Month: April 2026

Mushrooms, Chocolate, and Butterflies.

At one point, I seriously considered building a side business around them. That still feels a little strange to say. This was back in 2011. My tissue processing lab had only been open for about a year. Things were moving, but not the way I had hoped—at least not financially. So I started thinking about ways to make better use of what I already had.

Extra space. Specialized equipment. Controlled environments. It felt wrong to let it sit there. The ideas came quickly. Mushrooms made the most sense. Controlled growth. Temperature. Humidity. It felt close enough to the lab work I understood. Chocolate was more creative. Still structured, but different. Butterflies… that one never fully made sense. But I kept circling back to it anyway. Only the mushrooms moved forward.

I set up a small system. Ran the conditions. Grew my first batch. And for a moment, it felt like something might actually work. Then I did what I always do. I ran the numbers. Nothing collapsed. That’s what made it difficult. There was no obvious failure. No clear reason to stop. Just a growing awareness that scaling this into something sustainable would take more than I had anticipated—different costs, different systems, a different kind of business altogether.

I could have pushed through that. Learned it. Adjusted. Made it work. That’s usually what I do. So the question wasn’t really: Can I do this? But: Should I keep going? That’s harder. Because there wasn’t a clear reason to stop. Just a quiet sense that something wasn’t lining up, even though everything looked reasonable on paper.

I sat with that longer than I expected. Not panicked. Not discouraged. Just… unsettled. And eventually, I stepped back. I didn’t force it. I let it go. At the time, it didn’t feel like anything significant. Just one idea that didn’t work out. But years later, I see it differently. That wasn’t just a financial decision. It was restraint. 

I used to think God mainly intervened when something was obviously wrong. When there was failure. Or risk. Or something needed correcting. But Scripture doesn’t always read that way. There’s a moment in David’s life, after he had established his kingdom and was finally at peace, where he looks around and realizes he’s living in a palace while the ark of God is still in a tent. So he decides to build a temple. It makes sense. It’s good. It even sounds right to the people around him. But then God stops him.

2 Samuel 7:5

Not because it was a bad idea. Not because David misunderstood. But because it wasn’t his to build.

And then there’s Paul. He’s traveling, doing the work he’s been called to do, trying to move into regions where the message hasn’t gone yet. Strategic. Logical. Aligned. But twice, in ways that aren’t even explained, he’s prevented from going where he planned.

Acts 16:6–7

No failure. No crisis. Just… not allowed.

Both of them were moving in directions that made sense. Neither was doing anything wrong. And still, they were redirected.

Looking back, that’s what that season feels like now. Not a missed opportunity. Not even a mistake. Just something that wasn’t mine to build. I never expanded that idea. No mushrooms. No chocolate. No butterflies. And I’m grateful. Not because it would have failed. But because it would have taken me somewhere I wasn’t meant to go.

That’s the part I’m still learning. God’s will isn’t just about avoiding wrong decisions. Sometimes it’s about letting go of the right ones.

Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make straight your paths.
Proverbs 3:5-6 (ESV)

Love and trust in the Lord; seek His will in your life.

#faith #trustinggod #christianity #jesuschrist #bible #seekinggodswill #truth #sanctification #godisincontrol #godhearsourprayers #salvation #providenceofGod #mushrooms #Proverbs3:5-6

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I remember standing in a lab early in my career, watching someone sign out cases with a kind of quiet confidence I didn’t have yet. Everything about medicine was structured. Measured. Verified. You didn’t just feel ready—you were examined, trained, reviewed, corrected. Over and over. There was a path. And you stayed on it. No one would tolerate a physician saying, “I didn’t really train, but I think I can do this.” And they shouldn’t. Lives depend on it.

That same night, I picked up my guitar. No board exam. No credentialing committee. No one asking where I trained. Just… playing. Some of the best musicians I’ve known didn’t come through formal systems. Same with chefs. Artists. People who create something real—you don’t always ask for credentials. You just know. It either resonates… or it doesn’t.

I didn’t connect those two worlds for a long time. Medicine demanded proof. Music didn’t. Both felt right in their own way. Somewhere along the way, without really noticing it, I brought that same medical mindset into my faith. Structure. Accuracy. Saying the right things. Understanding doctrine. Getting it right. And again—that’s not wrong. Truth matters. Discernment matters.

Scripture even warns:
Not many of you should become teachers… for you know that we who teach will be judged with greater strictness.
James 3:1 (ESV)

There’s weight to speaking about God. There should be. But then there are moments in Scripture that don’t fit that framework cleanly. This is one of them.

Now when they saw the boldness of Peter and John, and perceived that they were uneducated, common men, they were astonished. And they recognized that they had been with Jesus.
Acts 4:13 (ESV)

That phrase doesn’t resolve neatly.
Uneducated… common men.

And yet—no one could dismiss them. Not because they were polished. Not because they were certified. Because it was obvious they had been with Him.

That lands a little differently if you’ve spent your life being trained to not get things wrong. I know how to sound careful. I know how to stay within boundaries. I know how to communicate in ways that feel credible. But that verse doesn’t mention any of that. It doesn’t say they were precise. It says they had been with Jesus. And I don’t always know what to do with that. Because there’s a version of faith that looks very convincing from the outside. It has language. Structure. Confidence. It can quote the right things at the right time. And still… feel a little distant.

Jesus doesn’t leave much room for comfort there.
And then will I declare to them, “I never knew you; depart from me…”
Matthew 7:23 (ESV)

Not “you misunderstood.”
Not “you weren’t trained enough.”

“I never knew you.”

That’s not about competence. That’s about relationship.

So now I find myself asking a different question than I used to.
Not: “Am I getting this right?”
But: “Am I actually walking with Him?”

I still believe in learning. In studying. In handling Scripture carefully. That hasn’t changed. But I’m less impressed than I used to be by how something sounds. And more aware of where it comes from.

Some people speak beautifully about God. Clear. Structured. Persuasive. But there’s something different—hard to define—when someone has actually been with Him. It’s not always polished. Sometimes it pauses in the middle of a sentence. Sometimes it doesn’t resolve cleanly. But there’s weight to it. Not because of how it sounds. Because of where it comes from.

I spent years learning how to speak correctly.

I’m still learning how to walk with Him.

Love and trust in the Lord; seek His will in your life.

#faith #trustinggod #christianity #jesuschrist #bible #seekinggodswill #truth #sanctification #godisincontrol #godhearsourprayers #salvation #providenceofGod #noformaltraining #Acts4:13

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I didn’t realize how tightly I was holding on until it was already over. It wasn’t dramatic. No argument. No final speech. Just… a quiet ending. A routine I had gotten used to—one of those rhythms that doesn’t feel important while you’re in it, but somehow becomes everything once it’s gone.

For me, it was the lab. Not the work itself. I had already started to step away from that. It was everything around it. The people. The in-between conversations. The way the day just… unfolded without effort.

I told myself I was ready. I had said it enough times that it started to sound convincing. But the last day didn’t feel like closure. It felt like something slipping. I remember lingering longer than I needed to. Walking slower. Stopping in places that didn’t require stopping. As if moving carefully could somehow keep everything from ending.

It’s strange what you try to hold onto when you know something is changing. Not the big things. The small ones. The ordinary ones. The ones you didn’t even notice until they started to disappear.

There’s a moment in Scripture that has always felt a little uncomfortable to me for this exact reason. Right after everything falls apart… it suddenly doesn’t. Jesus is alive. Standing right in front of her. And Mary does the most human thing imaginable. She holds on.

In the Gospel of John, it says:
Jesus said to her, “Do not cling to me, for I have not yet ascended to the Father…”
John 20:17 (ESV)

That line has always bothered me. Because if there was ever a moment someone deserved to hold on…This was it. She had watched Him die. Watched everything collapse. And now—just when it’s restored—He tells her not to cling to Him?

At first, it almost sounds cold. But it’s not. It’s something else. Something deeper… and honestly, harder. Mary isn’t just touching Him. She’s holding on like someone who has lost something once and is terrified of losing it again. And Jesus knows that. Which is why He doesn’t say, “You’re wrong.”

He says, in effect: Don’t hold on to Me like this. Because what she wants…is for things to go back to the way they were. Walking with Him. Seeing Him. Following Him from place to place. Something she can hold. Something she can keep. Something she can control, at least a little.

But that version of the relationship is over. Not because it was bad. Because it was incomplete.
“I have not yet ascended to the Father…”

That line matters more than it seems. He’s telling her: This isn’t the end of the story. Don’t treat this like the moment you freeze forever. Because something better is coming. Not easier. Better.

Up until this point, Jesus was someone you could stand next to. After this? He would be someone who could live in them. Through the Spirit. Everywhere. Not limited to one place.

Not limited to one moment. Not limited to whether you could physically hold on. But to step into that…She had to let go of this.

And that’s the part that doesn’t get talked about enough. We say we want more of God. But a lot of the time…what we really want is a version of Him we already understand. A season that felt clearer. A time when things made more sense. A way of relating to Him that felt… manageable.

And sometimes, without saying it the way He said it to Mary, God does the same thing with us. Not harshly. Not abruptly. But clearly.

Don’t cling to that. Not because it was wrong. Because I’m doing something you can’t step into if you keep holding on to what’s behind you. Mary came looking for a body to mourn. She found a living Savior. But even then…she almost missed what He was doing next because she was trying to hold on to what had been.

And then He says something that changes everything: “Go to my brothers and say to them…”

He doesn’t just ask her to let go. He gives her something to step into. She becomes the first one to carry the message: “I have seen the Lord.”

From holding…to going. From clinging…to trusting.

And maybe that’s the question sitting underneath all of this. Not just for her. For us. What are you holding onto…that God is asking you to release? Not because He’s taking something away. But because He’s moving you into something you can’t experience…unless you let go.

Love and trust in the Lord; seek His will in your life.

#faith #trustinggod #christianity #jesuschrist #bible #seekinggodswill #truth #sanctification #godisincontrol #godhearsourprayers #salvation #providenceofGod #John20:17 #Mary #timetoletgo

I remember a season when everything looked… right. Work was steady. Decisions were clear. People trusted me. There wasn’t any obvious crisis. No collapse. No headline failure. If anything, it felt like I had finally figured out how to manage things—how to stay ahead, stay disciplined, stay composed.

And for a while, that worked. But there was this quiet awareness I couldn’t shake. Not anxiety.

Not burnout, exactly. Just… something missing. It’s hard to explain without sounding ungrateful. Nothing was broken. But nothing felt alive either. I didn’t have a category for that. So I did what most of us do. I tightened things up. More structure. More control. More effort to “stay on track.”

And oddly… the more I tried to stabilize everything, the more mechanical it all felt. Like I was performing a version of myself I had already approved. Then something small happened. Not dramatic. No lightning. No emotional moment I could point to and say, that was it. Just a shift. Same responsibilities. Same conversations. Same external life. But internally… it wasn’t the same. There was less forcing. Less need to get the outcome exactly right. More clarity. More freedom. Even my responses changed—not because I planned them better, but because they weren’t coming from the same place. That’s when I realized: It’s possible to be doing everything right…and still not be living with power.

That tension is actually sitting in the pages of Scripture. And if you read too quickly, you miss it. In Gospel of John 20, after the resurrection, Jesus appears to His disciples. And then something unusual happens.

He breathed on them and said to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit…”
John 20:22 (ESV)

It’s quiet. Almost easy to overlook. No crowd. No spectacle. Just a moment between Him and them. If you stopped there, you would assume: That’s it. They’ve received the Spirit. But then you keep reading. And in Acts of the Apostles 2, everything feels… different. There’s wind. here’s fire. here’s boldness that wasn’t there before. The same group of men who had been cautious, uncertain, even afraid—now they’re speaking openly, publicly, without hesitation.

So what happened? Did they receive the Holy Spirit twice? This is where people try to clean it up too quickly. Some say the first moment was symbolic. Others say the second is a separate “empowerment.” There’s truth in those discussions. But if you step back, something simpler—and more personal—starts to emerge.

In one moment, the Spirit is given. In the other, the Spirit is unleashed. In John, it’s intimate. Like breath. Almost like the beginning of something. In Acts, it’s undeniable. Visible. Audible. Overflowing. Not contained anymore. 

And maybe that’s the part we don’t like to sit with. Because we’re often more comfortable with the first. Quiet faith. Personal belief. Something we can hold without it changing too much. But the second? That kind of power…it doesn’t stay private. It doesn’t stay controlled. Looking back, I think I spent a long time in that first space. Not empty. Not disconnected. Just… contained. Careful. Measured. Everything in its place. And I didn’t realize how much of my life was still being driven by me.

Because when the Spirit moves from given to governing—things shift. Not always outwardly at first. But inwardly, unmistakably. You respond differently. You release outcomes more easily. You’re less interested in managing your life… and more willing to trust it. 

The disciples didn’t become different people in Acts 2. They were already chosen. Already following. Already present. But something changed in what filled them. And what flowed out.

So the question isn’t just theological. It’s personal. If the Spirit has already been given…why does so little seem to change? And maybe even more uncomfortable: Do I want Him to give me life…or actually take control of it? Because those aren’t the same thing. And if we’re honest—we often prefer the version that leaves us in charge. 

But the pattern in Scripture is consistent. God breathes…and then He fills. He begins…and then He overflows. And when He does—it doesn’t just stay inside. It changes what comes out.

Love and trust in the Lord; seek His will in your life.

#faith #trustinggod #christianity #jesuschrist #bible #seekinggodswill #truth #sanctification #godisincontrol #godhearsourprayers #salvation #providenceofGod #john20:22 #whydideverythingchange #Holyspirit

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I said something earlier that didn’t sit right afterward. Nothing sharp. No argument. It was just part of a normal conversation, the kind you don’t think twice about while it’s happening. And I didn’t—at least not then. But later, it came back. Not the whole conversation. Just the line I said. The way it might have sounded from the other side. I was doing something else when I caught myself replaying it. I hadn’t meant to. It just showed up again. The first time, I brushed it off. The second time, I wasn’t so sure. 

It’s strange how that works. You don’t suddenly decide, that was wrong. It’s not that clear. It’s more like a small shift in how it feels. Enough to notice, not enough to act. I could’ve reached out. Clarified what I meant. Or just admitted it didn’t come out the way I intended. It wouldn’t have been a big deal. But I didn’t.

There wasn’t a reason I could point to. I wasn’t defending anything. I wasn’t even sure there was something to fix. I just… let it sit. And that’s the part that bothered me later. Not what I said. But what I didn’t do after. Because it didn’t feel like a decision. It felt like nothing. But it wasn’t nothing.

And somewhere in that realization, a different question surfaced—one that didn’t seem connected at first. If I can move like this without really deciding to… why didn’t angels? Because if Satan and demons were once angels, if there really was a turning, why doesn’t it look anything like this? Why not slow? Why not uncertain? Why not something that builds over time?

Scripture doesn’t describe it that way. It doesn’t read like hesitation.

His tail swept down a third of the stars of heaven…

Revelation 12:4 (ESV)

There’s no gradual shift there. Just a break. And after that, nothing like it again. No second fracture. No suggestion that heaven is still sorting itself out. Whatever happened, it held.

That raises a question I’ve never quite known what to do with. If some angels turned away… why didn’t the rest? Were they made differently? Without the same kind of freedom? Scripture doesn’t point in that direction. The ones who fell aren’t described as confused or misled. There’s no sense that they drifted into it. They chose. Which means the others saw the same thing—and didn’t. So it’s not that one group had freedom and the other didn’t. It’s that whatever that moment was… it didn’t repeat.

There’s a phrase that’s easy to read past:

I charge you… in the presence of God and of Christ Jesus and of the elect angels…
1 Timothy 5:21 (ESV)

Elect angels. That doesn’t sound like a group still weighing options. It sounds settled.

And then there’s this:

The angels who did not stay within their own position… He has kept in eternal chains…
Jude 1:6 (ESV)

No correction. No second thought. Just an end. Which makes tonight feel different. Because nothing about what I said—or didn’t say—is fixed. I could still go back. I could still clear it up. Or at least try. Nothing is stopping me, except that quiet resistance that doesn’t feel like rebellion.

It just feels… easier to leave it alone. I don’t think this makes me better than angels. If anything, it makes the opposite point. They saw clearly—and chose. I hesitate, second-guess, drift a little… and still get another moment to turn. That’s not strength.

For surely it is not angels that He helps, but He helps the offspring of Abraham.
Hebrews 2:16 (ESV)

I’ve read that verse before without stopping. Tonight it feels different. There’s still space. Which means what felt small earlier isn’t nothing. Not the sentence I said. Not the silence that followed. It has direction. Not final. Not settled. But real.

So maybe the better question isn’t about angels. Maybe it’s this: What am I leaving unresolved… that I could still make right? Because right now, I can still turn. And I don’t want to assume I will later… if I won’t do it now.

Love and trust in the Lord; seek His will in your life.

#faith #trustinggod #christianity #jesuschrist #bible #seekinggodswill #truth #sanctification #godisincontrol #godhearsourprayers #salvation #providenceofGod #angels #fallenangels #Hebrews2:16

Is There Such a Thing as a Just War?

I used to think this was a distant question. Something for historians…or politicians…or people who never actually have to live with the consequences. But it doesn’t feel distant anymore. You turn on the news and it’s just there. Missiles. Retaliation. Explanations that sound convincing—at least at first.

“We had to.”
“They left us no choice.”

And part of me understands that. There’s something in us that doesn’t just want evil managed. We want it stopped. But the question doesn’t stay that simple. It shifts.

Not “Can war ever be justified?”
More like—what do we even mean by just?

Because every side seems certain. We’re right. And they don’t say it carefully. They say it like that settles things. There have been people who tried to slow this down.

Augustine of Hippo…
Thomas Aquinas…

They weren’t trying to glorify war. They were trying to restrain it. To say: even if war happens, it shouldn’t be careless. That matters. But it still doesn’t settle the tension. Because when you open the Bible… it doesn’t give a clean answer either. There are wars in it. Some even commanded by God. And at the same time, you start to see something changing. Not all at once. But clearly. Less confidence in the sword. More emphasis on the heart.

Jesus Christ doesn’t organize armies. He doesn’t call His followers to take control. He says things that don’t fit how we normally think about conflict. Love your enemies. Pray for people who hurt you. And when one of His own reaches for a weapon… He stops him. He basically says—put it away. That path leads somewhere you don’t think it does.

Then Jesus said to him, “Put your sword back into its place. For all who take the sword will perish by the sword.
Matthew 26:52 (ESV)

That’s hard to sit with. Because it doesn’t remove the reality of evil. It just refuses to fight it the way we expect.

So is there such a thing as a just war? Maybe… in a limited, human sense. There are real threats. There are real responsibilities. Protection matters. But Scripture never treats war like something clean. Or something to trust. Because war doesn’t stay where you put it. It doesn’t stay clean. You tell yourself it will. But then it shows up in places it shouldn’t—homes… families…people who never chose any of this.

I see that in myself more than I’d like to admit. It’s in me. I want to be right. I want to defend myself. I want to win—even the quiet arguments no one else hears. Which is why this question doesn’t stay theoretical. It turns personal. Not just: “Is this war justified?” But—What is happening inside me when I feel the need to fight?

Because Scripture keeps pointing somewhere deeper. That the real struggle isn’t just external. It’s not just against other people. Paul writes that our battle isn’t ultimately against flesh and blood.

For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places.
Ephesians 6:12 (ESV)

That’s easy to read. Harder to live. So maybe the answer isn’t as clean as we want. Maybe a war can be justified on paper…and still take us somewhere we didn’t expect. And maybe the more important question is this: Even if I can justify the fight…am I becoming someone who reflects Christ in it?

Because in the end—Jesus Christ didn’t win by force. He didn’t defend Himself. He gave Himself. And somehow, that was the greater victory. And maybe that’s where this lands. Not in solving the question perfectly—but in seeing it more honestly. That being right…isn’t the same as being righteous. That winning…isn’t always the same as being faithful.

So the question isn’t just: Is this war justified? It’s—What am I trusting when I choose to fight? And if I’m honest… I don’t always trust Him. But I’m starting to see the difference.

Love and trust in the Lord; seek His will in your life.

#faith #trustinggod #christianity #jesuschrist #bible #seekinggodswill #truth #sanctification #godisincontrol #godhearsourprayers #salvation #providenceofGod #ajustwar #Ephesians6:12 #Matthew26:52

I was sitting there with my wife… listening. At least I think I was. She was talking about something that mattered to her. Nothing dramatic. Just one of those conversations that fill up a normal day—plans, thoughts, something she had been carrying. And I caught myself drifting. Not outwardly. I was still nodding, still responding. If you watched us, it would’ve looked fine. But internally… it wasn’t. Part of me was there. Part of me was already trying to figure things out—where this was going, what needed to be done, how to fix whatever might come next.

And then there was this other part. Just… watching. Not saying anything. Not stepping in. Just aware enough to know I wasn’t really present. That I could be more present. That I should be. I don’t usually stop and think about that kind of thing. But it stayed with me.

How can I be in the same moment… and not really be in it? How can I be listening… and not listening? It’s still me. But it doesn’t feel simple. I don’t even know why I thought of this…but I did. Jesus—standing in the water. Before anything really started. No miracles yet. No crowds. No teaching. Just… there. And then—the Spirit descends. The Father speaks.

When Jesus was baptized, immediately He went up from the water, and behold, the heavens were opened to Him, and He saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and coming to rest on Him; and behold, a voice from heaven said, “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased.”
Matthew 3:16-16 (ESV)

I’ve read that before. A lot of times. But I wasn’t trying to study it this time. I was just… sitting with it. If He was fully God…why didn’t He just live like it? I mean—why wait? Why stand there like that? Why receive anything? I don’t think it was because something was missing. That doesn’t make sense. It felt more like…something was beginning. The Spirit comes down. Not for the first time ever—but in a way you can see. The Father speaks. Not quietly—out loud. There’s no confusion in it. But I can’t really explain it either. Three. But not separate. I don’t know…it doesn’t fall into place neatly.

And I started thinking about earlier. Sitting there with my wife. Trying to manage everything in my head. Trying to stay ahead of it. Trying to carry it. I was there. But I wasn’t receiving anything. Not really listening. Not slowing down. Definitely not depending. And that’s what keeps sticking with me. Jesus didn’t start His ministry by taking control. He didn’t prove anything. He didn’t push forward. He stood there…and received.

I don’t do that very well. Even in small things. Especially in small things. A conversation. A moment I could just be present. Instead, I’m already somewhere else—trying to hold it all together. I’ve tried to understand the Trinity before. I still don’t. Not really. But this didn’t feel like something to figure out. It felt like something I was watching. And maybe that’s enough for now.

I think I know what I tend to depend on. And it’s usually… me. Trying to think faster. Do more. Stay ahead. Carry what feels like it’s mine. But maybe it isn’t. Maybe I don’t need to understand everything. Maybe I just need to stop trying to carry it like I do. 

I’m still sitting with that.

Love and trust in the Lord; seek His will in your life.

#faith #trustinggod #christianity #jesuschrist #bible #seekinggodswill #truth #sanctification #godisincontrol #godhearsourprayers #salvation #providenceofGod #trinity #Matthew3:16-17 #whenoneisn’tsimple

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For decades, I practiced medicine. I diagnosed disease. I helped guide treatment. I trained residents. I built something that served others. There is a quiet satisfaction in that kind of work. A sense of purpose. Of usefulness. Of impact. And now, stepping away from that season, there’s a different question that lingers: If I’m not doing that anymore… what am I?

And he called to him his twelve disciples and gave them authority over unclean spirits, to cast them out, and to heal every disease and every affliction.
Matthew 10:1 (ESV)

Judas was doing something that mattered too. Judas wasn’t passive. He was one of the Twelve. Sent out. Commissioned. Given authority. Which means we can’t easily avoid this conclusion: He likely preached. He likely healed. He may have cast out demons. He wasn’t pretending to follow Jesus. He was actively participating in the work. And still… he was lost.

That’s where this becomes uncomfortable, because it presses into something deeper than behavior. I’ve spent years doing meaningful work. Even now—with writing, teaching, and these devotionals—there is still a desire to contribute, to matter, to be used. But Judas forces a different question: Is being useful the same as being surrendered?

Power Is not proof of relationship. Jesus said: 

Did we not prophesy in your name… cast out demons… do many mighty works?

Matthew 7:22–23 (ESV)

These are not empty claims. They are the language of people who have done real things. And yet His response is clear: “I never knew you.”

Not: You weren’t effective.
But: You weren’t Mine.

In medicine, your value is often measurable. Cases. Diagnoses. Productivity. Output. Even outside of medicine, it can quietly shift to: Impact. Reach. Response. Without realizing it, identity begins to attach itself to usefulness. Not intentionally. But steadily.

Judas didn’t fall because he was far away, he fell because something else was forming inside him. In John 12:6, we’re told he was taking from the money bag. Quietly. No confrontation. No public moment. Just something small… allowed over time. That’s how drift works. Not suddenly.

But subtly. He stayed close… but never surrendered. Judas didn’t leave early. He stayed. He heard everything. He saw everything. Participated in everything. And yet, in the end, the defining moment wasn’t distance. It was a kiss. Close enough to appear devoted. Separated enough to betray.

What I’m learning now, as I step away from what defined me for decades, I’m beginning to see something more clearly: It’s possible to build a life around being useful…and never fully examine whether everything has been surrendered. Not just work. But expectations. Control. Identity.

Judas didn’t lose proximity. He lacked surrender. Judas wasn’t lost because he lacked opportunity. He was lost because he never gave Jesus his heart. And that possibility…is closer to us than we think.

Love and trust in the Lord; seek His will in your life.

#faith #trustinggod #christianity #jesuschrist #bible #seekinggodswill #truth #sanctification #godisincontrol #godhearsourprayers #salvation #providenceofGod #Judas #Matthew10:1

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There was a time in my life when I drifted. Not suddenly. Not dramatically. But slowly—almost without noticing. During my medical residency and fellowship, life was full. Demanding. Consuming. And somewhere in the middle of all of it, my relationship with God became… secondary. Then distant. And eventually, almost absent.

I didn’t reject God. I just lived as if He weren’t there. And yet… I came back. Years later, by God’s grace, I returned. Not because I had everything figured out—but because something in me knew I couldn’t stay where I was. And still, even after coming back, a question lingered: What if I was never truly saved to begin with?

If I could drift that far… that easily…What did that say about my faith? That question becomes harder when I read the Bible. There’s a man in Scripture named Saul. He was chosen by God to be king. Given position, influence—even the Spirit of God came upon him. His life began with promise. And yet… it didn’t end that way.

Over time, something shifted. Not all at once. But gradually. His decisions became driven more by fear than trust. More by image than obedience. And eventually, his life unraveled. What unsettles me about Saul isn’t just that he failed. It’s how slowly it happened. A small compromise here. A rationalization there. A moment where he chose control instead of trust. And when he was confronted, he didn’t break. He explained. He justified. He tried to hold onto how things looked on the outside.

That’s the part that stays with me. Because it feels… familiar. Close… but not surrendered? Saul was close to the things of God. Chosen. Anointed. Used. And yet his story raises a difficult possibility: It’s possible to be near the things of God…and still not surrender to Him.

And then, in contrast, there’s Peter the Apostle. Peter also failed. Publicly. Painfully. He denied Jesus—not once, but three times. But his story didn’t end there. He wept. He stayed. And somehow, in the midst of his failure, he found his way back. So what is the difference?

That’s the question that lingers. Saul was chosen. Peter failed. But one drifted away…and one returned. Why? The Bible doesn’t always give us simple answers. But it does give us moments of clarity. One of the most sobering is this:

I never knew you.

Matthew 7:23 (ESV)

Not “you knew Me once and lost Me.” But: “I never knew you.”

That line shifts everything. Because it suggests the deepest issue isn’t: how close we appear, 

how much we do, or even how far we fall, but whether we are truly known by Him.

So I come back to my own life. There was a season where I drifted far enough that I barely recognized who I had become spiritually. And when I returned, I couldn’t help but ask: Was I coming back…or was I coming for the first time?

I don’t have a perfectly clean answer. There are passages that speak of security. Others that warn of falling away. But this question feels more important than all the others: Am I trusting Him… right now?

Saul’s story warns me. Peter’s story gives me hope. And my own story reminds me of this: Being near God is not the same as belonging to Him. But returning to Him… is never wasted.

Love and trust in the Lord; seek His will in your life.

#faith #trustinggod #christianity #jesuschrist #bible #seekinggodswill #truth #sanctification #godisincontrol #godhearsourprayers #salvation #providenceofGod #chosenbutlost #Matthew7:23

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I was thinking about something recently that felt almost… unnecessary. If God is truly: omnipresent (everywhere), omniscient (knows everything), and omnipotent (all-powerful), then why would He ever need angels to deliver messages? Why send Gabriel to Mary? Why appear to shepherds through a host of angels? Why not just speak directly—clearly—unmistakably?

It seems inefficient. Almost… redundant. At first, this feels like a question about angels. But it’s not. It’s really a question about how God chooses to work. Because when you follow the pattern through Scripture, something becomes clear: God rarely does things the most direct way. He does them the most meaningful way.

God could have:
Written the Gospel across the sky
Spoken audibly to every human being at once
Revealed Himself in ways no one could ignore

But instead…He sends people. Imperfect people. Hesitant people. People like Moses, who didn’t want to speak. People like Peter, who failed publicly. People like Paul, who once opposed everything he later preached.

And yes—He sends angels. Not because He needs to. But because He chooses to involve others in His work. If God were only interested in results, He wouldn’t use intermediaries. He would act instantly, decisively, independently. But Scripture doesn’t describe a machine. It describes a kingdom. 

A kingdom has:
Order
Structure
Roles
Participation

Angels are not divine assistants filling in gaps. They are citizens of that kingdom, entrusted with purpose.

Are not all angels ministering spirits sent to serve those who will inherit salvation?
Hebrews 1:14 (ESV)

They serve not because God lacks power…but because God delights in shared purpose. And here’s where this turns. Because if we’re honest, the real tension isn’t about angels. It’s about us. Why does God use us?

Why entrust something eternal—the Gospel—to people who:
Get tired
Get distracted
Get it wrong

If God doesn’t need angels…He certainly doesn’t need us. And yet—He chooses both.  That changes everything. Because it means: Your role is not a burden God placed on you. It’s an invitation He gave to you. You are not filling a gap in God’s ability. You are participating in His design. C.S. Lewis once wrote that God allows us to share in His work, not because He must, but because He loves to give us that dignity. That’s what angels reflect. And that’s what we often miss.

So why angels? Not because God needs messengers. But because He is building something far greater than efficiency. He is building a story.

A kingdom where:
Heaven and earth are connected
Creation participates in His purposes
And even the smallest role carries eternal weight

Maybe the better question isn’t: “Why would God use angels?” But: “Why would God choose to use anyone at all?”

And the answer is both humbling… and freeing. Because if He doesn’t need them…and He doesn’t need you…Then every moment He chooses to include you—is grace.

Love and trust in the Lord; seek His will in your life.

#faith #trustinggod #christianity #jesuschrist #bible #seekinggodswill #truth #sanctification #godisincontrol #godhearsourprayers #salvation #providenceofGod #angels #Hebrews1:14