“And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose. For whom He foreknew, He also predestined to be conformed to the image of His Son…” -Romans 8:28-29

The first part of that verse, Romans 8:28, is one of the most quoted verses in the Bible. We often repeat it when life feels confusing or painful: “All things work together for good.” But sometimes we misunderstand what that “good” actually is.

The very next verse tells us. God’s ultimate purpose for our lives is not simply comfort, success, or an easy road. His purpose is that we would be conformed to the image of His Son.

In other words, God is shaping us to become more like Jesus. And that shaping process often happens in ways we wouldn’t naturally choose. The ups and downs of life—the victories and the disappointments, the seasons of joy and the seasons of struggle—are all tools in the hands of a loving God who is forming Christ in us.

Peter writes something similar in 1 Peter 1:6–7 when he says: “Though now for a little while, if need be, you have been grieved by various trials, that the genuineness of your faith… may be found to praise, honor, and glory at the revelation of Jesus Christ.”

Just as fire refines gold, God sometimes allows the heat of difficulty to refine our faith. Think about the disciples. They didn’t become the people God used to change the world by living comfortable lives. They followed Jesus through confusion, hardship, failure, and even fear. Yet through it all, Jesus was shaping their hearts and teaching them to trust Him.

The same is true for us. Often the seasons that draw us closest to God are the seasons we would never have chosen. When life is easy, it’s easy to rely on ourselves. But when life becomes difficult, we are reminded of how deeply we need Him.

So when we walk through seasons of difficulty, remember this: God has not abandoned us in the struggle. Oftentimes He is doing His deepest work in those very moments.

The goal isn’t simply that life becomes easier. The goal is that we become more like Jesus. And that is the work God wants to do in each of our lives.

A few weeks ago, I took a short retreat to spend time studying, praying, and seeking the Lord for our church. I was blessed with the opportunity to spend those days at the coast. While I was there, I often found myself simply sitting and staring out over the bay. A couple of the days were a little stormy, with high tides.

As I sat mesmerized by the intense movement of the water one of the days, I noticed something interesting. There were pieces of driftwood scattered across the surface of the water, constantly being pushed and pulled by the current. Some of the logs were tossed around by the waves, while others were carried further and further down the shoreline. None of them had any control over where they were going—they were simply going where the water took them.

As I watched that driftwood, I couldn’t help but think about how much it resembles what life can look like for many of us. The tides and currents of this world are strong. Culture shifts, opinions change, pressures mount, and circumstances rise and fall. If we aren’t careful, we can find ourselves being pushed and pulled in all sorts of directions—emotionally, spiritually, and morally—simply going wherever the current of the moment carries us.

But Scripture reminds us that followers of Jesus are meant to live differently. Hebrews 6:19 says, “We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure.” An anchor keeps a ship from drifting when the winds and currents begin to push against it. It provides stability in the midst of movement. In the same way, our hope in Christ anchors our souls. When our lives are rooted in Him—when we trust His promises, stand on His Word, and remain close to Him—we are not easily carried away by the changing tides of this world.

The apostle Paul echoed this same idea when he wrote in Ephesians 4:14, saying that believers should no longer be “infants, tossed back and forth by the waves, and blown here and there by every wind of teaching.” Instead, our faith is meant to grow deeper and stronger so that we remain steady even when the world around us is unstable.

One of the beautiful things about an anchor is that it doesn’t remove the waves—it simply keeps the vessel steady through them. Following Jesus doesn’t mean life will suddenly become calm and predictable. Storms will still come. Challenges will still arise. But when our lives are anchored in Christ, those waves no longer determine our direction.

So the question for each of us is this: What are we anchored to? If our identity, security, and hope are tied only to circumstances, success, or the approval of others, we will always find ourselves drifting when those things shift. But when our hope is firmly anchored in Jesus—His truth, His character, and His promises—we discover a stability that the currents of this world cannot move.

May we be people who refuse to drift. Instead, may our hearts remain firmly anchored in Christ—the One who holds us steady no matter how strong the tide becomes.

“Yet I hold this against you: You have forsaken the love you had at first. Consider how far you have fallen! Repent and do the things you did at first.” –Revelation 2:4-5

I don’t know about you, but I’m a huge fan of the Olympics. Besides watching the athletes compete for medals—I love the stories and how they got there. One story that caught my attention this year was that of Olympic figure skater Alysa Liu. 

She was a young prodigy who began skating competitively at only five years old. By the age of 13, she became the youngest U.S. national champion. And at 16, she was competing in the 2022 Winter Olympics. But after that Olympics, she stepped away from the sport. The pressure, the scoring, the constant striving for perfection—had taken the joy out of something she once loved.

After almost two years away from the sport, she decided to return, but this time things were be different. She didn’t come back because she was chasing medals or accolades. She returned because of her love for the sport. And last week, at the 2026 Winter Olympics, I watched her skate with a freedom that seemed to be rooted in joy rather than pressure, and it was absolutely beautiful to watch.

As I listened to her story, I couldn’t help but compare it to our relationship with Jesus. In Revelation 2, Jesus speaks to a church that was doing many things right. They were persevering. They were working hard. They were standing for truth. But He says something sobering: “You have forsaken the love you had at first.” It’s possible to be faithful and busy…and yet lose that love.

I know many people who struggle in their walk with God because somewhere along the way it became too legalistic. We start living as though God is scoring us—judging our quiet times, evaluating our spiritual performance, measuring how well we followed the rules. Instead of simply loving Him and allowing Him to shape us from the inside out, we try to perform for Him and strive for a perfection that is only found in Jesus. We overvalue our works and devalue abiding in Christ.

What’s motivating our lives as Christians? Are we being driven by performance—trying to always do things the “right way” so we feel adequate? Or are we motivated by love—the overwhelming reality that He loved us first and still loves us regardless of our failures and mistakes?

When I watched Alysa skate with that renewed joy, it stirred something in me. I don’t want to follow Jesus because I feel pressured to perform. I don’t want to preach, pray, or serve out of obligation. I want to live for Him because I love Him, because I’m grateful for His love, and because being in His presence is where true joy is found.

Jesus’ words in Revelation aren’t meant to condemn—they’re meant to invite us closer to Him. “Remember… repent… return.” Go back to the beginning. Go back to the love—to why we started. Because when love is the motivation, everything else changes.

Lord, help us not to be driven by performance, but by the joy of knowing You and being known by You. Teach us to love You first, to seek You deeply, and to live out of relationship rather than obligation. May our hearts be captivated by You above all else. -Amen

I am currently preaching a series based on the Sermon on the Mount titled the Upside-Down Kingdom. In my sermon this past week I looked at Jesus’ words in Matthew 5:23–24—His command to leave our gift at the altar and first go and be reconciled to our brother or sister. It’s a challenging picture. Before worship. Before ritual. Before the visible act of devotion. Jesus says, “Go make things right.” In God’s Kingdom, reconciliation matters deeply.

The heart behind this command becomes even clearer when we read Romans 12:18: “As far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone.” Notice the humility in that verse. Paul doesn’t say we can control their response. He doesn’t say reconciliation will always be mutual. But he does say that we’re responsible for our part. In the upside-down Kingdom, we don’t wait for the other person to make the first move. We don’t nurse offenses. We don’t justify bitterness. As far as it depends on us—we pursue peace.

Reconciliation is not just something God commands, it’s something God modeled. 2 Corinthians 5:18–19 tells us that God reconciled us to Himself through Christ. When we were far off, when we were the ones who had sinned, God made the first move. He didn’t wait for us to clean ourselves up. He sent Jesus. The cross is the ultimate picture of reconciliation—of love reaching across the divide.

In our world today, division is everywhere. Social media arguments. Political hostility. Church disagreements over preferences and issues. Brothers and sisters in Christ dividing over things that, in light of eternity, simply aren’t worth it. And yet Jesus said the world would know we are His disciples by our love for one another (John 13:35). When believers refuse to reconcile, our witness suffers. But when we humble ourselves, seek forgiveness, extend grace, and pursue peace—even when it’s hard—we reflect the heart of our Father.

Reconciliation doesn’t mean pretending nothing happened or that everything’s fine. It doesn’t mean that truth doesn’t matter. It means we value relationship more than being right. It means we refuse to let bitterness take root (Hebrews 12:15). It means we choose obedience over our pride.

Maybe today the Holy Spirit is bringing someone to your mind. A strained relationship. A harsh word spoken. A conversation avoided. Romans 12:18 gently reminds us: as far as it depends on you. We can’t control their response—but we can control our obedience. We can pray. We can reach out. We can forgive. We can take the first step.

The upside-down Kingdom calls us to a higher standard. It calls us to love like we have been loved. And because we have been reconciled to God through Christ, we now have both the responsibility and the power to pursue reconciliation with others. May we be a people who lay down pride, pick up humility, and live at peace—so that our worship is not just words at an altar, but lives that reflect the hearts reconciled to God.

“This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this, than to lay down one’s life for his friends.” –John 15:12–13

In this section of scripture, Jesus gives us both a command and a definition of love. And this is not a suggestion, it’s the standard for those who choose to follow Him. But if we’re honest, loving like this feels overwhelming: to love consistently; to forgive quickly; to serve sacrificially; to lay down our preferences, our pride, even our rights. Left to ourselves, we simply don’t have that kind of love within us.

That’s because the love Jesus calls us to is not natural—it’s supernatural. It’s rooted in who He is. 1 John 4:19 tells us, “We love because He first loved us.” The source of real, Christlike love is not human effort but divine transformation. We cannot manufacture this love through willpower. We need a new heart.

That’s why David prayed in Psalms 51:10, “Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me.” David understood something vital: that behavior flows from the heart. If the heart is changed, love will follow. He didn’t ask God to simply improve him—he asked God to make him new. And that’s exactly what the Lord promises in Ezekiel 36:26 when he says: “I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit within you.” Through Christ, God doesn’t just command love—He supplies it by transforming us from the inside out.

Think about the disciples. Before the cross and resurrection, they argued about who was the greatest. They fled when Jesus was arrested. Peter denied Him three times. Yet after being restored by the risen Christ and filled with the Holy Spirit, these same men laid down their lives for the sake of Christ and His church. What changed? Their hearts. The love of Christ took root within them. The command of John 15 became possible because the Spirit of God empowered them to live it.

Loving like Jesus is not about trying harder—it’s about abiding more. Just a few verses earlier in John 15, Jesus said, “Abide in Me… for without Me you can do nothing.” As we stay connected to Him through prayer, His Word, repentance, surrender, and simply inviting Him to lead us, His love flows through us. The fruit of the Spirit is love, which means love is evidence of His life within us.

So the pathway to loving like Jesus begins the same way David’s prayer did: “Lord, create in me a clean heart.” When we seek His help, confess our selfishness, and ask Him to shape us, He is faithful to do that work. He softens what has grown hard. He heals what has been wounded. He replaces bitterness with compassion. And slowly, we begin to love more like Him.

We will never love perfectly this side of heaven—but we can love more and more as He transforms us. The One who commanded us to love laid down His own life first. And as we seek Him daily, He will form His heart within ours.

“You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives.” –Genesis 50:20

When we read the story of Joseph, we know how it turns out. We know about the palace, the authority, and the reconciliation with his brothers. But Joseph didn’t have that perspective while he was living it out.

All Joseph could see was betrayal, false accusations, and long seasons of waiting. Nothing about his circumstances felt like preparation for God’s purposes. Scripture tells us that while Joseph was in chains, the word of the Lord was testing him—shaping him long before God elevated him.

What makes Joseph’s story so powerful isn’t just where he ended up, but who he became. Years later, when Joseph stood face to face with the brothers who had hurt him, the clearest evidence of God’s work wasn’t his position—it was his forgiveness. Forgiveness revealed that suffering hadn’t hardened his heart.

That’s the part of Joseph’s story that challenges me the most. As a pastor, I’ve learned that loving people also means being hurt by people. This is true for everyone. There are moments when people misunderstand you, criticize you, or even walk away from you—and forgiveness becomes deeply personal. This path to forgiveness isn’t easy. Oftentimes it’s a struggle, and it becomes a process of forgiving and then forgiving again every time pain resurfaces.

Joseph reminds us, however, that forgiveness is often the final step of formation. God may use suffering to shape us, but forgiveness determines whether that suffering is going to make us better or bitter. Without forgiveness, pain traps us. But with forgiveness, pain becomes a place where God forms humility, compassion, trust in Him, and—ultimately—healing.

Paul reminds us in Romans 8:28: “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him.” Notice Paul doesn’t say that all things are good. He says God works through all things. Even betrayal. Even disappointment. Even seasons that don’t make sense.

Joseph’s story reminds us that God is always doing more than we can see. Even in seasons of pain, misunderstanding, and waiting, God is still at work: shaping our hearts and preparing us for what lies ahead. And when we choose forgiveness, we step into the freedom God desires for us, trusting that the same God who redeemed Joseph’s suffering is faithful to redeem ours as well.

Lord, You see the places in our hearts that still hurt and the things we struggle to release. Give us grace to trust You with our pain, and courage to forgive as You have forgiven us. -Amen

“For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power, love, and a sound mind” –2 Timothy 1:7

Fear is an interesting emotion that has a quiet way of shaping our decisions. It whispers that we’re not enough, that we don’t know what we’re doing, that failure is inevitable. Over time, those whispers can become walls that keep us stuck right where we are. Yet Scripture consistently reminds us that fear was never meant to be our guide. Fear does not come from God—but courage, strength, and clarity do.

All throughout the Bible, God calls ordinary, often fearful, people to do extraordinary things. Moses was afraid he couldn’t speak well enough. Gideon was afraid he wasn’t strong enough. Jeremiah was afraid he was too young. Yet God’s response to each of them was not to agree with their fear, but to remind them of His presence. Over and over again, God says, “I will be with you.” The calling was never based on their ability—it was based on God’s faithfulness.

Fear often keeps us from stepping into the very plans God has prepared for us. We believe God has good plans, but we hesitate to reach out and take hold of them because the risk feels too great. But faith doesn’t mean the absence of fear—it means choosing to trust God in spite of it. As I share frequently, if God calls us to it, He will give us what we need to do it.

The problem is, the world defines success by results—by wins, recognition, and visible achievement. But God defines success as having a relationship with Him that leads to obedience. Sometimes success is simply taking the step, making the call, trying again, or saying yes when fear says no. Even when things don’t work out the way we hoped, God is still at work in us. Failure is not final, and it is only ever wasted when we don’t offer it to God and ask Him to redeem it. In fact, some of our greatest growth comes when we fall, learn, and get back up. As Proverbs 24:16 reminds us, “Though the righteous fall seven times, they rise again.”

The only true failure is allowing fear to keep us from ever trying. God’s plans for our lives are too important to leave untouched because we’re afraid. He delights in using willing hearts, not perfect ones. When we step forward in faith, even trembling faith, we discover that God is far more powerful than our fears. And often, it’s only on the other side of fear that we truly see what God can do in and through us.

One of the phrases I often say in church is that God is calling us out of our comfort zone. And while there is truth in that, I’m not sure “comfortable” is always the right word. Through prayer and conversation, I’ve started to realize that what we cling to isn’t always comfort—it’s familiarity. Familiarity feels safe, even when it’s unhealthy. It’s predictable, even when it’s painful. We hold on to what we know because stepping into the unknown feels risky, uncertain, and overwhelming.

This is why the words of God to Abraham in Genesis 12:1 are so powerful: “Go from your country, your people and your father’s household to the land I will show you.” Notice what God doesn’t do—He doesn’t give Abraham a map. He doesn’t outline every step or explain how it will all work out. God simply calls Abraham to leave what is familiar and trust Him with what is unknown. Faith begins where familiarity ends.

I’ve seen this truth lived out in real life. I’m friends with a man who has been in and out of homelessness for years—not because it’s comfortable, but because it’s what he knows. The idea of structure, expectations, and change feels more frightening than living on the streets. And if we’re honest, we’re not that different. We may not be living on the streets, but we often cling to habits, relationships, routines, or mindsets that God is inviting us to leave behind. We don’t cling to these things because they’re what’s best for us—but because they’re familiar.

Scripture reminds us that this struggle is universal. In Exodus, the Israelites had been set free from slavery, yet when the wilderness became hard, they longed to return to Egypt. Egypt was bondage, but it was familiar. Freedom required trust. The wilderness demanded faith. And that tension still exists today. God often calls us forward, but familiarity keeps pulling us backward.

The writer of Hebrews captures this calling beautifully in Hebrews 11:1: “Now faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see.” Faith doesn’t mean we have all the answers—it means we trust the One who does. Stepping out in faith is not about believing in our own ability, but believing in God’s faithfulness. And this is where many of us unknowingly limit God—not in what He is capable of doing, but in what we believe He can do in and through us.

Paul reminds us in Ephesians 3:20 that God is “able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us.” God’s power is already at work, but He most often requires our willingness to move: to leave the familiar; to say yes before we feel ready; to trust that obedience will lead us where comfort never could.

So the question for us today is simple, but challenging: What familiar thing might God be asking us to step out of? What steps of faith have we been delaying because it feels uncertain or unfamiliar? The unknown can be scary but it is often the very place where God does His deepest work. When we loosen our grip on what we know and place our trust fully in Him, we discover that God has been faithful all along and that His plans for us are far greater than anything we could have settled for on our own.

“For You created my inmost being; You knit me together in my mother’s womb.” –Psalm 139:13 

Every one of us has a story. And that story is often shaped by our upbringing, our experiences, and the circumstances that surrounded us as we grew. Along the way, voices begin to speak into our lives—parents, teachers, friends, critics, and even painful moments we never asked for. Over time, those voices can start to define how we see ourselves.

But the question we must ask is this: Is it the right story? Who we believe we are is often the result of what others have told us. It’s easy to fall into the mold of who people say we are or who they expect us to be. Rejection, lies, and misplaced expectations have a way of quietly shaping the narrative of our lives. And before we know it, we are living out a story that God never wrote.

Scripture reminds us that who we were before and who we are currently do not always reflect the fullness of who we were called to be: Abraham; Moses; Rahab; David; Esther; Jeremiah; all of the disciples; Mary Magdalene; Paul…these are all people who found new life and a new way of life as they followed God’s plan for them.

Psalm 139:13 tells us that God knit us together in our mother’s womb. That means our lives were not an accident, and our identity was not formed by chance. The One who created us knows us more deeply than anyone else ever could. According to Him, we are fearfully and wonderfully made—designed with intention, value, and purpose.

Jeremiah 29:11 takes it even further: “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord. God doesn’t just know where we’ve been—He knows where we’re going. He has plans filled with hope, purpose, and a future that is greater than the labels placed on us by others or even by ourself.

One of our greatest challenge is that we often live out the wrong story.
We allow our past, our pain, or the opinions of others to dictate our identity, while God is patiently trying to reveal the truth about who we are. If we truly want to become who God intended us to be, both the narrative and the narrator have to change. We must allow God to rewrite our story and listen for His voice to guide us.

That means rejecting the false stories—“I’m not enough,” “I can’t change,” “This is all I’ll ever be.” And it means embracing God’s story—the story of a Creator who formed us with purpose, who knows our future, and who is still at work in our life today. We were not created to live out a broken narrative. We were created to live out His story—a story marked by hope, redemption, and purpose. 

So today, we need to ask ourselves: Whose voice are we listening to? And more importantly—Are we willing to let God rewrite our story? Because the best version of our life begins when we stop believing the wrong narrative and start trusting the Author who created us.

“Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to Him, and He will make your paths straight.”  –Proverbs 3:5-6

This past week, I started a two-part series titled “Waiting for Breakthrough.” The truth is, waiting is one of the hardest parts of following God. We don’t mind trusting Him when the answers come quickly or when His plans align with our expectations. But when God seems silent, when progress feels slow, or when the breakthrough doesn’t come the way we hoped, trust becomes much more difficult. Yet Scripture reminds us that trusting God means releasing our need to understand everything He is doing.

Proverbs 3:5-6 calls us to trust the Lord with ALL our heart—not partially, not conditionally, and not only when things make sense. It invites us to stop leaning on our own understanding, which is often limited by what we can see in the moment. God sees the full picture. He understands what we cannot, and He is always working toward His good purposes, even when the path ahead feels unclear.

The story of Lazarus gives us a powerful picture of this kind of trust. When Lazarus became sick, Jesus did not respond immediately. In fact, He waited two more days before going to him. From Mary and Martha’s perspective, it looked like Jesus had arrived too late. Their understanding told them that the moment for a miracle had passed. But Jesus was not bound by their timeline—or by death itself. What appeared to be delay was actually preparation for something greater.

Jesus’ timing revealed a deeper truth: God’s ways are higher than ours, and His plans are often bigger than what we are praying for. Mary and Martha wanted healing; Jesus brought resurrection. Their breakthrough didn’t come when they expected it. But, when it came, it revealed more of who Jesus truly was.

Many of us find ourselves in a similar place today. We are waiting on God for answers, direction, healing, or restoration, and it feels like nothing is happening. But Proverbs reminds us that trust is not rooted in understanding—it’s rooted in surrender. When we choose to trust God with our whole heart and submit our ways to Him, we can be confident that He is guiding us, even when the road feels uncertain.

God’s timing is never early and never late. It is always just right. If you’re in a season of waiting, don’t give up. Keep trusting. Keep surrendering. The same God who worked powerfully in His perfect time for Lazarus is still working today—and He will make your path straight, even when the breakthrough takes longer than you hoped.