’s the whispered prayer requests, the tearful hugs after service, the silent messages asking for help. It’s the ache of people who feel unseen, and somehow, I tuck their pain into my own heart too.

And then there are the wounds no one warns you about—the ones that come from inside the church. The ones that feel like betrayal. When someone you called “family” turns away. When assumptions are made, and rumors whisper louder than the truth ever gets to speak. When people gossip instead of asking the source, and choose distance instead of grace. And even when they ask the source, their hearts have already decided—choosing gossip over grace, assumption over understanding. It’s hard to grasp why they turn from someone who still loves them and still prays for God's protection and blessings over them. I’ve learned that leaning on God isn’t just a spiritual phrase—it’s survival.

Because some nights, the tears fall when no one’s watching. Some Sundays, the spotlight feels more like a microscope. And some prayers feel too broken to leave your lips—but God still hears them. He sees the unseen. He counts every tear. He comes close, especially when no one else does.

So today, I’m praying.
For those who misunderstand.
For the ones who assume the worst instead of asking.
For the ones who gossip but never listen.
And I’m praying with love—not bitterness—because I still care. I still love. I still hope.

To the pastors' wives, ministry leaders, and silent servants—
You are not alone.
Your heart matters.
Your tears are not wasted.
And your quiet faithfulness? It’s noticed by Heaven.

Even with a broken heart, I’ll keep walking.
Because I know the Healer walks with me.
And even when I feel misunderstood or unseen—He sees.
He knows.
And He’s still building something beautiful, even in the places where we’ve been broken.

The Hidden Journey

 

In just the last four days, I’ve heard about three people who have taken their own lives and one failed attempt.

Three lives taken from this world!!!!!! Let that sink in, three lives in the last four days!

It breaks my heart. It shakes something deep inside of me. It keeps me up at night wandering could we as Christians been more present. And it makes me ask a hard, uncomfortable question:
What am I and my fellow believers (church) doing to help prevent this?

We gather. We sing. We shake hands. We say, “I’ll pray for you.”
But behind too many smiles are silent screams. Behind polished Sunday looks are people falling apart on the inside.

Sometimes, we’re so focused on behavior, we miss the brokenness. We don’t see the signs. Or worse—when someone does speak up—we rush to fix them with a verse instead of sitting in the pain with them.
Yes, share the Gospel—please do. But don’t forget, people want to know we care. Really care. Sit with them through it. 
They’re not looking for a sermon in their suffering. They’re looking for a hand to hold, a heart that listens, and a presence that stays.

Jesus didn’t run from hurting people. He drew near. He wept. He noticed.

So I wonder…

Are we really being the hands and feet of Jesus to those battling depression, trauma, or suicidal thoughts?

Are we offering real community, or just casual conversation?
Are we teaching people it’s okay to say, “I’m not okay”?
Are we making the Church a safe place to struggle?

Are we reaching out—or are we just talking behind their backs?
Are we truly loving people—or just commenting on their pain from a distance?

And what’s even more heartbreaking is this:
There is always another opinion or another judgment to a social media post such as this or even this blog —but they still won’t see the urgency.
Still won’t feel the weight of what’s happening all around us.

This is not the time for commentary. This is a time for compassion.

The enemy works hard to isolate and lie.
The Church must work harder to love and listen.

We can’t afford to keep pretending. Souls are at stake.
If someone near you seems different—quieter, distant—reach out.
Don’t wait. Don’t assume someone else will.

This is a wake-up call.

Let it shake us. Let it move us. Let it change the way we care.

Shame on me!! Shame on you!! Shame on us!!

Because three lives in four days is three too many.
And tomorrow, it could be someone I love, you love. 

Let’s be the Church that sees people.
That sits with them.
That speaks life over them.

Let’s be the one that helps people believe there’s something worth staying for—a reason to hope, a future worth living for.

The Journey We’re On—Already Good, Yet Greater Things Await

We’ve all heard it said—“The best is yet to come.” It’s a phrase that brings comfort. Hope. A gentle push to keep going. But here’s the question… are we actively walking toward the best, or are we just sitting still, hoping it shows up?

Sometimes, we treat God's promises like waiting at a bus stop—doing nothing, just hoping the next big thing rolls by. But faith isn’t passive. It’s trust in motion. It's praying, moving, listening, and obeying—even when the road ahead is blurry.

The best God has for us isn’t just about what’s next—it’s also about what’s happening now. The quiet moments. The stretching seasons. The hard decisions. All of it is shaping us for the promise.

So yes, friend, the best is yet to come—but don’t miss what God is doing while you wait. Take the next step, even if it’s small. Stay faithful, even when it’s hard. Because the best often grows in the soil of obedience.

And when you keep moving with Him?

You won’t just find the best—you’ll become it.

Your Journey was Never Meant to be Just Okay

 Somewhere along the way, many of us started settling.

We tell ourselves, “This is fine.”
“My life is okay.”
“My faith is okay.”
“My joy… okay enough.”

But deep down, we know something's missing.

We weren’t made for “just okay.”
We were made for purpose.
For passion.
For peace that runs deeper than a checklist life.

Sometimes we settle because we’re tired.
Other times, we’re scared of failing—or of hoping.
But God never called us to a life of just surviving.
He calls us to life abundant (John 10:10).

Yes, the road can be hard. Yes, there are valleys.
But in Christ, there’s more than just getting by.
There’s growth. There’s joy. There’s strength.
And there’s a calling on your life too important to live it half-awake.

So let this be your reminder:
You don’t have to settle for just okay.

You were made for more.

The Journey of How We See Things

 

Some people can be given a field full of roses and only notice the thorns.

Others might be handed a single weed—and still see the beauty in its bloom.

It’s all about perception.

The way we view life doesn’t just affect our thoughts—it affects our joy. Our peace. Our gratitude.

One person sees a rainy day and feels stuck, discouraged.
Another sees a moment to rest, reflect, and breathe.
One sees failure.
Another sees growth.
One focuses on what’s lost.
Another gives thanks for what’s left.

Gratitude is not born from perfection.
It grows in the cracks of real life—
In the pain, the waiting, the uncertainty.
It grows when we choose to look again… and see differently.

Because joy isn’t about what we have.
It’s about what we see, and how we see it.

So today, slow down.
Look beyond the surface.
Maybe your life isn’t what you hoped for right now. Maybe it feels heavy, or hollow.

But even in this, there is something worth noticing.
A small grace. A quiet beauty. A reason to whisper, thank You.

You may not be standing in a garden, but if you’re willing to look—
You just might find a wildflower.

The Journey of Mercy — When the Stones Stayed on the Ground

 

I saw this caption the other day:

“The only one qualified to throw a stone … didn’t.”

And it stopped me in my tracks.

Because it’s true.
Jesus—the only One without sin, the only One who had every right to judge—chose not to.

A woman caught in the act of adultery. They drag her into the temple courts. Not to restore her. Not to help her. But to make an example of her. She is ashamed, terrified, and trembling as they demand, “Shouldn’t we stone her, Jesus? That’s what the law says.”

And then… silence.
He kneels down and writes in the dirt.
No one knows exactly what He wrote.
But His answer echoes through time:

"Let the one who is without sin cast the first stone."

And slowly, one by one, they drop the rocks and walk away.

Jesus—who could have thrown the stone—looked at her and said,
"Where are your accusers? Neither do I condemn you. Go and sin no more."

That’s why He didn’t throw the stone.
Because His mission wasn’t to crush people—it was to save them.
His heart wasn’t to shame—but to restore.

He didn’t overlook sin. He never does.
But He looked deeper—at the soul beneath the failure.
He saw the whole story, not just the worst chapter.

So maybe today you feel like that woman.
Exposed. Guilty. Judged.
Maybe others have already picked up their stones.
Maybe you’ve picked up a few yourself.

But hear this:

The only person who had the right to condemn you… didn’t.
He offered grace instead.

So if Jesus dropped the stone, why are we still throwing them?

Let’s walk with mercy. Let’s see people—not just their mistakes.
Let’s be the ones who step in with kindness not the one who is ready to accuse.

Because the journey of mercy is the one that looks most like Jesus.
And someone out there needs to know: they’re not too far gone for grace.
Not today. Not ever.

The Journey’s End: Now She Sits with Jesus

I sat quietly today, thinking about someone I love who stepped into eternity a few days ago. The ache of missing our loved ones are heavy — but there’s also a strange peace today. Because I know she is with Jesus.

I found myself wondering… what do we call Him there?

Down here, we say Jesus. We call Him Lord, Savior, Friend, Redeemer, King of Kings. Each name holds meaning. Each one has comforted us in life’s deepest valleys.

But in Heaven—do our lips tremble with awe when we say His name? Do we fall to our knees when we whisper it? Do we call Him by the name that angels sing or the one that stirs our soul when we worship?

Maybe we’ll fall down and say, “Holy.”
Maybe we’ll whisper, “Jesus.”
Maybe our hearts will cry out, “Worthy is the Lamb.”

Whatever the name… we’ll speak it in awe, in love, and in worship. And He will know it’s us.

For now, we hold onto the names we know.
But I know this—my loved one is home. She has already seen my Lovely Lord. 
And whatever name she now calls Him, she speaks it with joy, healed, whole, and forever held.

And one day… I will get to say it to........