The Journey Begins With the Soil

 

You can have the best seed—full of life, purpose, and potential. You can water it faithfully, give it light, and speak words of encouragement over it.

But if the soil is hard, rocky, or full of thorns… it won’t grow.

Jesus told a story just like this in Matthew 13—the parable of the sower. The same seed was scattered, but only one type of soil allowed it to grow and bear fruit.

The seed was never the problem.

The water wasn’t missing.

It was the condition of the soil.

And in our lives, that soil is our heart.

Sometimes, we wonder why God’s Word doesn’t seem to be working. We hear sermons. We pray. We try. But if our hearts are cluttered with bitterness, pride, distraction, or fear—it can keep truth from taking root.

God isn’t looking for perfection. He’s looking for a heart that’s soft, open, and ready to receive. A heart willing to be tilled, even if it hurts a little. A heart ready to grow.

So before you question the seed… check the soil.

God is ready to plant something beautiful. Let Him have the ground to work with.

The Journey to His Nearness: Where My Good Begins

There’s a quiet kind of comfort in knowing you’re not alone.

Psalm 73:28 says, “But as for me, it is good to be near God.”

Those words remind me that God’s presence isn’t just a nice idea—it’s my safety, my strength, and my hope.

I’ve felt it in the middle of a doctor’s office waiting room, unsure of the outcome.
I’ve felt it on tear-stained pillows, when sleep wouldn’t come and neither would peace.
I’ve felt it when I whispered, “Lord, I don’t understand,” and somehow still felt held.

The nearness of God doesn’t always change my situation—but it changes me.
It stills my racing heart.
It quiets my fear.
It reminds me that even here—especially here—He is close.

And His closeness?
That’s not just comforting.
It’s good.

So no matter what today holds, keep drawing near.
Because where He is—that’s where our good begins.

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.