Today’s a new day! You’re allowed to outgrow the version of yourself that other people became comfortable with. ~OC
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
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
Tomorrow’s
No One Knows How Many Tomorrow’s Are In A Lifetime…
So I’ve stopped taking them for granted.
That’s one of the greatest lessons chronic illness has ever taught me.
For more than two decades, I’ve lived with something most people don’t see.
Behind the smiles are hospital rooms.
Behind the laughter are tears.
Behind the encouraging words are moments of fear that I’ve never shared with anyone.
There have been nights when I’ve laid in a hospital bed listening to the machines around me, wondering what tomorrow would look like.
There have been moments when I had to confront something none of us really want to think about:
I could die.
Not someday in some distant future.
But maybe sooner than I thought.
When death becomes more than a word—when it becomes a possibility sitting at the foot of your hospital bed—it changes the way you see everything.
You stop worrying so much about things that don’t matter.
You start caring more about the people you love.
You become grateful for things you once overlooked.
A sunrise.
A conversation.
A laugh.
A hug.
Another morning.
Another breath.
Another chance to tell someone, “I love you.”
Another opportunity to say, “Jesus has been good to me.”
Chronic illness has forced me to stretch the limits of my faith.
There have been moments when faith was the only thing I had left.
And sometimes my faith wasn’t strong.
Sometimes all I could whisper was:
“Jesus, please get me through tonight.”
And somehow, He did.
Not always by changing my circumstances.
But by changing me in the middle of them.
I’ve learned that thriving with chronic illness doesn’t mean pretending everything is okay.
It doesn’t mean putting a smile on your face and hiding the pain.
It means being honest enough to say,
“This hurts.”
“I’m scared.”
“I’m tired.”
“I don’t understand.”
…and then somehow finding enough faith to say,
“But God, I’m still trusting You.”
That’s where writing came into my life.
During those long hospital stays, when the hours seemed to crawl by, I started writing simply to pass the time.
I didn’t know what it would become.
I just knew I had emotions trapped inside of me that needed somewhere to go.
So I wrote.
I wrote when I was scared.
I wrote when I was angry.
I wrote when I was hurting.
I wrote when I was grateful.
I wrote when I couldn’t understand what God was doing.
And I wrote when I needed to remind myself that God was still there.
Eventually, writing became a daily habit.
And somewhere along the way, I realized something:
Maybe these words aren’t just for me.
Maybe that hospital bed wasn’t only a place where I was fighting for my own life.
Maybe it was also a place where God was teaching me how to speak hope into someone else’s.
Because somewhere out there, someone is sitting in a hospital room tonight.
Someone is staring at a diagnosis they never expected.
Someone is crying where nobody can see them.
Someone is terrified about tomorrow.
Someone is wondering if their life still has meaning.
Someone is asking God,
“Why am I still here?”
And if my words can reach even one of those people and whisper,
“Please don’t give up. You’re not alone.”
then maybe the pain wasn’t completely wasted.
That’s what I’ve come to understand about purpose.
Sometimes purpose doesn’t come wrapped in something beautiful.
Sometimes purpose comes wrapped in pain.
Sometimes God takes the chapters we would have gladly erased and uses them to write hope into somebody else’s story.
I wouldn’t have chosen this journey.
I wouldn’t have chosen the illnesses.
I wouldn’t have chosen the hospital stays.
I wouldn’t have chosen the fear.
I wouldn’t have chosen the uncertainty.
But I can choose what I do with it.
I can let it destroy me.
Or I can place it in God’s hands and say,
“Use this, Lord.”
Use my scars.
Use my tears.
Use my failures.
Use my fears.
Use my story.
Use every broken piece of me.
Just don’t let my suffering be meaningless.
Because I don’t know how many pages are left in my story.
And neither do you.
That’s the truth we don’t like to talk about.
Every one of us is living on borrowed time.
We just don’t know how much time is left.
So I’m trying to stop counting the years…
and start counting the moments.
I’m trying to embrace the time God gives me instead of being consumed by the time I don’t have.
I’m trying to live while I’m alive.
To love while I can.
To forgive while I can.
To encourage while I can.
To write while I can.
To tell people about Jesus while I can.
To leave a little more hope in this world than I found.
Because one day, all of us will write our final sentence.
And when that day comes, I don’t want my greatest regret to be all the things I was too afraid to do.
I want to know that I used what God gave me.
That I loved people.
That I encouraged people.
That I prayed for people.
That I made somebody feel less alone.
That I pointed somebody toward Jesus.
That I didn’t allow my illness to steal the purpose and joy God placed inside of me.
So…
I will keep writing.
Even when my hands are tired.
Even when my heart is heavy.
Even when my thoughts are harder to find.
Even when the words come through tears.
Because there is still something inside of me that needs to be said.
And there is still somebody who may need to hear it.
I don’t know how many tomorrows I have.
But I have today.
And today is enough.
Today, I can love.
Today, I can pray.
Today, I can encourage.
Today, I can write.
Today, I can live.
Today, I can tell somebody,
“Don’t give up.”
And today, I can look toward Heaven and say:
“Thank You, God, for one more day.”
I don’t know how my story ends.
But I know Who holds the pen.
And until He writes “The End,”
I’m going to keep turning the page…and live. ~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
We’re All Living on Borrowed Time
Here’s a truth we don’t always want to think about:
Every one of us is living on borrowed time.
We may not all have the same diagnosis, the same number of years, or the same circumstances—but none of us knows how many days we have left.
Scripture reminds us, “Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” — Psalm 90:12
So the question isn’t simply “How much time do I have?”
The bigger question is:
“What am I going to do with the time God has given me?”
Are you going to spend it holding grudges—or choosing forgiveness?
Are you going to chase things that won’t matter in eternity—or invest in people who will?
Are you going to keep waiting for the perfect moment—or start living with purpose today?
Are you going to complain about what you’ve lost—or thank God for what you still have?
Are you going to keep putting off that phone call, that hug, that apology, that act of kindness, that step of faith?
None of us is promised tomorrow.
But today is a gift.
Every breath is an opportunity.
Every sunrise is another invitation to love, serve, encourage, forgive, worship, and make a difference.
We are not guaranteed unlimited time.
We are guaranteed this moment.
So don’t waste the life you have wishing for the life you think you should have had.
Take the time God has placed in your hands and use it for something that matters.
Love deeply.
Forgive freely.
Serve faithfully.
Speak life.
Encourage somebody.
Tell your family you love them.
Help someone who is hurting.
Share your faith.
Make memories.
And above all, live for Jesus.
Because one day, our borrowed time will be over.
My prayer is that when that day comes, we won’t have to wonder whether we truly lived.
Let’s live a life that mattered.
Let’s leave footprints of faith, hope, love, and grace.
Let’s make every remaining day count.
Your time is a gift. What are you deciding to do with it? ~OC
#LiveWithPurpose #MakeEveryDayCount #Faith #Hope #Love #Jesus #Overcomer #LifeOfSignificance
Bridges
Today’s a new day.
Your struggles are not liabilities. They’re bridges.
The things you’ve walked through—the pain, the setbacks, the tears, the moments when you wondered if you had enough strength to keep going—may feel like weaknesses. But sometimes, those very struggles become the places where your story connects with someone else’s.
Your scars remind people that healing is possible.
Your tears remind people that it’s okay to hurt.
Your perseverance reminds people that they can keep going.
Your testimony reminds people that they are not alone.
We often think we have to hide our struggles to be strong. But sometimes, strength is found in being honest enough to say, “I’ve been there too.”
Because somewhere out there, someone is silently bleeding, silently fighting, and silently wondering if anyone understands.
And then they hear your story.
They realize they’re not the only one hurting.
They’re not the only one fighting.
They’re not the only one trying to find their way through the darkness.
Your struggle can become a bridge from someone’s despair to hope.
So don’t be ashamed of the scars you carry. Don’t believe the lie that your difficult seasons make you less valuable.
Your struggles are not liabilities. They’re bridges.
Let God use every scar, every battle, every tear, and every victory to remind someone else:
“You are not alone. Keep fighting. Keep believing. Keep overcoming.” ~OC
The Church Should Never Be Full of Cliques
Today’s a new day!
The Church was never meant to be a place where people walk through the doors and immediately wonder, “Where do I fit in?”
Unfortunately, too many churches have become filled with cliques—small groups of people who only talk to certain people, sit with certain people, socialize with certain people, and sometimes make newcomers feel like outsiders simply because they aren’t part of the “in crowd.”
That should break our hearts.
The Church should be one of the most welcoming places on earth.
Jesus didn’t build His ministry around exclusive circles. He reached out to the forgotten, the hurting, the rejected, the sinners, the poor, the sick, and the people society had pushed to the margins. He didn’t ask people to prove they belonged before He loved them.
He simply loved them.
So why do we sometimes make people work so hard to find a place within the Church?
Cliques don’t attract people. Love does.
Cliques create walls. Jesus tore down walls.
Cliques make people feel invisible. Jesus made people feel seen.
Cliques say, “You don’t belong with us.”
Jesus says, “Come to Me.”
Think about the person who walks into church for the first time. Maybe they’re struggling with addiction. Maybe their marriage is falling apart. Maybe they’ve been hurt by the Church before. Maybe they’re grieving. Maybe they’re lonely. Maybe they’re questioning their faith. Maybe they simply don’t know anyone.
What do they experience when they walk through our doors?
Do they see people who are willing to stop, introduce themselves, sit beside them, listen to their story and make room for them?
Or do they see groups gathered together who barely acknowledge anyone outside their circle?
We need to understand something: people are watching.
Sometimes our greatest testimony isn’t what happens on the platform. It’s what happens in the hallway.
It’s whether we notice the person standing alone.
It’s whether we invite someone to sit with us.
It’s whether we learn someone’s name.
It’s whether we ask, “How are you really doing?” and actually listen to the answer.
It’s whether we make room at our table.
The Church doesn’t need more exclusive circles. The Church needs wider tables.
And this isn’t about saying that friendships are wrong. Of course we will naturally develop deeper friendships with certain people. That’s part of being human.
The problem begins when our friendships become barriers.
There is a difference between having close friends and creating a closed circle.
There is a difference between community and exclusivity.
There is a difference between fellowship and favoritism.
Jesus called us to love one another, not just the people who look like us, think like us, worship like us or already belong to our social circle.
The Church should be a family where there is room for everybody.
The single person.
The married couple.
The young person.
The senior adult.
The lifelong Christian.
The person who is just beginning to believe.
The person who has walked away and is trying to find their way home.
The person who has been hurt by religion.
The person who doesn’t have it all together.
Because here’s the truth:
None of us has it all together.
We are all people in need of God’s grace.
So let’s stop building little kingdoms inside God’s house.
Let’s stop worrying about who belongs to our group.
Let’s stop protecting our circles and start expanding our tables.
Let’s become the kind of Church where a stranger doesn’t remain a stranger.
Where the lonely find friendship.
Where the broken find compassion.
Where the hurting find hope.
Where the questioning are welcomed.
Where the forgotten are remembered.
Where the outsider becomes family.
And where the first thing people experience isn’t judgment, suspicion or exclusion—but the love of Jesus.
If we want people to come to church, we have to give them something worth coming to.
Not perfect people.
Not impressive programs.
Not political tribes.
Not cliques.
Jesus.
And Jesus is love.
Maybe it’s time for all of us to look around our churches and ask ourselves one uncomfortable but important question:
“Am I helping create a Church that welcomes people, or am I helping create a circle that keeps people out?”
Because the Church doesn’t belong to us.
It belongs to Jesus.
And His table has always been bigger than our clique.
Let’s make room.
Let’s love people well.
Let’s tear down the walls.
Let’s open the doors.
Let’s become the Church Jesus called us to be. ~OC
Mud, Spit and the American Church
Today’s a new day!
I grew up in a different generation.
We played in the dirt until the streetlights came on. We climbed trees, rode our bikes without helmets, scraped our knees, and somehow survived. We came home covered in mud, sweat, and stories.
If you had something on your face, chances are your mom or grandma would lick her thumb or use a little spit to wipe it away before anyone else noticed. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was an act of love. Nobody thought twice about it.
It was a simpler time.
I also grew up in churches where pastors weren’t trying to become celebrities. They weren’t worried about likes, followers, or building a personal brand. They opened the Bible, preached the truth, called people to repentance, and pointed everyone to Jesus. Sometimes the sermons made you uncomfortable. Sometimes they stepped on your toes. But you left knowing you had encountered God’s Word, not just another motivational speech.
Today, so much has changed.
Many children rarely play outside. Screens have replaced backyards. Adventure has been traded for entertainment.
Many parents would never imagine using spit to clean a child’s face. We’ve become increasingly concerned with appearances, convenience, and comfort.
And sadly, much of the American Church has changed too.
Far too many pulpits have exchanged the Gospel for self-improvement.
Messages about sin have been replaced with messages about success. Repentance has been replaced with positive thinking. The cross has been overshadowed by personal branding.
Instead of shepherds feeding the flock, many churches have become stages where personalities perform.
People leave feeling inspired—but not transformed.
Yet when I read Scripture, I find something fascinating.
Jesus wasn’t afraid of mud.
In fact, one of His miracles involved making mud with His own saliva.
He spit on the ground, mixed the dirt into mud, placed it on a blind man’s eyes, and told him to go wash. When the man obeyed, he came back seeing.
Think about that for a moment.
The Creator of the universe could have simply spoken a word.
Instead, He chose mud.
He chose spit.
Something ordinary.
Something people might even consider offensive.
Because God has always been in the business of using unlikely things to display His glory.
The Gospel itself is offensive to human pride.
It tells us we cannot save ourselves.
It tells us we must die to ourselves.
It tells us that forgiveness came through a bloody cross.
None of that fits neatly into today’s culture of comfort and self-esteem.
But it is still the power of God.
The American Church doesn’t need better marketing.
It doesn’t need cooler stages.
It doesn’t need more polished personalities.
It needs pastors who love truth more than applause.
It needs believers who desire holiness more than popularity.
It needs people who are willing to get their hands dirty serving others instead of polishing their own image.
Maybe we’ve become so obsessed with looking clean that we’ve forgotten the One who still isn’t afraid to kneel in the dirt.
Jesus still meets broken people.
He still restores blind eyes.
He still heals wounded hearts.
He still calls sinners to Himself.
The method may not always look impressive.
The process may not always be comfortable.
But His power hasn’t changed.
Perhaps it’s time for the Church to stop trying to impress the culture and start looking more like Christ again.
Maybe what we need isn’t another life coach with a Bible verse.
Maybe we need shepherds who will faithfully preach the whole counsel of God-even when it’s unpopular.
Maybe we need believers who aren’t afraid of a little mud if it means someone finally sees Jesus.
Because sometimes, God still chooses mud.
Sometimes, He still uses spit.
And He has always used ordinary people surrendered to an extraordinary Savior.
Lord, may Your Church once again become known—not for its polish, but for its faithfulness. Give us courage to speak truth with love, humility to serve without recognition, and hearts that care more about Your glory than our comfort. Amen. ~OC
The Sermon That Changed Everything
I remember a pastor preaching a sermon that had nothing to do with Washington.
No politicians were mentioned.
No political party was attacked.
No election was discussed.
Instead, the pastor opened the Bible and said:
“Love your neighbor.”
Then he talked about the widow.
The orphan.
The prisoner.
The hungry.
The lonely.
The forgotten.
He reminded us that following Jesus wasn’t about winning arguments.
It was about becoming more like Christ.
People walked out of that church talking about what Jesus had said.
Not what a politician had tweeted.
Not what Congress had done.
Not what political battle was coming next.
Just Jesus.
I miss those sermons.
I miss a Christianity that didn’t need a political enemy to feel spiritually alive. ~OC
The Blessed Overcomer 