Today’s a new day!
Fear may whisper,
“Turn around, don’t go.”
But faith says,
“Take the step—
there’s freedom where you go.”
Face the darkness,
walk through the pain,
trust that the storm
won’t always remain.
For courage begins
when fear loses control—
sometimes you must face fear
to set free your soul. ~OC
Tasia Fortune was found hanging.
I do not believe it was suicide.
But if you believe this was a suicide, then you should still demand that every question be answered. If there are circumstances that raise questions about whether her death was truly a suicide, then those questions deserve a real, independent investigation—not dismissal, not silence, and not another case quietly filed away.
Mississippi has a painful history of Black people dying under circumstances that have left families and communities demanding answers. For decades, deaths involving trees, ropes, and hanging have carried the horrifying shadow of America’s history of racial terror.
And now, in 2026, we are still having these conversations.
That should disturb every one of us.
Dear White Community: silence is not neutrality when people are demanding justice.
You don’t have to know every fact to demand that the facts be uncovered.
You don’t have to have all the answers to stand beside a grieving family.
And you don’t have to wait until something happens to someone you love before you decide that every human life deserves the same level of scrutiny, dignity, and protection.
Demand a real investigation.
Demand independent oversight.
Demand federal review when circumstances warrant it.
Demand transparency.
And demand that our laws be strong enough that justice is never dependent upon someone’s race, wealth, power, ZIP code, or political connections.
This isn’t about jumping to conclusions.
It’s about refusing to accept unanswered questions when a human being is dead.
It’s about refusing to let history repeat itself in silence.
It’s about making sure that when a Black person dies under suspicious or disputed circumstances, the response isn’t:
“Move along. Nothing to see here.”
No!
We have something to see.
We have questions to ask.
We have families to hear.
We have institutions to hold accountable.
And we have a moral obligation to insist that every death deserves the truth.
Because justice delayed is painful.
Justice denied is devastating.
But justice ignored is a choice.
And silence is a choice, too.
Choose to speak.
Choose to ask questions.
Choose to demand the truth. ~OC
Dear Parkinson’s Community,
I wanted to see if there would be interest in starting a weekly or monthly Zoom gathering for our Parkinson’s community.
The vision is simple: to discuss the latest developments in Parkinson’s research and treatment, share practical insights, encourage one another, and remind each other that no one has to walk this journey alone.
This group would be open to:
Whether you’re newly diagnosed, have been living with Parkinson’s for years, care for someone with the disease, or simply want to learn and support others, you are welcome.
If this is something you would be interested in, please leave a comment below or send me a direct message. If there’s enough interest, I’ll begin organizing our first Zoom meeting.
Together, we can learn, encourage one another, and find hope for the road ahead.
You are not alone. ~OC
Today’s a new day!
Twenty-four years ago, I never imagined the road my life would take.
If someone had told me I would spend decades walking through cancer, Parkinson’s Disease, Myasthenia Gravis, a stroke, gastroparesis, early-stage Lewy Body Dementia, countless hospital stays, surgeries, treatments, and more doctor’s appointments than I could ever count, I probably would have wondered how anyone could endure that much.
The truth is, there have been days when I wondered the same thing.
There have been moments when fear tried to take over. There have been seasons of grief as I watched abilities I once took for granted slowly disappear. As a former marathon runner, I remember what it felt like to run mile after mile with freedom. Today, every step is a reminder that life has changed.
But here’s what I’ve discovered.
I couldn’t choose my diagnoses, but I could choose what I did with them.
Somewhere along this journey, God began changing my perspective. Instead of asking, “Lord, why is this happening to me?” I found myself asking, “Lord, how can You use this for Your glory?”
That question changed everything.
Purpose doesn’t eliminate pain, but it gives pain eternal significance.
Some of the most powerful moments of my faith haven’t happened in church buildings. They’ve happened in emergency rooms, hospital rooms, intensive care units, doctor’s offices, and quiet moments when all I could do was whisper the name of Jesus.
I’ve experienced frightening hallucinations brought on by Parkinson’s Disease and dementia. They were unlike anything I had ever known. Yet even in those moments, when my mind should have been consumed with fear, God filled it with peace and worship. Songs came flooding into my heart. Instead of darkness having the final word, Jesus reminded me that His presence reaches places illness never can.
Those songs eventually became Songs in the Battle.
What the enemy intended to use to discourage me, God transformed into worship.
In 2019, during surgery, God gave me a glimpse of Heaven that forever changed how I see suffering. I experienced a place more beautiful than words could ever describe. I had no pain. I had a new body. I didn’t want to leave.
Then I heard these words:
“Not yet, my son. I have more work for you to complete.”
When I woke up in recovery pointing toward Heaven, I knew my life no longer belonged to me. It belonged completely to the One who had sent me back.
That experience didn’t remove my health challenges.
It gave them purpose.
I’ve learned that ministry isn’t confined to a platform or a microphone. Sometimes ministry looks like encouraging another patient in a waiting room. Sometimes it’s praying for a nurse who has had an exhausting shift. Sometimes it’s simply choosing joy when your circumstances make no sense.
Every diagnosis has become another opportunity to testify to God’s faithfulness.
Every setback has become another opportunity to trust Him.
Every scar has become another reminder that God is still writing my story.
I’ve also learned that weakness isn’t the opposite of usefulness.
The world measures people by what they can produce. God measures us by our willingness to trust Him. Scripture reminds us that His power is made perfect in weakness. Looking back, I can honestly say I’ve often experienced God’s strength most clearly when I had none of my own.
If my journey has taught me anything, it’s that purpose isn’t determined by our physical abilities. It’s determined by our willingness to surrender whatever we have to God.
I don’t know what tomorrow’s doctor’s appointment will bring.
I don’t know what new challenge may be waiting around the corner.
But I do know this:
As long as God gives me breath, I want every breath to point someone toward Jesus.
If my story gives hope to someone newly diagnosed…
If it encourages a caregiver who is exhausted…
If it reminds someone that miracles still happen—even when they don’t look the way we expected…
If it helps one person discover that Jesus never abandons us in our suffering…
Then every difficult day has eternal value.
I have made the choice to live out my health issues with purpose.
Not because this journey has been easy.
Not because I enjoy suffering.
But because I have seen, time and time again, that God never wastes a surrendered life.
My health challenges are part of my testimony, but they are not my identity.
My identity is found in Jesus Christ.
And as long as He continues to write my story, I will keep telling the world that hope is alive, miracles still happen, and no diagnosis is greater than the faithfulness of God. ~OC
Today’s a new day!
The late Congressman and civil rights leader John Lewis left us with a simple but powerful challenge: “Get into good trouble, necessary trouble.”Get His words were never an invitation to create chaos. They were a call to courage—to stand for what is right when remaining silent would be easier.
As I look at the state of the American Church today, I can’t help but wonder if we need a little more good trouble.
I love the Church. I believe Jesus established the Church to be the hope of the world, a place where broken people discover healing, where sinners find grace, where the lonely find family, and where the Gospel transforms lives. My concern doesn’t come from a lack of love—it comes because I love the Church too much to stay silent when I see it drifting from its mission.
Too often, it seems many churches and Christian leaders have become more passionate about politics than about the Gospel. We know how to defend a political party, but do we defend the forgotten? We know how to argue over elections, but do we weep over the lost? We rally around candidates, but are we rallying around the Cross?
The Gospel was never meant to be wrapped in a political or American flag.
Jesus didn’t tell His followers to seek political power. He told them to deny themselves, take up their cross, and follow Him. He welcomed the outsider, touched the untouchable, defended the marginalized, and proclaimed good news to the poor. His ministry consistently crossed cultural, social, and political boundaries because His Kingdom was never confined by them.
The Church should be known first for its love—not its voting record.
Perhaps it’s time for some “Good Trouble.”
The kind of good trouble that speaks up when refugees are treated without dignity.
The kind of good trouble that refuses to ignore the hungry, the homeless, the disabled, the widow, the orphan, and the immigrant because Scripture refuses to ignore them.
The kind of good trouble that challenges churches to be known more for compassion than for culture wars.
The kind of good trouble that reminds us our neighbors are not our enemies.
The kind of good trouble that chooses the teachings of Jesus over political talking points.
This isn’t about choosing the political left or the political right. It’s about choosing the narrow road that Jesus called us to walk. The Kingdom of God has never fit neatly inside any political platform.
The early Church changed the world without controlling governments. They changed it because they loved radically, served sacrificially, shared generously, and proclaimed Christ boldly. They cared for plague victims, rescued abandoned children, fed the hungry, and welcomed those society rejected. Their witness wasn’t built on political influence—it was built on Christlike love.
Imagine if today’s Church became known once again for that kind of faith.
Imagine communities where every person—regardless of race, nationality, economic status, disability, or political affiliation—knew they would be welcomed because they bear the image of God.
Imagine churches where serving the poor mattered as much as winning debates.
Imagine Christians who were recognized not by the politicians they defended, but by the Savior they followed.
That’s the kind of good trouble our generation desperately needs.
The Gospel is still good news.
The Cross is still enough.
The Church still has the opportunity to be the light of the world—but only if we remember whose Kingdom we belong to.
May we have the courage to lovingly challenge what needs challenging, to speak truth with grace, and to follow Jesus wherever He leads—even when it costs us comfort, popularity, or influence.
If that causes a little good trouble, perhaps that’s exactly where the Church needs to be. ~OC
For a while, life in Hope Isles settled into something comfortable.
The kind of rhythm that made days blend together in the best possible way.
Morning coffee at Sit Awhile.
Work projects around Hope House.
Evening walks along the harbor.
Conversations that lingered long after sunset.
For the first time in years, James wasn’t looking for the next chapter.
He was simply living the one he was in.
And that felt like a gift.
One Tuesday morning, however, that peace was interrupted.
Not dramatically.
Not at first.
Just a phone call.
James was helping Ethan repair part of the old community dock when Sarah came running toward them.
Her expression immediately caught his attention.
“James.”
He set down his tools.
“What happened?”
Sarah handed him her phone.
“It’s your father.”
The words alone were enough.
James quickly took the phone.
“Dad?”
Daniel’s voice sounded weaker than usual.
Not frightened.
Just tired.
“Hey, son.”
James moved away from the noise of the work site.
“You okay?”
A pause.
Long enough to answer the question.
“Not exactly.”
The knot in James’s stomach tightened.
“What happened?”
Daniel exhaled slowly.
“Rebecca wants me back for more tests.”
James closed his eyes briefly.
The diagnosis.
The timeline.
The reality they had temporarily pushed aside.
It was all still there.
Waiting.
“Okay,” James said quietly.
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
The words settled heavily between them.
Neither man wanted to say what they were thinking.
Eventually Daniel spoke again.
“I didn’t want you hearing it from someone else.”
James nodded.
“Thank you.”
After the call ended, he stood silently near the water.
Sarah approached carefully.
“Bad news?”
James stared out at the harbor.
“Maybe.”
She didn’t press.
She simply stood beside him.
Sometimes presence was more valuable than advice.
Eventually James spoke.
“My father needs more tests.”
Sarah nodded.
Understanding immediately.
The weight returned.
Not all at once.
But enough to be felt.
By evening, word had reached Walter.
And June.
And somehow half the island again.
James never figured out how that happened.
At dinner, June sat across from him.
“You know something?”
James looked up.
“What?”
“We’re praying.”
The statement was simple.
Matter-of-fact.
Certain.
Around the table, heads nodded.
No speeches.
No dramatic promises.
Just commitment.
The kind Hope Isles specialized in.
That night, James sat alone on the porch.
The island was quiet.
Stars filled the sky.
The ocean moved steadily in the darkness.
He thought about his grandfather.
About his father.
About the strange journey that had brought him here.
Healing had happened.
Reconciliation had happened.
But life wasn’t suddenly free of pain.
Faith didn’t erase storms.
It carried people through them.
A voice interrupted his thoughts.
“You look like a man wrestling with God.”
James glanced over.
Walter.
Of course.
Walter sat down beside him.
James smiled faintly.
“Is it that obvious?”
“To me?”
Walter chuckled.
“Very.”
For several moments neither spoke.
Then Walter looked toward the ocean.
“You know what sailors fear most?”
“The storm?”
Walter shook his head.
“No.”
James frowned.
“What then?”
“The illusion of control.”
That answer caught him off guard.
Walter continued.
“A storm reminds you that you were never really in charge.”
The words settled deeply.
James knew they were true.
His father’s illness had reminded him of that.
Life itself had reminded him of that.
Walter smiled gently.
“Faith begins where control ends.”
The old man stood.
Then paused.
“Your grandfather understood that.”
“What about my father?”
Walter looked back.
“He’s learning.”
A small smile crossed his face.
“And so are you.”
The next morning Daniel left the island for his appointment.
James accompanied him to the ferry.
The harbor was quiet.
The sky overcast.
Neither man seemed eager to discuss what might come next.
Instead they talked about simple things.
Fishing boats.
The town festival.
June’s increasingly questionable
baking experiments.
The ferry horn sounded.
Boarding time.
Daniel turned toward his son.
“I’m glad I came.”
James smiled.
“So am I.”
His father nodded.
Then added quietly:
“No matter what happens next.”
Those words lingered.
James didn’t like them.
Because they sounded too much like goodbye.
And Daniel knew it.
So he quickly added:
“This isn’t a goodbye speech.”
James laughed.
“It sounded like one.”
“Well it wasn’t.”
The ferry crew called for final boarding.
Daniel stepped forward.
Then stopped.
One last thought
“James”
“Yeah?”
His father’s eyes had a look of gratitude and peace.
“You stayed.”
James frowned slightly.
“What do you mean?”
Daniel smiled.
“You stayed when it would’ve been easier to leave.”
For a moment neither spoke.
Then Daniel nodded once.
“As it turns out, your grandfather was right.”
“About what?”
A gentle smile appeared.
“Grace really does build something worth staying for.”
With that, he boarded the ferry.
James stood on the dock watching it pull away.
The water churned behind the vessel.
The distance slowly grew.
Yet something inside him remained steady.
Not because he knew what would happen.
Because he finally trusted God with what he didn’t know.
Back at Hope Isles, clouds gathered on the horizon.
Dark.
Heavy.
Slow-moving.
Most people barely noticed them.
But old fishermen did.
And Walter certainly did.
Standing near the lighthouse later that afternoon, he watched the sky carefully.
A troubled expression crossed his face.
Not fear.
Concern.
The kind earned through years of experience.
As the wind began to shift, Walter whispered something to himself.
A prayer.
Or perhaps a memory.
Then he looked toward Hope House.
Toward James.
Toward the island.
And for the first time in many years, he felt a warning deep in his spirit.
Not about Daniel.
Not about illness.
Something else.
Something bigger.
The storm coming toward Hope Isles wasn’t merely weather.
And before it passed, the island would be forced to discover whether its foundation truly rested on hope…
or only on comfort.
To Be Continued…
This is the second of two deeply personal experiences that I have shared publicly for the very first time.
The first was my experience during surgery in 2019, when I believe God allowed me to see Heaven before telling me, “Not yet. I still have more work for you to do.”
This is the story of another experience that forever changed how I pray, how I love people, and how urgently I believe Christians should share the Good News of Jesus Christ.
After the miracle God performed in my life in November of 2019, something incredible happened.
For a season, God allowed me to run again.
Considering everything my body had endured through years of illness, surgeries, and suffering, every mile felt like a gift from God. Every run became an opportunity not only to exercise but also to pray.
On a Thursday morning in October of 2020, I headed out for what I thought would be another ordinary run.
As I ran past Jupiter Medical Center in Jupiter, Florida, I did what I had done countless times before. I prayed for the doctors, nurses, staff, patients, and families. I asked Jesus to bring healing, peace, wisdom, comfort, and hope to everyone inside those walls.
A little farther into my run, I decided to stop at a men’s Bible study in Jupiter. We spent time praying together, encouraging one another, and opening God’s Word. It was a wonderful morning of fellowship.
After the Bible study, I decided to continue my run before heading home.
That’s when everything changed.
As I ran down Central Boulevard near the park affectionately known as “Duck Park,” life seemed completely normal. The sky was bright blue. The weather was cool. People were jogging, riding bicycles, walking, and driving by.
Then, in what felt like only moments, everything around me changed.
The blue skies disappeared.
Darkness surrounded me.
The temperature became unbearably hot.
What I experienced next is something that has stayed with me every single day since.
I believe God allowed me, for only a few brief moments, to experience something I can only describe as a glimpse of hell.
Around me I heard people crying out in desperation.
They were screaming.
Over and over I heard words that pierced my heart:
“Why didn’t anyone tell us about Jesus?”
“Why did so many Christians give up on us?”
Those cries echoed with an anguish that is impossible to put into words.
What made the experience even more overwhelming was that I could still see people running, riding bicycles, and driving as they had been only moments before, yet in this experience they too were crying out with the very same questions.
The entire experience lasted only a matter of seconds.
Then it was over.
I have often joked that I could have qualified for the Olympic team by how fast I ran home that morning.
But behind the humor is a truth that has never left me.
That morning changed my life forever.
Whether I am speaking with one person or a thousand people, I can no longer look at anyone the same way.
Every person I meet has an eternal soul.
Every conversation matters.
Every act of kindness matters.
Every prayer matters.
Every opportunity to share the love of Jesus matters.
I don’t believe Christians are called to preach with condemnation or fear. We are called to preach with tears in our eyes, compassion in our hearts, and the love of Christ leading every word we speak.
Jesus didn’t come to condemn the world.
He came to save it.
That experience gave me an urgency that has never faded.
I still wake up every day asking God, “Who needs to hear about You today? Who needs encouragement today? Who needs hope today? Who needs someone to remind them that they are loved by God?”
I believe every follower of Jesus should live with that same sense of eternal purpose—not out of panic, but out of love.
People all around us are searching for hope.
Many have never truly experienced the grace of Jesus.
Many have been hurt by people who claimed to represent Him.
Many have concluded that no one cares enough to tell them the truth wrapped in love.
May that never be said of us.
This is the first time I have publicly shared both of these experiences—my encounter in Heaven during surgery in 2019 and this life-changing experience during a morning run in October of 2020.
Both have been incredibly difficult to share, each for different reasons.
I know there will be questions.
There may even be skepticism.
I understand that.
My goal has never been to convince anyone based on my experiences.
My prayer is simply that my testimony points people to Jesus Christ.
If these stories encourage even one person to seek Him more deeply, to pray more faithfully, to love more compassionately, or to boldly share the Gospel with someone who needs hope, then sharing them will have been worth it.
As Scripture reminds us:
“Go into all the world and preach the gospel to all creation.” (Mark 16:15)
May we never grow comfortable with keeping the greatest news the world has ever known to ourselves.
There are people waiting to hear about the Savior who changed our lives.
Let’s tell them. ~OC
“Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.” — Galatians 6:2
My heart is saddened by the recent Supreme Court decision allowing the federal government to move forward with changes affecting Temporary Protected Status (TPS) for many Haitians living and working throughout the United States. This decision could ultimately affect more than 300,000 individuals who have built lives, raised families, and contributed to communities across our nation.
These are not just numbers on a government report. They are mothers and fathers, sons and daughters, coworkers, neighbors, church members, healthcare workers, teachers, business owners, and friends. They came to America seeking safety, opportunity, and the chance to build a better future. For many, what once looked like the American Dream now feels uncertain and frightening.
As Christians, our first response should never be indifference. Our first response should be compassion.
The Haitian community has enriched countless cities and towns across America through hard work, perseverance, faith, and service. They have strengthened our churches, supported local businesses, cared for the sick, educated our children, and invested in their communities. Their contributions deserve to be recognized and appreciated.
Regardless of where we stand on immigration policy, we should never lose sight of the humanity of the people affected by these decisions. Every person bears the image of God. Every family matters. Every child deserves to know that they are loved.
Throughout Scripture, God repeatedly reminds His people to care for the foreigner, the stranger, and the vulnerable. Our calling is not to harden our hearts but to reflect the compassion and mercy that Christ has shown each of us.
Today, I want the Haitian community to know that you are not forgotten. I am praying for every family facing uncertainty, every parent worried about the future of their children, and every worker wondering what tomorrow may bring. May God surround you with His peace, provide for your needs, and remind you that He is near to the brokenhearted.
I also encourage my fellow Christians to pray, to listen, and to seek ways to support Haitian families in their local communities. If you believe changes should be made to current policies, respectfully contact your elected representatives and make your voice heard through peaceful civic engagement. Our democracy allows us to advocate for policies we believe reflect justice, compassion, and the common good.
The Church has always been at its best when it chooses love over fear, mercy over indifference, and compassion over division.
Let us be known as people who welcome, encourage, pray, and stand beside those who are hurting. May our churches become places where every person—regardless of nationality or background—finds hope, dignity, and the love of Jesus Christ.
My prayers remain with the Haitian community during this difficult season. May God grant wisdom to our nation’s leaders, comfort to every anxious heart, and remind us all that His Kingdom is built not on division, but on love.
Prayer:
Heavenly Father,
We lift up every Haitian family facing uncertainty today. Comfort those who are anxious, strengthen those who feel discouraged, and provide wisdom for our nation’s leaders as they make decisions that affect so many lives.
Help Your Church to be a light in moments of darkness. Give us hearts filled with compassion, words filled with grace, and hands ready to serve. Teach us to love our neighbors as You have loved us.
May justice, mercy, and humility guide our actions, and may the peace of Christ reign in every heart.
In the loving and caring name of Jesus I pray. Amen.
Today’s a new day!
Over the past few years, I’ve had countless conversations with fellow Christians after church services, over coffee, in Bible studies, and during everyday life.
Different churches.
Different denominations.
Different backgrounds.
Yet one theme continues to surface again and again.
“I love my church…but I still feel alone.”
Those words have stayed with me.
These conversations haven’t come from people who are angry with the Church. Quite the opposite. They faithfully attend, faithfully give, faithfully serve, and genuinely love Jesus.
Yet many quietly admit they feel disconnected.
One friend shared, “I’ve been attending for three years, and I still don’t feel like anyone really knows me.”
Another said, “I know hundreds of faces, but I don’t have anyone I can call when life falls apart.”
Someone else confessed, “I leave encouraged by the sermon, but I still feel spiritually isolated.”
As I listened, I realized these weren’t isolated stories.
I was hearing the same longing over and over.
People aren’t asking for bigger buildings.
They’re asking for deeper relationships.
They’re not looking for more programs.
They’re longing for genuine discipleship.
It made me wonder if, in many churches, we’ve unintentionally traded disciple numbers for attendance numbers.
Attendance matters. Every person who walks through the doors is someone Christ loves deeply. Churches should celebrate every new visitor and every opportunity to share the Gospel.
But attendance has never been the ultimate mission.
Jesus didn’t say, “Go and gather crowds.”
He said, “Go and make disciples.”
Discipleship is personal.
It requires time.
It requires listening.
It requires walking through life’s joys and hardships together.
It means knowing someone’s name, hearing their story, praying over their struggles, and encouraging them to keep following Christ.
That kind of ministry can’t always happen during a Sunday morning service.
It happens in living rooms.
Around dinner tables.
In small groups.
Over coffee.
In hospital waiting rooms.
During phone calls.
Through tears.
Through prayer.
Through simply showing up for one another.
Many of the Christians I’ve spoken with aren’t criticizing their churches.
They’re grieving what they feel is missing.
They long to belong to a spiritual family, not simply attend a weekly gathering.
They want someone to notice when they’re absent.
Someone to ask how they’re doing—and genuinely wait for the answer.
Someone to help them grow in their faith.
The beautiful truth is that many churches are already pursuing this vision with humility and faithfulness. Pastors, elders, deacons, small-group leaders, and volunteers invest countless hours loving and discipling others, often without recognition.
But every church can continue asking an important question:
Are we creating disciples, or are we simply creating attendees?
Imagine what could happen if every mature believer intentionally invested in one younger believer.
Imagine if every newcomer was invited into authentic relationships instead of remaining anonymous.
Imagine if every church member saw themselves not just as someone who attends church but as someone who helps build Christ’s family.
The Church has always been at its strongest when believers walk together.
The world is filled with loneliness.
The Church should be filled with belonging.
My prayer is not that churches become less focused on reaching people.
My prayer is that we become equally passionate about walking with them after they arrive.
Because attendance may introduce someone to the Church.
But discipleship helps them become more like Jesus.
A church can fill every seat in the sanctuary and still leave people feeling alone. But when believers intentionally disciple one another, no one has to walk their journey of faith in isolation.
Prayer:
Dear Jesus, thank You for the gift of Your Church. Help us to be more than people who gather once a week. Make us a family that loves deeply, serves faithfully, and walks alongside one another through every season of life. Give us eyes to notice those who feel unseen, hearts that welcome the lonely, and a renewed commitment to making disciples as Jesus commanded. May our churches be known not only for full sanctuaries but for lives transformed through authentic relationships centered on You. It’s in the mighty and precious name of Jesus we pray. ~OC
Today’s a new day!
Life has a way of shaking us.
There are moments when the phone rings with news we never wanted to hear. There are seasons when the bills pile up, the job applications go unanswered, and the storms of life seem to come one after another. In those moments, fear whispers that we’ve been abandoned.
But the truth of God’s Word says something completely different.
God is still in control.
When the doctor walks into the room and uses the word “cancer,” God is still in control.
When you’ve been laid off and you’re desperately looking for a job, God is still in control.
When you’re walking through a season of grief, God is still in control.
When life’s storms crash against your family, your finances, your health, or your faith, God is still in control.
Our circumstances may change overnight, but God’s character never changes. He is the same yesterday, today, and forever. The God who parted the Red Sea, shut the mouths of lions, raised Lazarus from the dead, and conquered the grave through Jesus Christ has not lost a single ounce of His power.
That doesn’t mean life will always be easy. It doesn’t mean we won’t cry or ask difficult questions. Even Jesus wept.
But it does mean we never face our battles alone.
God walks beside us through every diagnosis.
He stands with us during every interview.
God holds us loss in our grief.
He guides us in every business deal.
He comforts us through every storm.
He carries us when we don’t have the strength to take another step.
Jesus extends a beautiful invitation to every weary heart:
“Come to Me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” (Matthew 11:28)
Today, whatever burden you’re carrying, don’t keep trying to carry it by yourself.
Lay your fears at His feet.
Lay your anxiety at His feet.
Lay your sickness at His feet.
Lay your financial worries at His feet.
Lay your broken heart at His feet.
Lay your business deals at His feet.
Lay your future at His feet.
The burden may feel too heavy for your shoulders, but it has never been too heavy for His.
Trust Him even when you cannot see the outcome.
Hold on even when the answers haven’t come yet.
Keep praying even when heaven seems quiet.
Keep believing because God’s silence is never His absence.
The storm you’re facing today is not greater than the Savior who stands with you in it.
No matter what tomorrow brings, one truth remains forever:
God is still in control.
Prayer:
Heavenly Jesus,
Today I lay every burden at Your feet. You know every fear, every tear, every unanswered prayer, and every uncertainty in my life. Help me to trust You when I cannot understand what You are doing. Fill my heart with Your peace that surpasses all understanding. Strengthen my faith, remind me of Your promises, and help me keep my eyes fixed on Jesus through every storm. Thank You for never leaving me or forsaking me. I choose today to trust that You are still on the throne and still in control.
In Jesus’ mighty and loving name we pray… Amen.
~OC
The Blessed Overcomer 