At that time Jesus said, “I praise you, Father . . .” (Matthew 11:25) I was sitting in a Sunday service recently listening to my pastor talk about the importance of staying close to God, and my mind started comparing my spiritual walk lately to a car that just won’t start. The picture came so…
“But those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.”— Isaiah 40:31 When God created the earth, He didn’t make a single thing to stand on its own two feet forever. Not an…
The cursor blinks on the white screen with a rhythmic, judgmental pulse while the dryer hums in the distance. This simple electronic heartbeat feels less like an invitation to work and more like the sheer, smooth wall of a deep pit I cannot climb out of. You can spend your whole life analyzing the wind for the perfect conditions, or you can trust the Master of the Harvest and just start sowing.
I read the comments following a recent tragedy and felt a deep chill at the gleeful cruelty on display. It seems we have traded the grace of grieving for the cheap thrill of turning our enemies’ pain into a punchline. We are in danger of letting our politics harden our hearts into stone. The command to love our enemies has never been more difficult, or more necessary, than it is right now.
In this story, Allen recounts a maddening ordeal at a car dealership—complete with “missing keys,” long waits, and managers who are perpetually “at lunch”—that taught him more about spiritual warfare than any sermon . He realizes these exhausting tactics of delay and deception aren’t just for selling sedans; they’re the exact same playbook the enemy uses to wear down our spiritual defenses . Sometimes the devil doesn’t attack with fire and pitchforks, but with a smile and a promise that he’ll be “right back” .
I used to sit ten feet away from a tiny black-and-white TV, mesmerized by the lifelike masks on Mission: Impossible. It took me years to realize that the exotic worlds on the screen were just painted backdrops on a studio lot. We often fall for the same illusion today, mortgaging our peace to buy a version of the “good life” that turns out to be nothing more than a hollow prop.
Standing in the chaos of a sixth-grade classroom, I realized the noise felt less like my old routine and more like a hurricane. That moment forced me to admit that I am no longer a teacher who writes, but a writer who occasionally teaches. It turns out that “turning pro” isn’t about the size of your paycheck, but the internal decision to finally embrace the work you were called to do.
I recently stepped into a sixth-grade classroom and was met with a literal tsunami of energy that made me thank God I spent most of my career teaching seniors. Watching kids with the attention spans of gnats on caffeine reminded me that while there is a beauty in staying “young at heart,” there is a hidden danger in staying “childish in spirit.” If you find yourself easily unsettled by the noise of the world, come read why spiritual maturity isn’t about losing your joy—it’s about gaining the stability to spot a counterfeit from a mile away.
I watched a string of crude profanity and a lecture on atheism land in my notifications like a wild pitch aimed right for my head. My first instinct as a former teacher was to lob a verbal grenade back, but then I remembered a specific promise about how Jesus handles a bruised reed. If you’ve ever felt the sting of an unfair insult, there is a better way to respond than swinging back.