Tag: Holy Spirit

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

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A Letter From My Heart

Dear Family and Friends,

As I continue to walk through this health battle, I have made a decision that I believe I need to make for this season of my life: I need to slow down and take a break.

For the time being, I will be scaling back on posting blog posts, social media, creating and sharing music, and being involved in too many meetings and activities.

This is not an easy decision for me. Writing has always been one of the ways I process life, share my thoughts, encourage others, and hopefully make a difference. Music has become another beautiful part of that journey. And being part of meetings and connecting with people has meant so much to me.

But sometimes we have to recognize when we simply don’t have anything left to give.

Putting my thoughts together on paper can be challenging right now. There are days when the words don’t come easily, and even simple things can require more energy than I have. And honestly, I’m just tired.

Tired doesn’t mean I’m giving up.

It doesn’t mean I have lost my faith, my hope, or my desire to encourage others. It simply means that I need to give myself permission to take a break.

I have spent so much of this crazy beautiful health journey trying to keep moving forward, even in the middle of some incredibly difficult battles. But perhaps part of being an overcomer is understanding that sometimes overcoming means knowing when to stop, breathe, rest, and allow yourself to be renewed.

So, for this season, I am choosing to step back.

I don’t know exactly how long this break will last. I don’t know what the next chapter will look like. I’m simply taking things one day at a time and trusting God with what comes next.

I want to say thank you to every person who has supported me along this journey.

Thank you for reading my words.

Thank you for listening to my music.

Thank you for encouraging me.

Thank you for praying for me.

Thank you for standing beside me through the difficult days.

Thank you for reminding me that my story matters.

Your support has meant more to me than I can adequately put into words.

For now, I am going to give myself permission to rest, to be quiet, to process, and to simply live each day as it comes.

I may be stepping back from the things I normally share, but I am not stepping away from hope.

I am not stepping away from faith.

And I am certainly not giving up.

Sometimes the strongest thing an overcomer can say is, “I need to rest.”

So that’s where I am right now.

Taking a breath.

Taking a step back.

Taking care of myself.

And trusting God with the journey.

Thank you for understanding.

Thank you for walking with me.

And thank you for being part of this crazy, beautiful journey called life.

Until I share again, please keep believing, keep hoping, keep loving, and keep overcoming.

With love and gratitude,

OC

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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

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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

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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

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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

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Face Fear. Find Freedom.

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

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Live Like A Champion

Today’s a new day!

Here is my medical rap sheet.

  • Crippling Arthritis — 2002 (Actually ended up being cancer)
  • Cancer — 2003
  • Parkinson’s Disease — 2007
  • Myasthenia Gravis — 2009
  • Gastroparesis — 2015
  • COVID Long Haulers — 2022
  • Type Two Diabetes 2023 (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. 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

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The Flag Beside the Cross

I remember when I walked into church and the first thing I noticed wasn’t a political slogan.

It wasn’t a candidate’s name.

It wasn’t a red hat, a blue hat, or a message about which political party was saving America.

It was the cross.

The cross was the center of the room.

We sang about Jesus.

We prayed for the broken.

We collected food for families who couldn’t afford groceries.

We visited people in hospitals.

We welcomed the stranger.

We prayed for our enemies.

We didn’t have to agree politically to worship together.

We just had to agree that Jesus was Lord.

I remember those days.

I miss those days.

And sometimes I wonder if Jesus misses them too.

Because the Church was never supposed to be built around a political party.

It was supposed to be built around a Savior. ~OC

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The Heart of Community

There is a difference between attending a church and belonging to a faith community.

You can sit in the same room every Sunday, sing the same songs, hear the same message, and still feel completely alone.

And that should challenge us.

Because church was never supposed to be simply a place where we gather. It was meant to be a people—a family, a community, a body of believers who know one another, care for one another, pray for one another, carry one another, and walk through life together.

Connection builds the kind of community people don’t want to leave.

When a faith community becomes known for genuine connection, people notice.

They notice when someone remembers their name.

They notice when someone asks how they are doing—and actually waits for the answer.

They notice when someone reaches out after they’ve missed a few Sundays.

They notice when someone sits beside the person who is standing alone.

They notice when their struggles aren’t met with judgment but with compassion.

They notice when people don’t just say, “We’re praying for you,” but actually pray.

They notice when the church celebrates their victories, walks with them through their battles, and reminds them that they don’t have to face life alone.

That’s connection.

And connection is where belonging begins.

Belonging Doesn’t Happen by Accident

A culture of belonging doesn’t happen because we put a welcome banner in the lobby.

It doesn’t happen because we have a great worship service.

It doesn’t happen because we offer programs, events, coffee, or perfectly designed church experiences.

Those things can be wonderful, but belonging is built through people taking the time and making the effort to connect with people.

It requires intentionality.

It means noticing the person who keeps coming but hasn’t found their people yet.

It means inviting someone to lunch.

It means making the phone call.

It means sending the text.

It means remembering the prayer request from three weeks ago.

It means asking, “How can I walk with you through this?”

Sometimes the most powerful ministry we can offer isn’t a sermon.

Sometimes it’s simply showing up.

People Don’t Need Perfect Churches

People aren’t looking for perfect churches because perfect churches don’t exist.

They’re looking for authentic people.

They’re looking for a place where they can take off the mask.

A place where they don’t have to pretend everything is okay when everything isn’t okay.

A place where their questions are welcome.

A place where their pain isn’t minimized.

A place where their story matters.

A place where they are seen.

A place where they are known.

A place where they are loved.

That’s what genuine connection can create.

And when people experience that kind of community, something beautiful happens.

They don’t simply attend.

They belong.

Jesus Modeled Connection

Look at the ministry of Jesus.

He didn’t simply preach to crowds and then disappear.

He ate with people.

He listened.

He touched the untouchable.

He stopped for the overlooked.

He walked with people.

He wept with people.

He celebrated with people.

He entered people’s stories.

Jesus didn’t treat people like numbers in a crowd.

He treated them like people created in the image of God.

Maybe that’s part of the challenge for the modern Church.

We can become so focused on building bigger crowds that we forget to build deeper relationships.

But Jesus wasn’t simply interested in how many people were in the room.

He cared about the person standing right in front of Him.

So should we.

Connection Takes Effort

Here’s the uncomfortable truth:

Connection takes time.

It takes effort.

It takes vulnerability.

It takes putting down our phones and looking someone in the eyes.

It takes stepping outside our comfortable circles.

It means talking to someone we don’t know.

It means welcoming the newcomer instead of spending the entire morning talking to the people we’ve known for years.

It means asking better questions.

It means listening more than we speak.

And sometimes it means noticing the person everyone else overlooks.

Because the easiest person to connect with is usually the person who already has friends.

The real test of a church community is what happens with the person who walks through the doors alone.

Do we notice them?

Do we invite them in?

Do we learn their name?

Do we make room for them at the table?

Do we help them find community?

Or do we leave them standing on the outside looking in?

Let’s Build Something Different

Imagine a faith community where nobody has to wonder whether they matter.

Imagine a church where people know that someone will notice when they’re missing.

Imagine a community where tears are welcome, questions are safe, victories are celebrated, and burdens are shared.

Imagine a place where people don’t simply come to church—they find family.

That’s the kind of community I want to help build.

Not a perfect community.

A real one.

A community where grace is greater than judgment.

Where relationship is more important than reputation.

Where people are valued more than programs.

Where serving isn’t about recognition.

Where prayer isn’t a slogan.

Where love isn’t just something we preach from a stage.

It’s something we live.

Because connection changes everything.

And maybe the person sitting next to you this Sunday isn’t looking for another church service.

Maybe they’re looking for a place to belong.

Maybe they’re carrying a burden nobody knows about.

Maybe they’re wondering if anyone sees them.

Maybe they’re one conversation away from realizing they aren’t alone.

So let’s start there.

Take the time.

Make the effort.

Start the conversation.

Learn someone’s name.

Hear their story.

Invite them to the table.

Pray with them.

Walk with them.

Love them.

Because when a faith community becomes a place where people are genuinely known, genuinely loved, and genuinely connected, something powerful happens.

People don’t just come.

People belong.

And when people truly belong, you’ve built the kind of community people don’t want to leave. ~OC

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