Being Present and Being Engaged: There Is a Difference

Today’s a new day!

Sometimes the loneliest place in the world is sitting beside someone who is physically there—but emotionally somewhere else.

Read that again.

Because there is a difference between being present and being engaged.

And honestly, I think a lot of us—including me—need to take a hard look at which one we are.

You can sit beside someone for hours and never really be with them.

You can eat dinner with your family while staring at your phone.

You can sit in church every Sunday and never truly encounter God.

You can listen to someone tell you they’re hurting while you’re already thinking about what you’re going to say next.

You can hug someone and say, “I’m here for you,” and yet never actually show up when life gets ugly.

Being present means your body showed up.

Being engaged means your heart did too.

And there’s a world of difference between the two.

Think about Jesus.

He didn’t just walk past hurting people.

He stopped.

He saw the blind man everyone else ignored.

He noticed Zacchaeus when everyone else saw a sinner.

He stopped for the woman who had been bleeding for twelve years.

He touched lepers.

He sat with sinners.

He wept with those who were grieving.

He listened.

He noticed.

He cared.

Jesus didn’t simply share people’s space.

He entered their pain.

That’s engagement.

And maybe that’s what we’ve lost somewhere along the way.

We’re connected to everyone, yet sometimes we’re truly connected to no one.

We have hundreds of friends online but don’t know who is crying behind the smile sitting across from us.

We react to someone’s Facebook post with a heart but never send the message that says, “Are you really okay?”

We say, “Praying for you,” but sometimes never actually pray.

We say, “Let me know if you need anything,” knowing deep down that we’re hoping they never call.

And here’s the painful truth:

Some people don’t need another person telling them everything is going to be okay.

They need someone willing to sit beside them while everything isn’t okay.

They don’t need you to fix them.

They need you to listen.

They need you to stay.

They need you to care when their story gets uncomfortable.

They need you to love them when they aren’t easy to love.

They need you to put the phone down, look them in the eyes, and say:

“Tell me what’s really going on.”

And then stay quiet long enough to actually hear the answer.

Because sometimes the most powerful ministry isn’t a sermon.

It’s a conversation.

It’s a cup of coffee.

It’s a hand held during a difficult moment.

It’s sitting beside a hospital bed.

It’s answering the phone at 2 a.m.

It’s showing up when everyone else has disappeared.

It’s remembering someone’s name.

It’s noticing the person who always says, “I’m fine,” and loving them enough to know they’re not.

That’s what Jesus did.

He noticed people.

And maybe we should too.

So today, I want to challenge all of us—including myself.

Look around.

Really look.

Who in your life needs more than your presence?

Who needs your attention?

Who needs your time?

Who needs your listening ear?

Who is smiling on the outside while quietly falling apart on the inside?

Who have you been physically present with but emotionally absent from?

And perhaps most importantly…

Are you merely present with God, or are you engaged with Him?

Are you just attending church?

Or are you seeking Him?

Are you just reading Scripture?

Or are you allowing Scripture to change you?

Are you just saying prayers?

Or are you actually talking with your Father?

Because God doesn’t want a relationship where we simply check in.

He wants our hearts.

Life moves far too quickly.

One day, the person sitting beside you won’t be there anymore.

One day, the phone call you keep putting off won’t be possible.

One day, the chair across the table may be empty.

One day, you’ll wish you had listened longer.

Loved harder.

Forgiven sooner.

Put the phone down.

Stayed a little longer.

Don’t wait until someone’s funeral to realize you should have spent more time with them while they were alive.

Don’t wait until they’re gone to tell them what they meant to you.

Don’t wait until the opportunity disappears.

Be there now.

Not just physically.

Emotionally.

Spiritually.

Completely.

Because people may forget what you said.

They may forget what you did.

But they will never forget how you made them feel when they were hurting.

So take time to know the difference.

Being present says, “I’m here.”

Being engaged says, “You matter to me.”

And maybe the greatest way we can love people like Jesus loved us…

isn’t simply by showing up.

It’s by staying.

It’s by listening.

It’s by caring.

It’s by entering the mess.

It’s by refusing to walk away.

Because someday, when this life is over and we stand before our Savior, I don’t think we’re going to wish we had spent more time scrolling.

More time arguing.

More time worrying about things that didn’t matter.

More time trying to impress people who weren’t paying attention anyway.

I think we’ll wish we had loved more.

Listened more.

Forgiven more.

Prayed more.

And been there more.

So today…

Put the phone down.

Look up.

Look around.

Look into someone’s eyes.

Ask them how they’re really doing.

And when they finally tell you…

don’t rush away.

Stay.

Because sometimes your willingness to stay may be the very thing God uses to remind a broken heart:

“You are not alone.”

And perhaps that’s what being the hands and feet of Jesus really looks like.

**Not just being present…

but being fully, completely, sacrificially ENGAGED.

Be present. Be engaged. Love like Jesus.

Someone may be silently begging for someone to notice them today.

Please don’t be too busy to see them. ~OC

Good Morning!

Today’s a new day!

I have some wonderful news to share this morning!

I was transferred out of the ICU late last night, and I am now on the Neurology floor of the hospital. Yesterday, I completed my fourth treatment, and I have just one more treatment Saturday morning. If everything continues to go as planned, I should be heading HOME shortly after treatment on Saturday.

This week, my medical team shared just how close I came to not being here today. Those words were difficult to hear, but they also remind me just how precious every single day truly is.

And once again, I am overwhelmed with gratitude.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. 

To everyone who prayed, sent messages, visited, checked in, encouraged us, stood with us, and lifted us before the Lord—Laura and I are so incredibly grateful.

God heard your prayers.

God answered your prayers.

And I believe with all my heart that God is not finished with me yet. 

There is still a purpose for my life. There is still work to do. There are still people to love, lives to touch, and stories of God’s faithfulness to share.

Once again, Laura and I are deeply grateful for every prayer and every person who has walked alongside us through this journey.

God is good. All the time.

I pray that each and every one of you has a beautiful, blessed, and God-filled day. Never take today for granted. Today is a gift.

Keep praying. Keep believing. Keep overcoming.~OC

Live It Up

Today’s a new day!

As I continue to walk out this crazy, beautiful, unpredictable health journey, I’ve come to a decision:

I’ve decided to live it up.

Not someday.

Not when everything gets better.

Not when my body cooperates, the doctors have all the answers, or life finally becomes easier.

Now.

Because if this journey has taught me anything, it’s that tomorrow is never guaranteed—and waiting for the perfect circumstances to start living is one of the greatest ways to miss the life happening right in front of us.

I’ve spent enough time dealing with battles, setbacks, disappointments, appointments, treatments, uncertainty, and days when simply getting through the day felt like an accomplishment.

But I refuse to let the hard parts steal all the beautiful parts.

Yes, I have limitations.

Yes, there are things I can no longer do.

Yes, some days are harder than others.

But there is still so much I can do.

There are people I can love.

Memories I can make.

Stories I can tell.

Music I can create.

Laughter I can share.

Sunsets I can stop and appreciate.

Adventures I can still take.

Prayers I can still pray.

And a whole lot of living left to do.

So I’m changing the question.

Instead of asking, “What can’t I do anymore?”

I’m asking:

“What can I do today that makes this life worth celebrating?”

That changes everything.

Living it up doesn’t mean ignoring reality.

It doesn’t mean pretending the struggle doesn’t exist.

It means refusing to allow the struggle to become the only thing I see.

It means finding joy wherever I can find it.

It means celebrating the small victories.

It means laughing loudly.

Loving deeply.

Forgiving freely.

Making memories.

Taking pictures.

Hugging the people who matter.

Telling people I love them while I have the opportunity.

And squeezing every drop of meaning, purpose, joy, and gratitude out of this crazy beautiful life.

My health journey may have changed my definition of strength.

It certainly changed my definition of success.

These days, success isn’t necessarily about accomplishing something extraordinary.

Sometimes success is simply waking up and saying:

“Today, I’m going to live.”

And then actually doing it.

I don’t know how many chapters are left in my story.

That’s okay.

I don’t need to know.

I just want to make the chapters I have count.

I want to leave footprints of love.

I want to collect memories instead of regrets.

I want to choose experiences over excuses whenever I can.

I want to celebrate the people who have walked beside me.

And I want to look back someday and know that I didn’t spend my life waiting for life to begin.

I lived it.

The whole crazy, beautiful, messy, miraculous thing.

So yes…

I’m still walking through the battle.

But I’m also going to dance when I can.

Laugh when I can.

Travel when I can.

Create when I can.

Love with everything I’ve got.

And celebrate every single blessing I can find.

Because life isn’t waiting for me to become healthy enough, strong enough, or perfect enough to enjoy it.

Life is happening right now.

And I’ve decided I’m going to show up for it.

I’m going to live boldly.

Love fiercely.

Laugh often.

Make memories.

Count blessings.

Chase moments.

And squeeze every beautiful drop out of the time I’ve been given.

I don’t just want to survive this journey.

I want to LIVE it.

So bring on the crazy.

Bring on the beautiful.

Bring on the unexpected.

Bring on the memories we haven’t made yet.

Because as long as I’m here…

I’m going to live it up. ~OC

Grit, Faith and Determination

Today’s a new day!

Some battles don’t come with warning.

They arrive quietly—or sometimes all at once—and suddenly you find yourself standing in the middle of something you never expected to face.

I’m in one of those seasons right now.

But here’s what I’ve learned: a tough battle doesn’t have to steal your hope.

I’m choosing to stay positive. I’m choosing to keep moving forward. And I’m choosing to lean—not because I am weak, but because I understand that none of us were created to walk through the hardest seasons of life alone.

I am incredibly grateful for my family and friends who continue to stand beside me.

Your prayers, messages, encouragement, phone calls, hugs, and simple reminders that you’re there mean more than I can put into words. Sometimes you may think you’re just sending a quick message or saying a quick prayer, but to someone in the middle of a difficult battle, those little things can become lifelines.

Your support means the world to me.

There will be difficult days. There will be moments when the road ahead looks intimidating. There may even be times when I have to take things one day—or one moment—at a time.

But I refuse to let the battle define me.

I want my response to adversity to be defined by grit, faith, courage, and determination.

Grit says, Keep going.

Faith says, God is still here.

Determination says, I’m not finished.

And love reminds me that I’m not walking this road alone.

I don’t know exactly what tomorrow will bring. But I know I don’t have to face tomorrow by myself.

So, to my family, my friends, my prayer warriors, and everyone who has taken the time to encourage me:

Thank you.

Thank you for believing in me when the battle gets heavy.

Thank you for standing beside me when I’m tired.

Thank you for praying when I don’t have the words.

Thank you for reminding me that there is still something worth fighting for.

And most importantly, thank you for walking beside me.

This is not about pretending everything is easy.

It’s about facing what is difficult without surrendering our hope.

It’s about acknowledging the battle while refusing to give the battle the final word.

So here we go.

One day at a time.

One prayer at a time.

One step at a time.

With grit.
With faith.
With determination.
And with a whole lot of love surrounding us.

The battle may be tough.

But I’m tougher than the battle.

And with God, family, friends, and an army of people standing beside me, we’re going to face this together.

Let’s tackle it.

Not with fear.

Not with surrender.

But with grit, faith, and determination.

And whatever tomorrow brings, we’ll meet it together. ~OC

Squeezing Life

Today’s a new day!

Living with multiple health issues has taught me something I never would have learned in a life without suffering:

Our time on this earth is far too precious to waste.

When your body reminds you every day that life is fragile, you begin to see things differently. You stop taking tomorrow for granted. You stop assuming there will always be another opportunity to call someone, hug someone, forgive someone, laugh with someone, or tell the people you love how much they mean to you.

You begin to understand that life isn’t measured only in years.

Sometimes it is measured in moments.

A conversation that makes you smile.

A sunset that takes your breath away.

A prayer whispered through tears.

A song that reminds you God is still near.

A hug from someone you love.

A meal shared around the table.

A memory made on an ordinary day that somehow becomes extraordinary because you were there to experience it.

My health journey has taken many things from me. There are things I once could do that I can no longer do. There are dreams that have had to change. There are days when simply getting through the day feels like an accomplishment.

But I’ve learned not to let what I’ve lost become the only story I tell.

Because God is still writing.

I may not understand every chapter, but I trust the Author.

I may have questions I cannot answer, but I can still have faith.

I may have limitations, but I am not without purpose.

And I may have scars, but those scars can become reminders of God’s faithfulness.

Living with illness has made me want to squeeze every bit of meaning, purpose, joy, gratitude, and hope out of the short time we have on this earth.

Not because I am afraid of dying.

But because I have learned to appreciate living.

I want to love people while they’re still here.

I want to make memories instead of waiting for the “perfect” moment.

I want to encourage somebody who feels forgotten.

I want to remind the broken that they are not useless.

I want to tell the person sitting in the darkness that morning is still coming.

I want my life—even with all its limitations—to point beyond me to Jesus.

Scripture reminds us:

“Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” — Psalm 90:12

Numbering our days doesn’t mean living in fear of the end.

It means learning to recognize the value of today.

Today is a beautiful gift.

This breath is a gift.

This conversation is a gift.

This person sitting beside you is a gift.

This opportunity to love, serve, forgive, 

encourage, worship, and make a difference is a gift.

We don’t know how many pages remain in our story.

So I’m not waiting until tomorrow to start living.

I’m not waiting until I’m healthy enough.

I’m not waiting until everything makes sense.

I’m not waiting until life becomes easier.

I’m choosing to live the life God has placed in front of me today.

Maybe that’s what being an overcomer really means.

It doesn’t mean we never struggle.

It doesn’t mean we aren’t afraid.

It doesn’t mean we don’t have bad days.

It means we refuse to let our circumstances have the final word.

We keep getting back up.

We keep believing.

We keep loving.

We keep hoping.

We keep looking toward Jesus.

And we keep squeezing every drop of meaning out of this beautiful, difficult, unpredictable gift called life.

Because one day, when this earthly journey is finished, I don’t want to look back and realize I spent all my time waiting for life to begin.

I want to know that I lived.

I loved deeply.

I laughed often.

I made memories.

I recognized and encouraged people.

I served Jesus.

I held onto hope.

And even in the hardest seasons, I trusted God enough to keep moving forward.

Life may be shorter than we think.

So don’t wait to tell someone you love them.

Don’t wait to make the memory.

Don’t wait to forgive.

Don’t wait to reach out.

Don’t wait to live.

Squeeze every drop of meaning, purpose, love, and hope out of this day.

Tomorrow belongs to God.

But today is a gift.

And I intend to unwrap it. ~OC

Don’t Live With Regrets

Today’s a new day!

I’ve often thought about something that feels both heartbreaking and unnecessary.

When I die, I don’t want people to suddenly tell the world how much I meant to them.

I don’t want long social media posts about the memories we never made.

I don’t want flowers that arrive too late, or words spoken over a casket that could have been shared over a glass of ice tea.

I want the conversation while I’m still here.

I want the phone call.

I want the text that says, “I’m thinking about you.”

I want the laughter around the dinner table, the long conversations on the porch, the road trips, the prayers together, and the ordinary moments that somehow become extraordinary simply because they were shared with someone we love.

Life is incredibly fragile.

As someone who has spent years walking through chronic illness, I’ve been reminded again and again that tomorrow is never guaranteed. We all assume there will be another birthday, another holiday, another chance to reconnect. But sometimes, that chance never comes.

One of the greatest tragedies isn’t death itself.

It’s the conversations we never had.

The forgiveness we never offered.

The hugs we never gave.

The visits we kept putting off.

The words, “I love you,” that remained trapped behind pride, busyness, or the illusion that there would always be more time.

Don’t wait.

If someone comes to your mind today, maybe that’s not an accident.

Call them.

Invite them to lunch.

Take the drive.

Write the letter.

Pray with them.

Make the memory now instead of wishing you had after they’re gone.

At the end of our lives, very few people regret spending too much time with those they love.

They regret the opposite.

They regret the vacations they postponed, the friendships they neglected, the family gatherings they skipped, and the relationships they allowed to slowly drift away.

Love isn’t measured by what we say after someone dies.

Love is measured by how we show up while they’re still living.

Jesus demonstrated this beautifully. He walked with people, ate with them, listened to them, laughed with them, wept beside them, and loved them in the everyday moments of life. He didn’t wait until it was too late to express His love.

Maybe today is your reminder.

Don’t let another day slip by.

Don’t assume they’ll always be there.

Don’t allow pride to steal another year.

Reach out.

Create the memories.

Take the picture.

Share the meal.

Say the words.

One day, the opportunity will pass.

Live in such a way that when the day of goodbye finally comes, your heart is filled with gratitude instead of regret—not because everything was perfect, but because you chose to love while there was still time.

Don’t wait until a funeral to celebrate someone’s life.

Celebrate them today. ~OC

Dear Caregivers: Please Don’t Forget Yourself

Today’s a new day!

Dear Caregivers,

Please take care of yourself.

I know that may sound simple, but for caregivers, it can be one of the hardest things in the world to actually do.

You spend your days worrying about someone else.

Their medications.
Their appointments.
Their meals.
Their pain.
Their bad days.
Their good days.
Their needs.
Their fears.

You become the organizer, advocate, chauffeur, encourager, nurse, protector, prayer warrior, and sometimes the person holding everything together when it feels like everything is falling apart.

And somewhere along the way, you can disappear from your own list of priorities.

Please don’t.

My wonderful bride has been living the life of a caregiver for more than twenty years.

Twenty years.

She has walked beside me through illnesses, doctors, hospitals, treatments, setbacks, victories, fear, uncertainty, and more twists and turns than either of us ever imagined when we said, “I do.”

She is a rockstar.

But even rockstars need rest.

Even the strongest people need someone to lean on.

Even caregivers need caregivers.

And that’s why I want to say something directly to every person reading this who spends their life taking care of someone else:

You are not selfish for taking care of yourself.

You are not selfish for going to your own doctor’s appointments.

You are not selfish for meeting a friend for coffee.

You are not selfish for laughing.

You are not selfish for taking a walk.

You are not selfish for taking an afternoon or weekend off.

You are not selfish for asking someone else to step in.

You are not selfish for saying, “I need help.”

In fact, asking for help may be one of the most responsible things you can do.

Because you cannot pour from an empty cup forever.

I have heard the statistic that 64% of caregivers die before the person they are caring for. Whether that exact number applies universally or not, the warning behind it is very real: caregiving can take an enormous physical, emotional, and spiritual toll.

Did you catch that?

The person taking care of everyone else can become so exhausted that they forget they are a person who needs care, too.

So, dear caregiver, let me remind you of something:

Your life matters, too.

Your health matters.

Your mental and emotional well-being matters.

Your friendships matter.

Your dreams matter.

Your laughter matters.

Your time with God matters.

Your rest matters.

You matter.

Please don’t wait until your body forces you to stop.

Go to the doctor.

Take the medication you need.

Get some sleep.

Eat something.

Drink some water.

Call a friend.

Go outside.

Take a breath.

Pray.

Cry if you need to.

Laugh when you can.

And when someone says, “How can I help?”—please don’t automatically answer, “I’m fine.”

Maybe give them something they can actually do.

“Can you sit with them for a couple of hours?”

“Can you bring us dinner?”

“Can you drive us to this appointment?”

“Can you just come over and let me talk?”

Let people love you.

Because caregiving was never meant to be a one-person job.

My bride has taught me so much about love through the way she has cared for me for more than two decades. But I don’t want her—or any caregiver—to lose themselves while caring for someone they love.

You don’t have to destroy yourself to prove that you love someone.

Read that again.

You don’t have to destroy yourself to prove that you love someone.

Taking care of yourself doesn’t mean you love the person you’re caring for any less.

It means you’re giving yourself a better chance to keep walking beside them.

So, to every husband, wife, son, daughter, parent, sibling, friend, or stranger who has quietly become somebody’s caregiver:

I see you.

I appreciate you.

I honor you.

And I’m asking you—please take care of yourself.

Ask for help.

Accept help.

Make the doctor’s appointment.

Call your friends.

Take the day off when you can.

Sit somewhere quiet.

Take a deep breath.

And remember that you are more than the role you have been given.

You are a human being, not just a caregiver.

You deserve to live, too.

Because the goal isn’t simply to survive caregiving.

The goal is for both of you to keep living.

So, dear caregivers…

Please don’t forget yourself while you’re taking care of someone else.

You are needed.

You are loved.

You are valuable.

And yes—

you matter, too. ~OC

Living

Today’s a new day!

I know what it’s like to be dying.

I know what it feels like to look at your life and realize that tomorrow is never promised. I know what it’s like to spend time in hospital rooms, sit across from doctors, hear words that change the way you look at the future, and wonder how much time you have left.

I know what it’s like to come face-to-face with my own mortality.

But here’s the thing:

I don’t spend much time thinking about death.

I know it’s there.

I know one day my earthly journey will come to an end. I don’t deny it. I don’t run from it. And because of my faith, I don’t fear what comes after this life.

But I’m not going to spend the days I’ve been given worrying about the day they run out.

I’ve got too much living to do.

I’ve got too many memories to make.

Too many conversations to have.

Too many sunsets to watch.

Too many laughs to share.

Too many hugs to give.

Too many stories still waiting to be told.

Too many people I love who still need to hear, “I love you.”

There are places I still want to see, songs I still want to write, prayers I still want to pray, and moments I still want to experience.

There are memories I haven’t made yet with the people I love.

So I’m going to make them.

I’m going to laugh when I can.

I’m going to cry when I need to.

I’m going to celebrate the ordinary moments because I’ve learned that ordinary moments are often the extraordinary ones we remember most.

I’m going to sit a little longer at the dinner table.

I’m going to call the friend I’ve been meaning to call.

I’m going to tell people what they mean to me while they’re still here—and while I’m still here.

I’m going to stop saving life for someday.

Because someday isn’t guaranteed.

Today is.

Living with serious health challenges has taught me something I could never have learned from a textbook:

Life isn’t measured only by how many years we have.

It’s measured by what we do with the years we’ve been given.

Death may be somewhere down the road, but I’m not going to stand on the road staring at it.

I’m going to keep walking.

I’m going to keep loving.

I’m going to keep believing.

I’m going to keep making memories.

I’m going to keep squeezing every drop of meaning, purpose, joy, and hope out of this crazy, beautiful life.

And when my time finally comes, I don’t want to look back and wish I had lived more.

I want to be able to say:

I lived.

I loved deeply.

I laughed loudly.

I made memories.

I encouraged people.

I shared my faith.

I fought through the hard days.

I celebrated the good ones.

I didn’t waste my life being afraid of losing it.

I chose to live it.

Because death may be inevitable.

But today is a gift.

And I’m not wasting the gift.

I’ve got too much living to do.

Too much loving to do.

Too many memories to make.

Too much purpose left to pursue.

And as long as God gives me breath…

I’m going to fully embrace it. ~OC

My Medical Rap Sheet Doesn’t Get The Final Word

Today’s a new day!

Here is my medical rap sheet.

  • Crippling Arthritis — 2002 (Ended up being cancer)
  • Cancer — 2003
  • Parkinson’s Disease — 2007
  • Myasthenia Gravis — 2009
  • Gastroparesis — 2015
  • COVID Long Haulers — 2022
  • Type Two Diabetes 202 (medication induced)
  • Cluster and Migraine Headaches — 2024
  • Dementia — 2024

Looking at that list, many people would probably assume my life is over.

They would assume the best years are behind me. That my dreams have ended. That all that’s left is surviving.

But they would be wrong.

Every single day, I choose life.

I choose to keep making memories with my beautiful bride of twenty-six years. I choose to laugh, to love, and to appreciate the moments that many people rush past.

I choose to continue advocating for other patients who need someone to remind them that they are more than a diagnosis.

I choose to keep fighting against human trafficking because there are people who desperately need hope, justice, and someone willing to stand in the gap.

Does that mean this health journey is easy?

Absolutely not.

There are days filled with pain. Days of exhaustion. Days when my body reminds me of every diagnosis on that list.

But years ago, I made a decision.

This health battle would never become my identity.

My diagnoses describe some of the battles I face—they do not define the man I am.

I refuse to allow illness to steal my purpose. I refuse to let disease dictate my joy. I refuse to surrender the calling God has placed on my life simply because my body doesn’t always cooperate.

Instead, I choose to keep living.

I choose to keep loving.

I choose to keep serving.

I choose to keep overcoming.

If you’re walking through a battle today—whether it’s a health crisis, grief, depression, financial hardship, addiction, or something no one else can see—I want to encourage you.

Don’t let your battle become your identity.

Keep fighting.

Keep making memories.

Keep dreaming.

Keep showing up.

Keep loving the people around you.

Live your life to the fullest, even if it looks different than you once imagined.

Champions aren’t defined by the battles they face.

They’re defined by the courage to keep getting back up.

So today…

Choose hope.

Choose purpose.

Choose joy.

Choose life.

And whatever comes your way, keep overcoming.

Live like a champion. ~OC

Good Trouble for the Church

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

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