Tag: Brokeness

Before We Speak

Today’s a new day! 

In a world overflowing with criticism, outrage, and division, followers of Jesus are called to respond differently. It is easy to point out someone’s failures. It is easy to condemn, shame, or speak harshly when people fall short. But Christ never called His people to become professional judges of broken humanity. He called us to become carriers of grace, truth, and prayer. Before we rush to criticize someone’s life, we should first fall to our knees and pray for their heart. Before we speak words of condemnation, we should ask God to move in their life the same way He once moved in ours.

Every person you see fighting battles, making mistakes, or wandering far from God is still someone deeply loved by the Creator. Many people are carrying wounds nobody knows about. Some are drowning in fear, addiction, loneliness, bitterness, or shame. They do not need believers throwing stones from a distance; they need people willing to intercede for them with compassion. Jesus showed us what mercy looks like. Even while hanging on the cross, He prayed, “Father, forgive them.” If the Son of God responded to hatred with prayer and forgiveness, how much more should we?

Pray more than you judge. Pray more than you condemn. Pray for your family members who seem far from God. Pray for those who hurt you. Pray for those trapped in sin. Pray for those who mock your faith. Prayer has the power to soften hardened hearts, restore broken lives, and bring people into an encounter with Jesus that no argument ever could. Condemnation pushes people further into darkness, but prayer invites the light of God into impossible situations.

The Church shines brightest when it reflects the heart of Christ. Truth matters, but truth without love becomes noise. We are called to stand for righteousness while still extending mercy to people who desperately need hope. None of us were saved because we were perfect; we were saved because Jesus loved us in the middle of our brokenness. May we become believers known not for harsh judgment, but for powerful prayers, compassionate hearts, and a relentless desire to see people redeemed by the grace of God. ~OC

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Mental Health And The Church

Today’s a new day! May is Mental Health Awareness Month, so I wanted to share the following with you. 

The Church has not always handled mental health well. Too many people have been told to “just pray harder,” as if anxiety, depression, trauma, or emotional exhaustion are signs of weak faith. Some believers sit in pews every Sunday carrying panic attacks, grief, addiction, suicidal thoughts, or deep loneliness while smiling through worship songs because they are afraid of being judged. The truth is, loving Jesus does not make someone immune to mental struggles. Even great men and women in Scripture wrestled with despair, fear, exhaustion, and heartbreak. Faith does not erase the reality of being human.

There is nothing unspiritual about having a therapist. Therapy is not replacing God; it can be one of the ways God helps heal people. We do not shame someone for seeing a doctor when they break a bone or have cancer, so we should not shame someone for getting help with their mind and emotions. God can work through pastors, prayer, Scripture, worship, medicine, counselors, and therapists. Sometimes healing comes in a miracle, and sometimes healing comes in honest conversations in an office where someone finally feels safe enough to say, “I’m not okay.”

The Church needs to become a place where people can be real instead of pretending they have it all together. Too often Christians feel pressured to perform holiness while secretly falling apart inside. But Jesus never pushed away the broken. He moved toward them. He sat with hurting people. He listened. He restored dignity. The Church should be the safest place on earth to admit pain, not the most terrifying place to confess it.

If you are struggling mentally or emotionally, needing help does not make you weak, broken, or less Christian. It makes you human. Keep praying. Keep trusting God. But also take the steps toward healing that are in front of you. Talk to someone. Reach out for help. Healing is not always instant, and recovery is not always neat, but God still walks with people through the process. Sometimes faith looks less like pretending to be strong and more like having the courage to finally say, “Lord, I need help.” ~OC

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The Limp of Faith, The Swagger of Grace

Today’s a new day!

When we truly surrender to Jesus, we often imagine peace, clarity, and a smoother path ahead—and in many ways, that’s true. But surrender also places us on a road that runs against the grain of the world. To live out His teachings, to walk in truth, grace, and conviction, is to stand in contrast to a culture that often resists both. Jesus never hid this reality. He made it clear that following Him would come with a cost—misunderstanding, rejection, and even ridicule. And yet, that cost is not a sign that something has gone wrong; it’s often evidence that something has gone right.

There will be moments when obedience feels lonely, when doing the right thing makes you the target instead of the example. People may question your choices, mock your faith, or walk away because your life reflects something they don’t understand or don’t want to confront. In those moments, it’s tempting to shrink back, to soften the message, or to blend in just enough to avoid the discomfort. But surrender isn’t partial—it’s whole. And walking with Jesus means continuing forward, even when the path is steep and the crowd thins out.

So if you find yourself walking through seasons of resistance, don’t stop walking. Even if you walk with a limp—wounded by words, weary from the journey, or burdened by the weight of it all—keep moving. God has never required perfection; He honors perseverance. A limp doesn’t disqualify you, it testifies that you’ve been in the fight and you’re still standing. Your faith is not proven in comfort, but in your willingness to keep going when it would be easier to quit.

And as you walk, walk with a spiritual swagger—not arrogance, but confidence rooted in who you belong to. There’s a quiet boldness that comes from knowing your identity is secure in Christ. It’s the kind of confidence that doesn’t need validation from the world because it’s anchored in eternal truth. You don’t have to shout to be strong. Sometimes the strongest statement you can make is simply refusing to turn back.

So walk on. Walk through the criticism, through the doubt, through the isolation if it comes. Walk with humility, but also with authority. Walk with grace, but also with conviction. And whether your steps are steady or uneven, take them knowing that Jesus walks with you—every step, every stumble, every victory. ~OC

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A Calling. A Challenge

Today’s a new day!

There are moments when numbers stop being statistics and start becoming something deeply personal. Right now is one of those moments.

Roughly 3 to 3.4 billion people in the world have had little to no access to the Gospel of Jesus Christ. That’s about 40–42% of the global population. Take a moment and really sit with that. Those aren’t just figures on a page. Each number represents a life. A story. A soul created with purpose, longing for truth, searching for hope—whether they realize it yet or not.

It’s easy to feel overwhelmed by a number that large. It can seem distant, like a problem too big for any one person to impact. But the Gospel has never spread because of massive systems alone—it has always moved from person to person, heart to heart, conversation to conversation. And that brings the reality closer than we might be comfortable admitting. 

Because at some point, it becomes personal.

Many of us know the quiet tension that rises when we feel prompted to share our faith. The hesitation. The inner dialogue. What if they reject me? What if they think I’m strange? What if I say the wrong thing? Fear of rejection and ridicule can be powerful enough to silence even the most sincere believer.

But here’s the question we have to wrestle with: what are we more concerned about—the temporary discomfort of being rejected, or the eternal reality that we might be the only person who ever shares Jesus with that individual?

That shifts everything.

We often assume someone else will step in. Someone more equipped, more confident, more eloquent. But what if there is no one else? What if the opportunity in front of you isn’t random, but intentional? A divine appointment placed in your path for a reason?

Jesus didn’t call His followers to comfort—He called them to purpose. He didn’t promise that every conversation would be easy or well received, but He did make it clear that every soul matters. His love is not meant to be contained; it’s meant to be shared. Boldly. Compassionately. Authentically.

And sharing doesn’t always look like standing on a stage or having all the right answers. Sometimes it looks like a simple conversation. A testimony. A moment of kindness that opens the door to something deeper. Sometimes it’s just being willing—available to be used.

The world is searching. Beneath the noise, the distractions, and the brokenness, there is a deep hunger for hope and truth. The message of Jesus is still life-changing. Still healing. Still the answer.

So the question remains: what will we do with the opportunity in front of us?

Will we allow fear to keep us silent, or will we step forward in faith, trusting that God can use even our imperfect words? Will we focus on how we might be perceived, or on the eternal impact a single conversation could have?

Every day presents moments that matter more than we realize. Moments where eternity brushes up against the ordinary. Moments where a simple act of obedience can ripple far beyond what we can see.

Those billions of people aren’t just “out there.” They are closer than we think—in our communities, our workplaces, our daily routines.

And maybe, just maybe, one of them is waiting for someone like you to speak up. ~OC

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The Story Behind The Music 

Today’s a new day!

People often ask me how I started writing music, and the honest answer might surprise them—I don’t come from some deep well of musical training or natural talent. I’ve never claimed to be a musician in the traditional sense. But what I have always had is an ear for music and a mind full of thoughts that never seem to sit still. For years, those thoughts found their way into blog posts, journal entries, and scattered writings. I didn’t realize at the time that God was planting seeds—words that would one day find a different kind of rhythm and voice.

As time has gone on, I’ve heard people assume that what I write must just be random phrases plugged into some app, especially with how much AI is shaping the world around us. But I want to be clear—every word I share comes from a real place. It comes from my heart, from my experiences, and from what strength I still have to express what’s inside me. These songs aren’t manufactured; they’re lived. They are pieces of my journey, shaped by faith, struggle, and the quiet moments where God meets me right where I am. Yes, the vocals and music are AI generated, but each word, each vocal and style of music comes from God inspired inspiration. And a lot of late nights.

The turning point came during a time of prayer. I felt God speaking to my spirit, nudging me to take those old writings and begin turning them into songs. My first response was hesitation—I told Him plainly, “I don’t know how to write music.” But in that stillness, I felt His answer just as clearly: I do. It wasn’t about technique or training; it was about obedience. So I started, unsure but willing, trusting that if He called me to it, He would carry me through it.

Not long after, I prayed a simple but bold prayer—that God would give me something new to write every single day. And in His faithfulness, He has answered that prayer again and again. Each morning brings a new thought, a new message, a new opportunity to share something He’s placed on my heart. That’s why so many of you receive those daily texts or posts—it’s not routine, it’s provision. This journey isn’t about becoming a great songwriter; it’s about being a willing vessel. And as long as He keeps giving me the words, I’ll keep writing them. ~OC

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Idolatry Is Killing the Church: Putting Jesus Above Politics

There is a quiet crisis unfolding within the Church today—one that is not always visible from the outside, yet deeply felt in the spirit. It is not persecution from the world, nor a lack of resources, nor even declining attendance. It is something far more dangerous: idolatry.

Idolatry is not just the worship of carved images or ancient gods. It is anything that takes the rightful place of Jesus in our hearts. And today, one of the most subtle and pervasive forms of idolatry in the Church is the elevation of politics above Christ.

When political identity becomes more important than spiritual identity, something has gone terribly wrong. When believers are more passionate about defending a party than proclaiming the Gospel, we have misplaced our allegiance. When unity in Christ is sacrificed for political agreement, we are no longer building the Kingdom—we are dividing it.

Jesus never called us to be ambassadors of political systems. He called us to be ambassadors of His Kingdom.

In John 18:36, Jesus said, “My kingdom is not of this world.” Yet many in the Church today live as though it is. We cling to earthly power, believing it will accomplish what only the Holy Spirit can do. We justify attitudes, words, and actions that contradict the very teachings of Christ, all in the name of protecting a political cause.

This is not righteousness. This is idolatry.

The early Church changed the world not through political dominance, but through radical love, humility, and unwavering devotion to Jesus. They didn’t have influence in government—but they had the power of the Gospel. They didn’t seek control—they sought surrender.

Somewhere along the way, we traded the cross for a platform, the Gospel for a talking point, and the mission of Christ for the mission of man.

The result? A watching world that no longer sees Jesus clearly through His Church.

If we are honest, many people outside the Church associate Christianity more with political arguments than with the love of Christ. That should grieve us. Because Jesus said the world would know us by our love—not our affiliations, not our opinions, not our ability to win debates.

The solution is not to abandon civic responsibility or ignore the issues of our day. Christians can and should engage in society. But our engagement must flow from our identity in Christ—not replace it.

We must return to our first love.

Jesus must be above every ideology, every platform, every candidate, and every cause. Our hope is not in governments, but in God. Our mission is not to win elections, but to win hearts. Our calling is not to mirror the world, but to reflect Christ.

It starts with humility. Repenting where we have allowed politics to shape our faith instead of allowing our faith to shape how we engage the world.

It continues with realignment. Re-centering our lives on the teachings of Jesus—His compassion, His truth, His grace, His holiness.

And it is sustained by surrender. Daily choosing to lay down every idol, visible or hidden, and declaring with our lives: Jesus is Lord.

The Church does not need more political power. It needs more spiritual authority. It needs believers who are so rooted in Christ that nothing else can take His place.

Idolatry is killing the Church—but it doesn’t have to.

If we lift Jesus back to where He belongs—above all things—we may just see revival begin again. ~OC

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All-Time Low

The bar for character and respect among our politicians in America has been lowered so dramatically that it almost feels invisible. What once required integrity, humility, and a genuine sense of service now seems optional—so much so that you don’t even have to jump anymore to clear it. As Christians, this reality should not simply frustrate us; it should challenge us. Scripture reminds us in Philippians 4:8 to dwell on what is true, noble, right, pure, and admirable. When public leadership drifts from these values, it becomes even more important for believers to stand firmly in them, not just in what we expect from others, but in how we live our own lives.

It’s easy to point fingers at leaders and lament the cultural decline, but Jesus calls us to a higher standard. In Matthew 5:13–16, we are described as the salt and light of the world—preserving what is good and illuminating what is right. If the moral bar has fallen in politics, then the responsibility of Christians is not to lower our expectations, but to raise our witness. We are called to model respect, truthfulness, and grace in our conversations, even when others do not. Our hope is not in human leaders, but in God’s unchanging character. And through our daily actions, we can reflect His righteousness in a world that desperately needs it. ~OC

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No Authority

Today’s a new day!

Fear is a powerful emotion, but as a believer, it does not have authority over your life. Scripture reminds us time and time again that God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power, love, and a sound mind. When fear tries to creep in—whether it’s fear of the unknown, fear of failure, or fear of loss—you can stand firm knowing that it does not come from God. Instead, it is something you are called to resist through faith. God’s presence in your life is greater than any anxiety that tries to take hold, and His promises are unshakable even when your circumstances feel uncertain.

Walking in freedom from fear requires trust. It means choosing to believe God’s truth over your feelings. Fear may speak loudly, but it does not have the final say—God does. When you anchor your heart in His Word, you begin to see that fear loses its grip. You are not defined by your worries or limited by your doubts; you are defined by who God says you are: chosen, loved, and secure in Him. As you continue to lean into His presence, you’ll find that courage rises, peace settles in, and fear fades into the background where it belongs—powerless and without authority over your life. ~OC

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Through The Eyes Of A Thief

The sky darkens in a way I’ve never seen before, though I’ve spent my life in the shadows. I hang here, condemned, my body wracked with pain, my past heavier than the crossbeam upon my shoulders. I deserve this, I know it. Every selfish choice, every hardened moment has led me to this hill. Beside me, another man curses, demanding rescue, demanding proof. But I have no demands left—only the bitter clarity that comes when there is nothing left to lose. And then I look at Him.

There is something different about the man in the middle. He does not spit back insults. He does not fight for breath with rage, but with mercy. I hear Him pray—not for Himself, but for those who have nailed Him here. “Father, forgive them.” Forgive them? In that moment, the weight of my own guilt presses deeper, yet strangely, hope flickers where despair once lived. If He can ask forgiveness for them, could there be mercy even for me?

With what strength I have left, I speak—not to mock, but to confess. I deserve this. He does not. And then, with a trembling voice, I ask the unthinkable: “Remember me.” Not save me from this cross, not erase my past—but remember me. It is a small plea from a broken man. Yet His reply is immediate, certain, and filled with a grace I have never known: “Today, you will be with me in paradise.” In the shadow of death, I find life. On a cross meant for punishment, I receive a promise.

As the darkness deepens, fear loosens its grip. My circumstances have not changed, but everything else has. The man beside me is not just another condemned soul—He is a King whose kingdom begins where mine ends. And somehow, by His mercy, I am invited in. This is Good Friday through my eyes: not the end of a life, but the beginning of eternity. ~OC

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Comfortable, But Miserable

Today’s a new day! We are living in one of the easiest eras in human history. With a few taps on a screen, we can access more information than entire generations before us could gather in a lifetime. We enjoy conveniences that kings and queens once could not imagine—climate-controlled homes, instant communication, endless entertainment, and medical advancements that have extended life expectancy across the globe. In many parts of the world, particularly here in the United States, comfort and accessibility are woven into daily life. Yet despite all this ease, anxiety, depression, burnout, and emotional exhaustion are rising at alarming rates. We are informed, connected, and comfortable—yet deeply weary.

This contrast reveals a spiritual truth: comfort does not equal peace. Information does not equal wisdom. And constant connectivity does not equal true community. Scripture reminds us in Ecclesiastes that “the more knowledge increases, the more sorrow increases.” We are bombarded with news, opinions, crises, and comparisons every single day. Social media invites us to measure our lives against curated highlights. Work follows us home through emails and notifications. Our souls were not designed to carry the weight of the entire world’s problems at once.

Jesus offers a different way. In Matthew 11:28, He says, “Come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” Notice that He does not promise more information, more productivity, or more control. He promises rest. True rest is not found in better algorithms or more efficient schedules—it is found in surrender. It is found in laying our anxious thoughts before God and trusting that He is sovereign even when the world feels overwhelming.

Perhaps the reason mental health struggles are at an all-time high in the most comfortable age is because we have tried to replace dependence on God with dependence on convenience. Comfort can numb us, but it cannot heal us. Technology can connect us, but it cannot restore our souls. Only Christ can do that. As believers, we are invited to slow down, to unplug, to pray, and to remember that our worth is not measured by productivity or performance but by the unchanging love of God.

In the easiest of times, may we choose the deeper path. May we seek not just comfort, but communion. Not just information, but transformation. And may we find that even in an anxious age, the peace of Christ is still available—steady, unshaken, and freely given. ~OC

***Check out the Spoken Word version of this post at my YouTube channel Todd E. Shoemaker Music.

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