Tag: Brokeness

Lead By Example

Today’s a new day!

True leadership isn’t about asking others to walk a road you’ve never traveled. It’s about being willing to take the hard falls, endure the painful lessons, and face the storms before asking others to follow.

A great leader doesn’t hide the scars. They share the pain, the struggles, and the lessons learned along the way—not to gain sympathy, but to help someone else avoid the same pitfalls.

The greatest leaders don’t just show people the way; they walk the road with them.

You don’t have to be perfect to lead. You just have to be willing to be honest, vulnerable, and courageous enough to say, “I’ve been there. I’ve fallen, I’ve hurt, and I’ve learned. Let me help you keep going.”

And as followers of Jesus, may we always remember that He didn’t simply point us toward the cross. He carried His own cross and showed us what sacrificial love looks like.

Lead with humility. Share your scars. Lift others up.

Because sometimes, the pain you’ve survived becomes the wisdom someone else needs to survive their own storm. ~OC

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Why Am I Still Alive?

Today’s a new day!

Twenty-four years. Multiple diagnoses. Countless tests, treatments, surgeries, hospitalizations, and moments when the future looked anything but certain. And somehow, by the grace of God, I am still here.

Sometimes I sit back and ask myself a question that I don’t always know how to answer.

WHY AM I STILL ALIVE?

I’m not asking that question for attention. I’m not asking it because I want people to feel sorry for me. And I’m certainly not asking it because I believe I’m stronger than someone else who didn’t survive their battle.

I’m asking because, after everything my body has endured over the last twenty-four years, there are moments when I honestly don’t understand how I’m still standing.

I’ve lived with multiple life threatening health issues. I have experienced moments when my health has deteriorated so badly that living another day wasn’t something I could take for granted.

I’ve heard the medical predictions. I’ve faced the uncertainty. I’ve endured the pain, the exhaustion, and the frustration of watching my body struggle to do things that once came naturally.

I’ve experienced moments when speaking was difficult, when my body wouldn’t cooperate, and when the future seemed to be slipping away from me.

I’ve spent time in intensive care. I’ve faced hospitalizations when things didn’t look good. I’ve experienced the kind of physical suffering that is difficult to explain to someone who hasn’t walked a similar road.

And through it all, one question continues to follow me.

WHY HAS GOD ALLOWED ME TO LIVE WHEN SO MANY TIMES IT SEEMED LIKE MY STORY SHOULD HAVE ENDED?

I wish I had a simple answer.

I don’t.

But I know this: JESUS. ONLY JESUS.

I’m not claiming that I understand every medical explanation, every close call, or every reason I’ve survived. I’m not suggesting that faith means we never need doctors, medicine, treatments, or the hands of medical professionals. God has worked through many of those people and resources in my life, and I am grateful for them.

I’m also not going to pretend that every day is a victory lap.

Some days hurt. Some nights seem endless. There are moments when the exhaustion runs deeper than words can explain. There are things I miss about the life I once had, and there are battles I never imagined I would have to fight.

My faith doesn’t make me immune to fear, frustration, grief, or questions.

Faith simply gives me somewhere to take those things.

I take them to Jesus.

Sometimes my prayers are long and full of words. Other times, all I can manage is a whisper. And sometimes, when I don’t have the strength to say anything at all, I simply hold on to the truth that He is still there.

I have learned that you don’t have to understand everything God is doing to trust Him with your life.

You don’t have to feel strong to keep believing.

And you don’t have to pretend everything is okay to have genuine faith.

I’M STILL HERE, BUT I’M NOT GOING TO PRETEND I KNOW WHY.

People sometimes talk about surviving as though it automatically makes someone a hero. But I don’t see myself that way.

I’m a husband. I’m a son. I’m a friend. I’m a child of God.

I’m a man who has experienced more medical battles than he ever expected, a man who has had to learn how to live with a body that doesn’t always cooperate, and a man who still has questions about what tomorrow might bring.

I’m not alive because I figured out some secret to beating every illness.

I’m not alive because I never became afraid.

And I’m certainly not alive because I have somehow earned more of God’s favor than someone who lost their battle.

I am still here, and I am deeply grateful for every additional day I have been given.

I believe Jesus has carried me through moments when I didn’t have the strength to carry myself. I believe His presence has sustained me when the circumstances around me offered very little comfort. I believe there is still purpose in loving people, encouraging others, sharing my faith, and telling the truth about what it means to walk through suffering.

But I cannot tell you with certainty why my story continues while someone else’s ended.

I won’t pretend to know God’s complete plan.

What I can tell you is that my survival has made me more aware of how precious life is, how fragile our bodies can be, and how desperately we need grace.

I no longer want to waste my life chasing things that don’t matter.

I want to love my wife well. I want to encourage the brokenhearted. I want to stand beside people who feel forgotten. I want to remind those who are struggling that their diagnoses do not erase their dignity, their value, or their identity.

I want people to see Jesus in the way I live, not simply in the words I write.

If I have another twenty years, I want to use them well.

If I have twenty more days, I want to use them well.

And if tomorrow brings another medical battle, I pray I will face it with the same Savior who has sustained me through the battles behind me.

Because the number of days I have left is not something I can control.

What I do with the day I’ve been given is something I can choose.

JESUS NEVER PROMISED ME AN EASY ROAD.

One of the hardest lessons I’ve learned is that following Jesus doesn’t mean we get to skip suffering.

Faithful people get sick.

Faithful people experience pain.

Faithful people sit beside hospital beds, receive devastating diagnoses, and sometimes bury the people they prayed would be healed.

And sometimes, despite our most desperate prayers, the outcome isn’t what we hoped for.

I believe in miracles. I’ve experienced moments in my own journey that I can only describe as miraculous. I believe God can heal, restore, strengthen, and do things beyond our understanding.

But I also believe that Jesus is worthy of our trust when healing doesn’t come the way we prayed it would.

My faith cannot depend entirely on whether my body gets better.

If I make physical healing the only evidence of God’s goodness, what happens on the days when my symptoms worsen? What happens when another diagnosis arrives? What happens when I wake up hurting?

Does that mean God has abandoned me?

No.

My circumstances may change. My physical abilities may change. My future may look different from the one I imagined.

But my identity in Christ does not depend on the condition of my body.

Paul wrote in 2 Corinthians 12:9 that God’s grace is sufficient and that His power is made perfect in weakness.

That Scripture means something different to me now than it did before I became seriously ill.

I understand that weakness isn’t always something we overcome in the way we hoped. Sometimes weakness is something we learn to live with while discovering that God’s grace is still sufficient.

Sometimes overcoming means getting out of bed.

Sometimes it means enduring another treatment.

Sometimes it means asking for help when our pride tells us not to.

Sometimes it means crying, praying, and getting through one more difficult day.

And sometimes, overcoming simply means refusing to believe that our suffering has made our lives meaningless.

I AM STILL AN OVERCOMER, EVEN ON THE DAYS WHEN I FEEL OVERWHELMED.

Not because I always win the battles I fight, but because my identity is rooted in the One who holds me through them.

SO, WHY AM I STILL ALIVE?

After twenty-four years of health battles, I could give you a dozen answers.

Medical professionals have treated me. My wife, Laura, has stood beside me through more than most people could imagine. Family and friends have prayed for me. People have encouraged me when I needed encouragement.

I am grateful for every single one of them.

But when I look back over the moments when I wondered whether I would survive, when I think about the times I had almost nothing left to give, and when I consider how much of this journey has been beyond my control, I keep coming back to the same place.

JESUS.

Not because I can explain every moment.

Not because I know what tomorrow holds.

Not because I believe I am guaranteed another miracle.

But because, in the middle of all my unanswered questions, He remains the foundation of my faith.

I don’t know how many more years I have.

I don’t know what the next diagnosis, treatment, or hospitalization might bring.

I don’t know whether the hardest part of my journey is behind me or still ahead.

But I know I don’t want to spend whatever time I have left living in fear of what might happen.

I want to live with purpose.

I want to love deeply.

I want to forgive freely.

I want to encourage relentlessly.

I want to tell people about the hope I’ve found in Jesus without pretending that following Him makes life easy.

And I want to remind people who are fighting battles of their own that they are more than the worst thing that has happened to them.

You are more than your diagnosis.

You are more than your mistakes.

You are more than the opinions of people who don’t understand your journey.

And you are not forgotten simply because your life looks different from the one you imagined.

I cannot promise you that everything will work out the way you want it to. I cannot promise that every prayer will be answered in the way you hope.

But I can tell you that you do not have to walk through your suffering alone.

Jesus meets us in the broken places. He gives us grace for the moments when we have none left to give ourselves. And He reminds us that our worth was never determined by our strength, our health, or our ability to keep everything together.

I am still here. I am still fighting. I am still believing. And I am still trusting Jesus.

Not because I have all the answers.

But because I know where to turn when I don’t.

Twenty-four years ago, I could never have imagined the road I would travel. I never would have chosen it. I would never wish these battles on anyone.

But I am here.

And as long as I am here, I want my life to point beyond me.

I want people to see more than a man with multiple medical diagnoses. I want them to see a husband who loves his wife, a friend who cares about people, a man who still believes in the power of prayer, and a child of God who is learning to trust Jesus one day at a time.

I don’t need to understand every chapter to be grateful that my story is still being written.

And I don’t need to know how many pages remain to make the next one count.

WHY AM I STILL ALIVE?

I don’t know the complete answer.

But I know who I am trusting with the question.

His name is Jesus.

And until He calls me home, I will keep loving, keep serving, keep believing, keep encouraging, and keep overcoming.

Not perfectly.

Not without pain.

Not without questions.

But by His grace, one day at a time.

ONLY JESUS KNOWS WHY I’M STILL HERE. SO, JESUS, WHILE I’M HERE, PLEASE HELP ME MAKE MY LIFE COUNT.

“For to me, to live is Christ, and to die is gain.” — Philippians 1:21

KEEP FIGHTING. KEEP BELIEVING. KEEP LOVING. KEEP OVERCOMING.

Your health issues may be part of your story, but they do not get to define the entirety of your life. Your story is still about the person you love, the people you encourage, the grace you extend, and the Jesus you follow.

— A Blessed Overcomer, still walking by faith. ~OC

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Let’s Build An Invite and Invest Society

I think we need a different kind of society.

Not a society built around exclusion, division, suspicion, and “us versus them.”

Not a society where we constantly ask who belongs, who doesn’t belong, who deserves help, or who is worthy of our attention.

I want to live in an Invite & Invest society.

A society where we look around and ask:

“Who can I invite in?”

And then:

“How can I invest in them?”

Because an invitation can change someone’s life.

Invite someone to your table.

Invite someone into your home.

Invite someone into the conversation.

Invite someone who feels forgotten.

Invite someone who doesn’t look like you.

Invite someone who doesn’t vote like you.

Invite someone who doesn’t worship like you.

Invite someone who comes from somewhere different.

Invite someone who simply needs a friend.

Sometimes the greatest gift we can give another person is the simple message:

“There is a place for you here.”

But don’t stop with the invitation.

Invest.

Invest your time.

Invest your attention.

Invest your encouragement.

Invest your experience.

Invest your resources.

Invest your relationships.

Invest your wisdom.

Invest your prayers.

Invest in someone’s dreams.

Invest in someone’s potential.

Invest in someone who needs a second chance.

Invest in someone who hasn’t yet discovered what they are capable of becoming.

Because people aren’t investments in the financial sense.

They are investments in the human sense.

And the return isn’t money.

The return is changed lives.

A young person who discovers their purpose.

A struggling neighbor who realizes they aren’t alone.

A discouraged friend who finds hope again.

A stranger who becomes a friend.

A broken person who begins to heal.

A community that becomes stronger because people decided to care about one another.

That’s what happens when we invest in people.

And here’s the beautiful thing:

You don’t have to be rich to invest in someone.

You can invest five minutes.

You can make a phone call.

You can send a text.

You can listen.

You can encourage.

You can teach.

You can introduce someone to an opportunity.

You can buy someone a meal.

You can give someone a ride.

You can mentor someone.

You can open a door.

You can simply show up.

Sometimes investing in people means saying:

“I believe in you.”

And sometimes it means saying:

“I’m not giving up on you.”

We live in a world that seems determined to put people into categories.

Left.

Right.

Rich.

Poor.

Christian.

Non-Christian.

Citizen.

Immigrant.

Insider.

Outsider.

Us.

Them.

But before we are any of those things, we are human beings.

And every human being has a story.

Every human being carries something we may know nothing about.

Every human being has value.

Every human being deserves dignity.

And every human being has the potential to make a difference.

So let’s stop asking:

“What can this person do for me?”

Let’s start asking:

“What can I pour into this person?”

Let’s stop asking:

“Do they deserve an invitation?”

Let’s start asking:

“How can I make them feel welcome?”

Let’s stop waiting for someone else to make a difference.

Let’s be the difference.

Invite the lonely.

Invest in the young.

Encourage the discouraged.

Welcome the stranger.

Mentor the searching.

Stand beside the hurting.

Celebrate someone else’s success.

Give someone a second chance.

Open a door for someone who has been standing outside.

And when you have the opportunity to lift someone up, do it.

Because someday, you may be the person who needs someone else to do the same for you.

Imagine neighborhoods where people actually know their neighbors.

Imagine churches where nobody walks through the doors feeling invisible.

Imagine schools where every child has at least one adult who believes in them.

Imagine workplaces where people are valued as human beings, not simply as employees.

Imagine communities where generosity is normal.

Imagine a country where we could disagree without dehumanizing one another.

Imagine what could happen if we became known not for the people we kept out…

but for the people we invited in and invested in.

That’s the society I want.

An Invite & Invest society.

Because we may never know what one invitation will lead to.

We may never know what one conversation will change.

We may never know what one act of kindness will mean to someone.

We may never know whose life will be different because we chose to believe in them.

But that’s okay.

We don’t have to know.

We just have to be willing to invest.

So today, look around.

Who needs an invitation?

Who needs encouragement?

Who needs someone to listen?

Who needs an opportunity?

Who needs a second chance?

Who needs someone to believe in them?

Go find them.

Invite them in.

Pull up another chair.

Make room at the table.

And then invest your time, your heart, your wisdom, your resources and your love.

Because I believe we can build something better.

Not by building higher walls…

but by building longer tables.

Not by asking who belongs…

but by making room.

Not by tearing people down…

but by investing in people and helping them rise.

Invite.
Invest.
Encourage.
Believe.
Love.

Let’s build an Invite & Invest society.

Because there is always room for one more at the table. ~OC

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Dear Christians, Please Stop the Hate

Dear Christians,

Please stop the hate.

We live in a world that desperately needs Jesus, but sometimes the loudest voices claiming to represent Him are not reflecting Him at all.

We talk about Jesus, but do we love like Jesus?

We quote Scripture, but do we live it?

We defend our beliefs, but do we remember the words Jesus actually spoke?

The red letters of the Bible call us to love our enemies, pray for those who hurt us, forgive, show mercy, care for the hurting, welcome the stranger, serve the least of these, and love our neighbors as ourselves.

That isn’t weakness.

That is Christianity.

Jesus didn’t tell us to win every argument. He told us to love one another.

He didn’t tell us to build walls around ourselves. He told us to go and make disciples.

He didn’t tell us to hate people who disagree with us. He showed us how to love people who were different from Him.

So, dear Christians, let’s stop using Jesus as a weapon and start following Jesus as our Savior.

Let’s put down the hate.

Let’s put down the outrage.

Let’s put down the judgment.

And let’s pick up love, grace, mercy, compassion, forgiveness and truth.

Don’t just wear the name Christian. Live like Christ.

The world doesn’t need more people shouting about Jesus.

The world needs more people who actually live like Jesus.

“By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.” — John 13:35

Love like Jesus.
Serve like Jesus.
Forgive like Jesus.
Live like Jesus.

That’s what the red letters are calling us to do. ~OC

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Dear America, I’m Tired

I’M TIRED.

I’m tired of the lies.
I’m tired of the misinformation.
I’m tired of the arrogance.
And I’m tired of being told that everything is better when so many Americans are struggling to see it in their own lives.

As an American, I don’t want to blindly defend a political party or a president. I want to defend truth, accountability, freedom, and the people who call this country home.

The numbers matter.

Inflation is still putting pressure on American families. The latest BLS report shows consumer prices were up 3.4% over the previous year, while real average hourly earnings declined in August.

And we are now months into a war with Iran that has already cost tens of billions of dollars. A September Reuters/Ipsos poll found that only 25% of Americans considered the war worthwhile, while 82% expected the conflict to continue for an extended period.

That isn’t something we should simply accept because someone tells us it’s necessary.

Questioning our government isn’t being anti-American.

Demanding honesty isn’t being disloyal.

Wanting peace isn’t weakness.

And asking whether our leaders are actually making life better for ordinary Americans isn’t political extremism.

It is citizenship.

I don’t expect every American to agree with me. In fact, I believe disagreement is part of what makes our country work.

But I do expect us to demand more from those entrusted with enormous power.

Less arrogance.
Less propaganda.
Less division.
Less blaming.
Less pretending everything is perfect.

And more truth.
More humility.
More accountability.
More listening.
More diplomacy.
More concern for working families, veterans, children, seniors, and people who are simply trying to survive.

I don’t want America to fail.

Quite the opposite.

I want America to heal.

I want America to come together.

I want leaders who understand that serving the American people is a privilege—not a personal kingdom.

So I’m praying.

I’m praying for new beginnings.

I’m praying for real leadership.

I’m praying for wisdom in Washington and peace around the world.

And I’m praying that Americans—regardless of political party—will stop allowing politicians to convince us that we have to hate one another in order to love our country.

We can do better.

America can and must do better.

And I still believe there is hope.

God, give us leaders with wisdom, humility, courage, integrity, and a genuine heart for the people they serve. And give us the courage to demand nothing less. Amen. ~OC

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The Mountain

Is God is calling you to climb a mountain?

You’ve been staring at this mountain long enough.

The diagnosis.
The disappointment.
The betrayal.
The loss.
The fear.
The rejection.
The impossible situation.

And somewhere along the way, you started believing that because the mountain is BIG, your God must be small.

NO.

Caleb stood at 85 years old and looked at a mountain filled with giants and said:

“GIVE ME THIS MOUNTAIN.”

Not give me an easier assignment.
Not give me a different battle.
Not wait until the circumstances improve.

Give me this mountain.

That’s the kind of faith I want.

Faith that doesn’t collapse when circumstances change.

Faith that doesn’t disappear when the answer doesn’t come quickly.

Faith that doesn’t need everything to make sense before it takes another step.

I will walk in the confidence of God- regardless of the mountain standing in front of me.

Because my confidence isn’t in my circumstances.

My confidence is in Jesus.

The mountain doesn’t determine whether God is faithful.

The diagnosis doesn’t determine whether God is faithful.

The storm doesn’t determine whether God is faithful.

The enemy doesn’t determine whether God is faithful.

God is always faithful. Period.

So bring me the mountain.

Bring me the thing that scares me.

Bring me the thing that makes me realize I can’t do this in my own strength.

Because when I reach the place where I can’t, I discover the place where He can.

I don’t need to understand the entire journey.

I just need enough faith to take the next step.

One More Step.

When I’m tired—one more step.
When I’m afraid—one more step.
When I’m hurting—one more step.
When I can’t see the way forward—one more step.

Not because I’m strong enough.

Because Jesus is.

And hear me clearly:

I am not backing down.

I am not bowing to fear.
I am not surrendering to circumstances.
I am not allowing yesterday to dictate tomorrow.

God, give me this mountain.

Because I know who walks with me.

His name is Jesus.

The One who walked out of the grave.
The One who conquered death.
The One who holds my future.
The One who has never abandoned me.
The One who is still Lord when everything around me is falling apart.

I don’t need the mountain to be smaller.
I need my faith to become bigger.

So, Jesus…

Give me this mountain.

Give me the courage to climb it.
Give me the faith to face it.
Give me the strength to endure it.
Give me the perseverance to finish it.

And when I reach the top, I won’t take the credit.

I will point everyone to you.

Because I didn’t overcome because I was strong.

I overcame because Jesus was with me every step of the way.

The mountain may be big.
The battle may be real.
The circumstances may be brutal.

But Jesus is still Lord.

And if Jesus is with me—

I will keep on climbing.

Give me the mountain.
Give me Jesus.
and let’s go.

“Now therefore, give me this mountain…” — Joshua 14:12

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Love Your Neighbor

Today’s a new day!

Maybe the hardest question we can ask ourselves as Christians isn’t, “Do I love Jesus?”

Maybe it’s this:

“Has following Jesus actually made me love my neighbor more?”

That question has been sitting heavy on my heart.

Because I’ve spent a lot of years learning about Jesus.

I’ve read the Bible. I’ve listened to sermons. I’ve sat in Bible studies. I’ve prayed. I’ve worshiped. I’ve written about faith, grace, suffering, forgiveness, hope and the goodness of God.

I’ve talked about discipleship.

I’ve talked about what it means to follow Jesus.

But lately, I’ve found myself asking a much more uncomfortable question:

Am I actually becoming more like Him?

Because there is a difference between knowing Jesus and becoming like Jesus.

And sometimes I wonder if we’ve become really good at the first one while completely missing the second.

We know the verses.

We know the doctrine.

We know what we believe.

We know what we think is right and what we think is wrong.

We know what other people should be doing.

But do we love them?

Really love them?

Not just the people who agree with us.

Not just the people sitting beside us in church.

Not just the people who vote like us, think like us, worship like us or live their lives the way we believe they should.

I’m talking about the difficult people.

The angry people.

The broken people.

The addicted people.

The people who have made terrible mistakes.

The people who don’t believe what we believe.

The people who have hurt us.

The people who have hurt themselves.

The people who don’t look like us.

The people who don’t smell like us.

The people society has decided aren’t worth much.

The people who make us uncomfortable.

Those people.

Jesus called them our neighbors too.

And that’s where this gets painfully personal for me.

Because it’s easy to love people when loving them costs us nothing.

It’s easy to talk about loving our neighbor when our neighbor looks, thinks and lives like we do.

It’s easy to say, “Jesus loves you,” from a safe distance.

But what happens when Jesus asks us to get close?

What happens when loving our neighbor means listening instead of lecturing?

Forgiving instead of keeping score?

Serving instead of being served?

Showing grace instead of passing judgment?

Sitting with someone in their pain instead of trying to explain it away?

What happens when loving our neighbor requires us to put our pride down?

That’s where discipleship gets real.

Because Jesus didn’t simply tell us to love people.

He showed us what love looks like.

He touched people everyone else avoided.

He ate with people religious society had rejected.

He stopped for people everyone else walked past.

He noticed people everyone else ignored.

He loved people who couldn’t give Him anything in return.

And then He stretched His arms across a wooden cross and showed us that real love is sacrificial.

So I’ve been asking myself:

What if discipleship isn’t measured by how much Bible I know, but by how much love I give?

What if spiritual maturity isn’t about how many arguments I can win, but how much grace I can extend?

What if becoming more like Jesus means becoming slower to judge, quicker to forgive, more willing to listen and more willing to love people who don’t deserve it?

Because here’s the truth I’ve had to confront:

I can be right and still be unChristlike.

I can know Scripture and still have a hard heart.

I can defend the truth and still fail to show grace.

I can go to church every Sunday and still walk past my neighbor without ever noticing that they’re hurting.

I can call myself a disciple while becoming increasingly comfortable with people I don’t like being treated as though they don’t matter.

And that realization hurts.

Because I don’t want to simply talk about Jesus.

I want my life to look like Him.

I want people to experience something different when they encounter me.

I want the lonely to feel seen.

I want the hurting to feel safe.

I want the broken to know they aren’t beyond redemption.

I want the person who disagrees with me to know I can disagree without hating them.

I want the person who has fallen to know there is still grace.

I want the person who feels forgotten to know that somebody cares.

I want my neighbor to encounter Jesus—not because I preached a sermon at them, but because I loved them.

Maybe that’s the discipleship journey we’re missing.

Maybe following Jesus isn’t about becoming more religious.

Maybe it’s about becoming more human—the kind of human God created us to be before sin taught us to divide, judge, hate and exclude.

So I’m asking myself today:

Has following Jesus made me love my neighbor more?

Has it changed the way I speak to people?

Has it changed the way I treat people who disagree with me?

Has it changed the way I respond to the broken?

Has it made me more compassionate?

More patient?

More forgiving?

More generous?

More willing to serve?

More willing to listen?

More willing to love without expecting anything in return?

And perhaps most importantly:

Would my neighbor say that following Jesus has made me a more loving person?

That’s the question that scares me.

Because it’s one thing for me to say I’m becoming like Jesus.

It’s another thing for the people around me to actually see it.

Maybe it’s time we stopped measuring our discipleship by how many Christian things we do and started measuring it by how much love is actually coming out of our lives.

Because Jesus didn’t say the world would recognize His disciples by their political opinions.

He didn’t say they would know us by our church attendance.

He didn’t say they would know us by how loudly we defended our beliefs.

He said they would know us by our love.

So before I point another finger…

Before I criticize another person…

Before I decide who is worthy of my compassion…

Before I tell someone else what they need to change…

Maybe I need to get on my knees and ask God:

“Lord, change me first.”

Make my heart softer.

Make my hands willing to serve.

Make my ears willing to listen.

Make my eyes willing to see the people everyone else overlooks.

Make me love the people I don’t understand.

Make me forgive the people who hurt me.

Make me compassionate toward people whose stories I don’t know.

And when I encounter someone who is hurting, broken, angry, lost or far away from You…

Don’t let me walk past them.

Let me stop.

Let me see them.

Let me love them.

Let me become Your hands and feet.

Because maybe the greatest testimony we will ever give isn’t something we say.

Maybe it’s the way we love someone who thought Christians would hate them.

And tonight, I hope we all sit with this question for a while:

If the only Bible my neighbor ever read was the life I lived, would they see Jesus?

Not perfection.

Not religion.

Not condemnation.

Jesus.

Because if my discipleship hasn’t made me love my neighbor more…

Maybe the problem isn’t that my neighbor needs to come closer to Jesus.

Maybe I do. ~OC

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Moral High Ground (Look In The Mirror)

Today’s a new day!

I’m going to say something that may make some Christians uncomfortable.

Maybe even angry.

But I believe we desperately need to hear it.

If we are going to engage a culture that is increasingly broken, divided, angry, confused, and seemingly hostile toward Christianity, we had better start by recognizing something very important:

We are sinners too.

Yes.

Us.

The people sitting in church on Sunday.

The people carrying Bibles.

The people posting Scripture on Facebook.

The people singing worship songs with our hands raised.

The people who know all the right Christian words.

We are sinners.

And if we forget that, we will eventually become the very kind of people Jesus warned us about.

Jesus told us about the danger of looking at the speck in someone else’s eye while ignoring the plank in our own.

And honestly?

The Church has become really good at finding specks.

We see the sin in somebody else’s life.

We see their political beliefs.

Their sexuality.

Their addiction.

Their language.

Their lifestyle.

Their mistakes.

Their failures.

Their past.

And we point.

And we judge.

And we condemn.

And then we wonder why they don’t want anything to do with Christianity.

Maybe we should ask ourselves a difficult question:

Have some people rejected Jesus—or have they rejected the version of Jesus they’ve seen in us?

That’s a question that hurts.

Because sometimes we have been so busy telling people how lost they are that we’ve forgotten to tell them how much Jesus loves them.

We’ve become more passionate about being right than being Christlike.

More passionate about winning arguments than winning souls.

More comfortable condemning people than sitting beside them in their pain.

And somewhere along the way, we’ve forgotten something incredibly important:

Jesus didn’t come for people who had their lives together.

He came for the broken.

The hurting.

The addicted.

The rejected.

The ashamed.

The lonely.

The prodigals.

The sinners.

People like us.

Look at the people Jesus surrounded Himself with.

They weren’t all polished.

They weren’t all respectable.

They weren’t all religious.

They weren’t all acceptable to the religious crowd.

And Jesus didn’t stand at a distance shouting, “Clean yourself up and then come see Me.”

He walked toward them.

He sat with them.

He touched them.

He listened to them.

He loved them.

And then He changed them.

That’s grace.

And here’s where this gets painfully personal:

I don’t need Jesus because I’m better than the people around me.

I need Jesus because I’m not.

I’ve fallen.

I’ve failed.

I’ve made mistakes.

I’ve had moments when my faith was weak.

I’ve had moments when fear was louder than faith.

I’ve had moments when I didn’t understand what God was doing.

I’ve had moments when I needed forgiveness.

I’ve needed grace.

And so have you.

That’s why I can’t stand on some imaginary moral high ground and look down on someone else.

Because when I look at the cross, I don’t see a platform that makes me superior.

I see a place where a broken sinner like me was rescued.

And maybe that’s what the Church needs to rediscover.

Humility.

Not compromise.

Not abandoning biblical truth.

Not pretending sin doesn’t matter.

But humility.

Because there is a massive difference between saying,

“You’re a sinner, and I’m better than you.”

and saying,

“You’re a sinner. I’m a sinner. But there’s a Savior who loves us both.”

One builds walls.

The other builds bridges.

One pushes people away.

The other opens a door.

One says, “Get your life together.”

The other says,

“Come as you are. Jesus isn’t finished with you yet.”

The world doesn’t need Christians who are perfect.

It needs Christians who are real.

People who can say:

“I don’t have all the answers.”

“I’ve struggled too.”

“I’ve cried too.”

“I’ve questioned too.”

“I’ve fallen too.”

“I’ve needed forgiveness too.”

“But I’ve discovered something.”

Jesus didn’t give up on me.

And if He didn’t give up on me, He isn’t going to give up on you.

That is the message we should be carrying into this culture.

Not hate.

Not arrogance.

Not condemnation.

Jesus.

Because at the end of the day, people don’t need another Christian yelling at them about how dark the world has become.

They need someone willing to walk into the darkness carrying a light.

They need someone willing to sit beside them when they’re hurting.

They need someone willing to love them before they agree with them.

They need someone willing to tell them the truth without making them feel worthless.

They need someone who remembers that Jesus died for them too.

So before we point our fingers at the culture…

Let’s look in the mirror.

Before we demand repentance from everyone else…

Let’s repent ourselves.

Before we ask God to change the world…

Let’s ask Him to change us.

Before we complain about how far America has fallen…

Let’s ask how far the Church has fallen from looking like Jesus.

Because perhaps revival won’t begin when the world finally starts acting like Christians.

Perhaps revival begins when Christians finally start acting like Jesus.

And maybe—just maybe—the greatest witness we can give this broken world isn’t telling people how bad they are.

Maybe it’s being honest enough to say:

“I’m broken too.”

“I’ve needed grace too.”

“I’ve needed Jesus too.”

“And I’m still standing—not because I’m perfect, but because He hasn’t let go of me.”

That’s the Gospel.

That’s grace.

That’s hope.

And that’s the message I want to carry.

So I’m not going to stand above you.

I’ll stand beside you.

I’m not going to pretend I’m better than you.

I’m going to remind you that we’re both desperately in need of Jesus.

And I’m not going to point my finger at you while pretending I don’t have my own scars.

I’ll show you mine.

Because maybe when you see that I’m broken too…

You’ll finally believe me when I tell you:

There is a Savior who still loves broken people.

There is grace for the sinner.

There is mercy for the mess.

There is forgiveness for the failure.

There is hope for the hopeless.

And there is still a cross standing in the middle of this broken world saying:

“You are not too far gone.”

So before we try to change the culture…

Let’s let Jesus change us.

Because the world isn’t looking for another group of people who claim to have it all together.

It’s looking for people who have been broken, redeemed, forgiven, and transformed by Jesus.

And maybe that’s exactly what the Church was supposed to be all along.

Not a museum for perfect people.

A hospital for sinners.

And I’m not ashamed to admit it:

I’m still a patient.

I still need Jesus.

Every. Single. Day.

And so do you.

Now go back and read that one more time.

Because this time…

don’t read it looking for someone else.

Read it looking in the mirror. ~OC

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Men Stand Up

MEN, WE NEED TO TALK.

Not about politics.

Not about sports.

Not about money.

Not about who is right and who is wrong.

We need to talk about what happened to the men of God.

Because somewhere along the way, too many of us became comfortable sitting in the church while our families, our neighborhoods, and our communities were crying out for men who would actually stand up and lead.

We have plenty of men who can talk.

Plenty who can argue.

Plenty who can criticize.

Plenty who can tell everyone else what they’re doing wrong.

But God isn’t looking for more men who can point fingers.

God is looking for men who will get on their knees.

Men who will pray.

Men who will serve.

Men who will sacrifice.

Men who will give.

Men who will love.

Men who will stand in the gap.

Men who will say, “As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.”

Paul wrote:

“Be watchful, stand firm in the faith, act like men, be strong. Let all that you do be done in love.” ~1 Corinthians 16:13-14

Read that again.

Be courageous.

Be strong.

But don’t miss the last part:

Do everything in love.

Because biblical manhood isn’t about domination.

It’s not about control.

It’s not about being the loudest voice in the room.

It’s not about demanding respect.

It’s about becoming the kind of man who looks like Jesus.

Jesus picked up a towel.

Jesus washed feet.

Jesus touched the untouchable.

Jesus welcomed the rejected.

Jesus fed the hungry.

Jesus defended the vulnerable.

Jesus wept with those who were hurting.

Jesus prayed.

Jesus served.

Jesus sacrificed.

And ultimately…

Jesus laid down His life.

So if we want to be men of God, maybe we should stop asking,

“Who is going to serve me?”

and start asking,

“Who can I serve?”

Maybe it’s time for us to put down our pride and pick up the towel.

Put down our excuses and pick up our Bibles.

Put down our anger and pick up our cross.

Put down our phones and look our children in the eyes.

Put down our criticism and start praying for the people we’re so quick to criticize.

Men, our families need us.

Our wives need husbands who pray.

Our children need fathers who are present.

Our sons need men who will show them that strength isn’t about how much power you have, but how much of yourself you’re willing to give away.

Our daughters need to see what a godly man looks like.

Our churches need men who don’t just occupy a chair on Sunday but carry the burden of the Kingdom Monday through Saturday.

Our communities need men who will stop driving past brokenness and start walking toward it.

There are people all around us who are hurting.

People battling addiction.

People drowning in loneliness.

People wondering if anybody cares.

People who haven’t stepped inside a church in years because somewhere along the way, Christians made them feel like they weren’t welcome.

Men, what if we became different?

What if we became the men who showed up?

What if we became the men who prayed?

What if we became the men who served without needing recognition?

What if we became the men who gave without expecting something in return?

What if we became the men who loved people who could never repay us?

What if we stopped trying to build our own kingdoms…

and started building His?

I’m praying for something bigger than another men’s conference.

Bigger than another Bible study.

Bigger than another church program.

I’m praying for revival in the hearts of men.

I want to see men so completely consumed by Jesus that their families can’t help but notice.

I want to see fathers praying over their children.

Husbands praying with their wives.

Men opening their Bibles before they open social media.

Men serving the homeless.

Men feeding the hungry.

Men visiting the sick.

Men mentoring young men who desperately need somebody to tell them,

“You matter. You’re loved. You were created for something greater.”

I want to see men walk into the darkest places carrying the light of Christ.

I want to see men who aren’t ashamed to worship.

Men who aren’t afraid to cry.

Men who aren’t afraid to say, “I don’t have it all together.”

Men who aren’t afraid to get on their knees and cry out,

“Jesus, change me before You use me.”

Because maybe that’s where revival begins.

Not with a crowd.

With a man.

One broken man surrendering.

One father praying.

One husband repenting.

One son coming home.

One man saying,

“Jesus, I am Yours.”

And then another man catches fire.

And another.

And another.

And suddenly…

THE FIRE SPREADS.

It moves through families.

Through churches.

Through neighborhoods.

Through communities.

Until an entire city begins to feel the presence of God.

Not because men became louder.

But because men became different.

Not because men demanded their rights.

But because men started laying down their lives.

Not because men conquered people.

But because men started loving people.

I want to see men set on fire for Jesus.

And I don’t mean a temporary emotional high.

I mean HOLY FIRE.

The kind of fire that changes the way we live.

The kind of fire that changes the way we speak.

The kind of fire that changes our marriages.

The kind of fire that changes our parenting.

The kind of fire that changes how we treat strangers.

The kind of fire that makes us uncomfortable when we’re sitting still while somebody else is hurting.

Men, I’m calling us higher.

Higher than comfort.

Higher than complacency.

Higher than excuses.

Higher than church-as-usual.

Higher than cultural Christianity.

I’m calling us to Jesus.

To surrender.

To sacrifice.

To service.

To prayer.

To courage.

To holiness.

To love.

Because our communities don’t need more men pretending to have all the answers.

They need men who know where to take their questions.

To the feet of Jesus.

So tonight, before you criticize another man…

pray for him.

Before you complain about your church…

serve it.

Before you complain about your community…

love it.

Before you tell the world what’s wrong with Christianity…

show them Jesus.

And before you demand that everyone else change…

get alone with God and ask Him to change you.

Because revival may be closer than we think.

Maybe God isn’t waiting for the perfect man.

Maybe He’s waiting for the surrendered man.

The available man.

The obedient man.

The man who will say:

“Here I am, Lord. Send me.”

So, men…

Are you willing?

Are you willing to lead when nobody applauds?

Are you willing to serve when nobody notices?

Are you willing to give when it costs you something?

Are you willing to pray when you’re tired?

Are you willing to love when it’s difficult?

Are you willing to forgive?

Are you willing to repent?

Are you willing to surrender your pride?

Are you willing to pick up your cross?

Are you willing to follow Jesus even when it costs you everything?

Because here’s the question I can’t get out of my head:

If your family became exactly like the Christian life you are living right now…

would you be proud of what they became?

Let that sit there for a minute.

Don’t scroll.

Don’t defend yourself.

Don’t think about the man sitting next to you.

Think about you.

Look in the mirror.

Look at your Bible.

Look at your family.

Look at your community.

Look at your life.

And ask yourself the question that may be the most important question a man can ever ask:

AM I REALLY THE MAN GOD HAS CALLED ME TO BE?

And if the answer is no…

Don’t run from that conviction.

Run toward Jesus.

Because He isn’t finished with you.

Men, let’s rise.

Let’s pray.

Let’s serve.

Let’s give.

Let’s love.

Let’s lead.

Let’s surrender.

Let’s become the men our families need, our churches need, our communities need—and most importantly, the men Jesus has called us to be.

One man.

One surrendered heart.

One family.

One church.

One neighborhood.

One city.

Until the fire spreads.

MEN, IT’S TIME.

Let’s set your city’s on fire—not with our anger, not with our politics, not with our pride…

but with the radical, reckless, transforming LOVE OF JESUS CHRIST.

In Jesus’ name, Amen. ~OC

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Lack of Leadership

There is something deeply troubling about what we are seeing within our United States military.

The men and women who volunteer to serve our nation deserve better than political distractions, culture-war battles, and leadership that seems more interested in appearances than in the people entrusted to its care.

What happens in an organization is often a reflection of its leadership—from the head down.

When leadership loses sight of the mission, the people eventually pay the price.

Our military exists to defend this nation. It exists to protect Americans, deter our enemies, respond to threats, and ensure that the United States remains capable of defending itself in an increasingly dangerous world.

That should be the priority.

So when military leadership appears more focused on debates over the color or gender of our soldiers than on their readiness, morale, training, equipment, mental wellbeing, and ability to accomplish the mission, I believe we have a serious leadership problem.

And when tragic incidents occur aboard ships such as the USS Abraham Lincoln, we should be asking hard questions.

Not partisan questions.

Not political questions.

Leadership questions.

Are our sailors adequately trained?

Do they have the resources they need?

Are maintenance and readiness being taken seriously?

Are commanders being held accountable?

Are we listening to the people actually serving aboard these ships?

Are we spending our defense dollars where they will make the greatest difference?

Those questions matter far more to me than whatever political culture war happens to dominate the headlines this week.

Our service members don’t need Washington to constantly find another distraction.

They need leadership.

They need leaders who understand that behind every uniform is a human being—a son, daughter, husband, wife, father, mother, brother, sister, friend, and fellow American.

They deserve leaders who will fight for their wellbeing as fiercely as they expect those service members to fight for our country.

And this isn’t an argument against sports, entertainment, or morale events. Our troops deserve opportunities to relax and enjoy themselves. They deserve camaraderie and moments of fun.

But there is a difference between supporting morale and allowing distractions to become substitutes for leadership.

Dear military leadership: let’s spend more time and money addressing the problems that are actually affecting our military and less time chasing political headlines, building extravagant ballrooms, or putting the spotlight on MMA fights.

Let’s invest in readiness.

Let’s invest in maintenance.

Let’s invest in training.

Let’s invest in our sailors, soldiers, Marines, airmen, guardians, and Coast Guard members.

Let’s make sure they have the equipment, resources, leadership, and support they need to come home safely.

And let’s remember something incredibly important:

The military does not belong to a political party.

It belongs to the American people.

The uniform doesn’t belong to Republicans or Democrats. It belongs to the men and women who raised their right hand and swore an oath to defend the Constitution.

They deserve leadership that takes that oath as seriously as they do.

America doesn’t need leaders who are constantly looking for the next culture war to fight.

America needs leaders willing to fight for the people who actually fight for America.

Our service members deserve nothing less. ~OC

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