Tag: Memories

Start Making Assists

Today’s a new day! I wrote this post awhile back, but thought I would share it with you today.

What if the greatest measure of our Christian walk isn’t how many people we lead, but how many people we help get closer to Jesus?

I’m a sports fan. I love watching great athletes, and one of the things I appreciate most about sports is the assist.

In basketball, the NBA’s all-time assist leader is John Stockton, with an incredible 15,806 career assists.

Think about that number for a moment. Fifteen thousand, eight hundred and six times, Stockton made a pass that put someone else in a position to score.

In soccer, Lionel Messi is widely recognized as the all-time assist leader, with more than 400 official career assists across club and international competitions.

Two extraordinary athletes. Two different sports. One common thread: They understood that sometimes the greatest contribution you can make is helping someone else succeed.

And that got me thinking about something much bigger than sports.

What if we started looking at our Christian faith walk the same way?

What if instead of keeping track of how many people attend your church, how many social media followers we have, how many people listen to your podcast or how many times our name gets mentioned in “the right places”, we started keeping track of how many assists we make for the Kingdom of God?

How many people have we encouraged when they were ready to give up?

How many people have we prayed with when they couldn’t find the words to pray themselves?

How many times have we stopped what we were doing to help someone who was hurting?

How many times have we shared the love of Jesus with someone who felt forgotten, rejected, abandoned, or unloved?

How many times have we pointed someone toward Jesus rather than toward ourselves?

Those are the assists that matter.

JESUS WAS ALWAYS LOOKING FOR THE ONE.

Throughout the Gospels, we see Jesus consistently doing something that challenges the way many of us approach Christianity.

He noticed people.

He noticed the forgotten.
He noticed the rejected.
He noticed the sick.
He noticed the poor.
He noticed the lonely.
He noticed the people everyone else walked past.

Jesus didn’t build His ministry around popularity, recognition, or earthly applause.

He loved people.

He stopped for the one.
He reached for the one.
He healed the one.
He forgave the one.
He pursued the one.

And He calls us to do the same.

In Matthew 25:35-40, Jesus teaches us that when we serve those who are hungry, thirsty, strangers, sick, or imprisoned, we are serving Him.

Read that again.

When we serve others, we serve Jesus.

That means every act of kindness, every unexpected encouragement, every prayer, every helping hand, and every moment we choose compassion over convenience can become an assist for the Kingdom.

IT’S NOT ABOUT GETTING THE CREDIT. IT’S ABOUT GIVING JESUS THE GLORY.

Here’s something I think Churches and Christian Communities needs to remember.

We have become very good at celebrating the person who scores the basket, kicks the goal, stands behind the pulpit, leads the worship service, or stands on the platform.

And there is absolutely nothing wrong with celebrating people who serve faithfully.

But what about the people making the assists?

What about the person praying behind the scenes?

What about the person visiting someone in the hospital?

What about the person encouraging a struggling brother or sister?

What about the person welcoming someone who walks into church feeling completely alone?

What about the person quietly helping a family who has fallen on difficult times?

What about the person who shares Jesus with someone who has never experienced His love?

They may never receive recognition. Their names may never appear in a church newsletter. They may never stand on a stage.

But Heaven sees them.

And perhaps some of the greatest Kingdom work happening in our communities is being accomplished by people whose names most of us will never know.

Not every Christian is called to stand on a platform, but every Christian is called to make a difference. Take a moment to read that again.

Imagine if we all became Kingdom assist leaders.

Imagine a Church or Christian where people competed, not for recognition, but instead to see who could encourage the most people.

Imagine Christians who measured success by how many people they helped, how many lives they touched, and how many people they pointed towards Jesus

Imagine believers who were more excited about someone else’s breakthrough than their own recognition.

Imagine a Christian community where we stopped asking, “What can you do for me?” and started asking, “How can I help you?”

Imagine what would happen if every Christian made it their mission to provide at least one Kingdom assist every single day.

A phone call.
A prayer.
A meal.
A helping hand.
A word of encouragement.
A moment of forgiveness.
An invitation to church.
A conversation about Jesus.

One assist at a time.

One life at a time.

One opportunity at a time.

We might never know the full impact of those seemingly small moments until we stand before Jesus.

MY CHALLENGE TO US TODAY

I want to challenge myself, and I want to challenge everyone reading this.

Stop worrying so much about being the person who scores the basket.

Start becoming the person who makes the assist.

Stop worrying about who gets the recognition.

Start celebrating what God is doing in someone else’s life.

Stop asking how many people know your name.

Start asking how many people know the love of Jesus because you took the time to show it to them.

And please remember something:

You don’t have to be a pastor, preacher, missionary, worship leader, or Bible scholar to make a difference for the Kingdom. Please read that again.

You simply have to be willing.

Willing to love.
Willing to serve.
Willing to encourage.
Willing to forgive.
Willing to reach out.
Willing to make yourself available when God puts someone in your path.

John Stockton accumulated 15,806 NBA assists.

Lionel Messi has accumulated more than 400 official career assists.

Those are extraordinary athletic accomplishments.

But imagine the eternal impact if every Christian made it their lifelong mission to help someone else get closer to Jesus.

There is no scoreboard on earth that could measure that kind of success.

And there is no trophy that could compare with hearing someone say:

“Because you took the time to love me, encourage me, pray for me, and point me toward Jesus, my life is forever different.”

THAT’S WHAT YOU CALL A KINGDOM ASSIST!

Let’s stop keeping score of our own accomplishments.

Let’s start making assists for Jesus.

Because at the end of the day, it’s not about how many people we get to follow us.

IT’S ABOUT HOW MANY PEOPLE WE HELP FOLLOW HIM!

Keep loving. Keep serving. Keep encouraging. Keep pointing people to Jesus.

And whatever you do, don’t stop making assists! ~OC

“Each of you should use whatever gift you have received to serve others, as faithful stewards of God’s grace in its various forms. ~1 Peter 4:10

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Six Battles, One Faith

Hello. Every time I write a post, I wonder if it will be my last one. Writing and putting my thoughts together have become much harder the last few months. This post alone took me months to write. But as always, I leave everything in God’s hands.

My Journey with Cancer, Parkinson’s, Myasthenia Gravis, Gastroparesis, Long Haulers COVID, and Now the Beginning of Dementia.

Sometimes I sit back and wonder how one person can experience so many different medical battles in a lifetime.

Cancer, Parkinson’s. Myasthenia Gravis. Gastroparesis. Long Haulers COVID. And now, the beginning of another chapter I never imagined having to write: Dementia.

Six diagnoses. Six different challenges. Countless doctor’s appointments, hospitalizations, treatments, medications, sleepless nights, unanswered questions, and moments when my body has reminded me that I’m not in control of nearly as much as I once thought.

This isn’t a story I’m sharing because I want sympathy. It’s not about seeking attention or having people feel sorry for me.

It’s about sharing my journey. The good, the bad, the beautiful, the heartbreaking, and everything in between.

It’s about being honest about what life looks like when you live with multiple chronic and progressive health conditions.

And most importantly, it’s about sharing what Jesus has meant to me throughout this journey.

Cancer: The Battle That Started It All:

In 2003, I heard two words that would forever change my life: You have cancer.

It was one of my first major medical battles and an early reminder of just how fragile life can be. Cancer brought uncertainty, fear, and questions about the future, but it also strengthened my appreciation for every day I’m given.

Little did I know that cancer would be followed by several more medical battles over the years.

Through it all, I’ve continued to learn that my circumstances may change, but God’s faithfulness never does.

Cancer may have been one of my battles, but it never became my identity. Jesus remained my identity, my hope, and my strength.

PARKINSON’S: THE BATTLE THAT KEEPS ON STEALING:

My Parkinson’s diagnosis came in 2007.

I never imagined that a neurological disease would become such a significant part of my life. Parkinson’s has affected my physical abilities, mobility, energy, and, perhaps most frustratingly, my ability to communicate.

My voice doesn’t always cooperate. Sometimes I know exactly what I want to say, but getting the words out is an entirely different challenge.

For someone who loves writing, encouraging people, sharing the Gospel, and communicating with others, losing some of that ability has been particularly difficult.

I’ve had to find different ways to express myself and share what God puts on my heart.

But here’s something I’ve learned:

Parkinson’s may affect my voice, but it cannot silence my faith.

I still have something to say. I still have a testimony to share. And I still have a reason to encourage others.

MYASTHENIA GRAVIS: WHEN YOUR OWN BODY BECOMES A BATTLEFIELD

In 2009, another diagnosis entered my life: Myasthenia Gravis.

Living with MG means dealing with a neuromuscular autoimmune disease that causes muscle weakness and can affect everyday activities in ways most people never understand.

Some days, even the simplest things require tremendous effort.

There are days when my body doesn’t have the strength to do what my mind wants it to do. There are moments when fatigue takes over and I have to accept that I simply cannot do everything I want.

One of the hardest parts of living with MG is its unpredictability.

You can have plans, dreams, and things you want to accomplish, only to have your body remind you that today isn’t going to go according to plan.

It’s a humbling experience.

But I’ve learned that my worth isn’t determined by how much I accomplish in a day.

God doesn’t love me more on my productive days or less on my difficult ones.

His grace is sufficient, even when my strength isn’t.

GASTROPARESIS: WHEN SOMETHING SO SIMPLE BECOMES A DAILY BATTLE

In 2015, Gastroparesis became another part of my medical journey.

Something most people never think twice about, eating, became another challenge.

Gastroparesis affects the stomach’s ability to empty properly. It can make nutrition, eating, and digestion incredibly difficult.

It’s hard to explain what it’s like when something as fundamental as eating becomes a daily medical challenge.

There are frustrations, discomfort, limitations, and days when you simply wish your body would cooperate.

I have dealt with a gastric stimulator, a feeding tube and 70% of my stomach being removed.

Dealing with gastroparesis is another reminder that so many things we take for granted are actually blessings.

I’ve learned to appreciate things differently, celebrate small victories, and recognize that sometimes getting through an ordinary day is anything but ordinary.

LONG HAULERS COVID: ANOTHER UNEXPECTED CHAPTER

In 2021, Long Haulers COVID added another layer to an already complicated medical journey.

After everything my body had experienced, I found myself navigating the lingering effects of another illness.

The fatigue, physical challenges, and uncertainty added to an already difficult situation.

Sometimes it feels like just when I begin adjusting to one medical challenge, another one comes along.

I would love to tell you that I’ve gotten used to it.

But the truth is, you never completely get used to having your health turned upside down.

You learn to adjust. You learn to adapt. You learn to appreciate the good days.

And you learn that tomorrow is never guaranteed.

DEMENTIA: A NEW CHAPTER AND A DIFFERENT KIND OF FEAR

And now, there’s Dementia.

This is perhaps one of the most difficult chapters for me to write about.

It’s one thing to experience physical limitations. It’s another thing to begin facing questions about your memory, your thinking, and what the future might hold.

Dementia brings a different kind of uncertainty.

There are questions I don’t have answers to. There are things about the future that I would rather not think about.

I love remembering. I love writing. I love creating songs, sharing stories, encouraging people, and reflecting on what God has done throughout my life.

Those pleasures in life are becoming more difficult these days. This is a difficult season to process.

But I’m learning something important.

My identity has never been dependent on my memory, my physical abilities, my voice, or my medical circumstances.

My identity has always been found in Jesus Christ.

Even when my body struggles, even when my voice is weak, and even when my memory isn’t what it once was, I am still a child of God.

My value hasn’t changed.

My purpose hasn’t disappeared.

And my Savior hasn’t gone anywhere.

I don’t know what this chapter will look like, but I know who will walk through it with me.

THE PART OF MY JOURNEY PEOPLE DON’T ALWAYS SEE

Behind these six diagnoses is a human being.

A child of God’s. A husband. A son. A friend. Someone who still has dreams, hopes, passions, and a desire to make a difference.

There are days when the fatigue is overwhelming.

There are nights when sleep is difficult to find.

There are moments when pain, weakness, and frustration take their toll.

There are things I want to do but cannot.

There are meetings I have to miss, commitments I have to step away from, and days when I have to remind myself that resting isn’t quitting.

Sometimes I miss the person I used to be physically.

I miss the freedom of being able to do things without calculating how much energy they will require.

I miss having a voice that cooperates.

I miss the days when my body didn’t dictate so many of my decisions.

And yes, sometimes I get discouraged.

I’m sharing that because I believe Christians need to understand something:

Having faith doesn’t mean you never struggle. Having faith means you know where to turn when you do.

I don’t believe we have to pretend everything is wonderful when we’re hurting.

Jesus never asked us to pretend.

He invites us to bring our burdens, our fears, our disappointments, and our brokenness to Him.

And that’s what I continue to do.

MY FAITH IS BIGGER THAN MY DIAGNOSES

Over the years, I’ve experienced some incredibly difficult medical situations.

I’ve faced moments when doctors weren’t sure I would survive. I’ve experienced hospitalizations, intensive care, treatments, and medical circumstances that I never imagined would become part of my testimony.

I’ve also experienced what I can only describe as the incredible grace and mercy of God.

In 2019, after years of serious illness and moments when my life was hanging in the balance, I experienced a remarkable miracle after attending a prayer gathering.

A miracle that hasn’t disappeared because God is mad at me or my lack of faith.

I am still walking in my miracle.

I have countless testimonies of God’s faithfulness, and I carry those experiences with me.

But I’ve also learned that faith isn’t a guarantee that we will never get sick, never suffer, or never experience another difficult diagnosis.

Faith is trusting Jesus even when the healing hasn’t come or the healing isn’t complete healing.

I believe the majority of the time, our healing is progressive. That is a post for another post.

Faith is believing when the answers don’t make sense.

Faith is finding peace when the circumstances haven’t changed.

Faith is knowing that even in the darkest valley, we are never walking alone.

One of my favorite passages is 2 Corinthians 12:9:

“My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness.”

I’ve come to understand that Scripture in ways I never could have imagined.

I used to think strength meant being able to do more, accomplish more, and push through every obstacle.

Today, I understand that sometimes strength means getting out of bed when everything hurts.

Sometimes strength means asking for help.

Sometimes strength means resting.

Sometimes strength means crying out to Jesus and admitting that you don’t have anything left to give.

And sometimes strength simply means getting through another day.

TO MY WIFE, FAMILY, FRIENDS, AND EVERYONE WHO PRAYS

I would be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge the people who have walked alongside me.

Especially my bride, Laura.

For more than two decades, she has walked through this medical journey with me. The appointments, treatments, surgeries, hospitalizations, uncertainty, and countless difficult days.

She has been there through so much.

People sometimes talk about what it means to love someone through sickness and health. Laura has lived that commitment in ways that words cannot adequately describe.

I am also grateful for family, friends, and everyone who made the choice to stick around and pray for us, encourage us, check in on us and reminded us that we’re not alone.

Your prayers matter.

Your encouragement matters.

And sometimes, just knowing someone is thinking about you makes a difficult day a little easier.

I’M NOT FINISHED LIVING

So, where do I go from here?

Honestly, I don’t know exactly what tomorrow will bring.

I cannot promise that my health will improve. I cannot promise that I won’t face more challenges. I cannot predict what these diagnoses will mean for my future.

But I can make a decision about today.

I can continue loving my wife.

I can continue encouraging people.

I can continue sharing my faith.

I can continue writing, creating, praying, and looking for opportunities to make a difference.

I can continue living a life of significance, even if that life looks very different from what I once imagined.

I have spent much of my life encouraging people to keep fighting, keep believing, and keep overcoming.

Today, I’m reminding myself of that same message.

And I want people to understand something:

I’m not an overcomer because I’ve defeated every medical condition.

I’m an overcomer because these conditions haven’t taken away my hope, my faith, my love for Jesus, or my desire to keep living.

My health issues are part of my story.

They are NOT my identity.

My identity is found in Jesus.

I am a child of God.

I am loved.

I am still here.

And I still have a purpose.

ONE FINAL THOUGHT

If you’re reading this and you’re fighting a battle of your own, whether it’s cancer, Parkinson’s, dementia, an autoimmune disease, chronic illness, depression, or something nobody else can see, please hear me.

You are not your diagnosis.

You are not your limitations.

You are not your worst day.

You are not forgotten.

You are not alone.

Give yourself permission to have difficult days. Give yourself permission to rest. Give yourself permission to ask for help.

And never believe that your life has lost its significance simply because your circumstances have changed.

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

But I know who holds the pages.

I don’t know what tomorrow will bring.

But I know who holds tomorrow.

And I don’t know what the future of my health looks like.

But I know that Jesus will be with me every step of the way.

Six medical battles. Countless challenges. One Savior. One unwavering faith.

I’m not giving up.

I’m not throwing in the towel.

I’m not finished living.

I’m still fighting. I’m still believing. I’m still trusting Jesus.

And by His grace…

I’M STILL AN OVERCOMER!

KEEP FIGHTING. KEEP BELIEVING. KEEP OVERCOMING.

To God be the glory. ~OC

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Fire Ants And American Politics

Sometimes, the smallest things can teach us the biggest lessons.

Several months ago, I accidentally stepped into a pile of fire ants.

Before I even knew what was happening, those little monsters were crawling all over my left ankle and lower left leg. And let me tell you, it didn’t take long for things to go from bad to REALLY bad.

I had a terrible reaction. What started with a bunch of tiny ants turned into a major infection. That infection triggered a flare-up of my Myasthenia Gravis, and before I knew it, I was fighting for my life in the hospital, spending 11 days in the ICU.

ELEVEN DAYS!

All because I accidentally stepped into a pile of fire ants.

Now, I’ve learned a few things throughout my crazy health journey, but this experience reminded me of something pretty important.

WATCH WHERE YOU’RE WALKING!

Sometimes, we’re moving through life without paying attention to what’s right in front of us. We get comfortable. We get distracted. We assume everything is fine until suddenly, we’re dealing with the consequences of something we never saw coming.

But there’s another lesson I learned during this experience.

THERE’S NOT MUCH DIFFERENCE BETWEEN A PILE OF FIRE ANTS AND POLITICS IN AMERICA!

Stay with me for a minute.

Fire ants don’t care who you are. They don’t care what you’ve accomplished, how much money you make, what church you attend, or what political party you support. Step into their territory, and they’ll attack.

And once they get going, those little suckers don’t seem to know when to stop!

Sound familiar?

Look at American politics today.

People are getting attacked from every direction. Politicians are taking shots at their opponents. Neighbors are turning against neighbors. Families are arguing across dinner tables. Friendships are falling apart. And people who once stood shoulder to shoulder are now treating one another like enemies simply because they disagree about politics.

Everybody seems to be looking for somebody to attack.

And just like those fire ants, the damage can spread a whole lot faster than we realize.

A little anger becomes bitterness.
A little disagreement becomes hatred.
A difference of opinion becomes a reason to destroy someone’s character.

Before long, the damage isn’t confined to Washington, D.C. It’s in our homes, our churches, our friendships, and our communities.

And here’s the scary part: Sometimes, we don’t realize how much damage is being done until we’re already covered in the mess.

Now, let me be clear. I’m not saying we should ignore politics or stop holding our elected officials accountable. Politics matters. Character matters. Truth matters. The decisions our leaders make affect real people and real families.

But somewhere along the way, too many Americans have forgotten that we can disagree without dehumanizing one another.

And for those of us who call ourselves Christians, we need to take an especially hard look in the mirror.

When did our political party become more important than our Christian character?

When did defending a politician become more important than defending the truth?

When did winning an argument become more important than loving our neighbor?

And when did we start excusing behavior from our favorite politicians that we would never tolerate from our own children?

CHURCH, WE NEED TO WAKE UP!

Jesus didn’t tell us to love our neighbors only when they voted like us.

He didn’t tell us to show grace only to people who agreed with our political opinions.

And He certainly didn’t tell us to abandon His teachings whenever our preferred candidate does something we don’t want to acknowledge.

Our faith should shape our politics. Our politics should never replace our faith.

Remember, a politician isn’t your Savior. A political party isn’t your identity. And winning an election isn’t worth losing your compassion, your integrity, or your witness for Jesus Christ.

So, yes, I learned to watch where I’m walking a little more closely after my encounter with those fire ants.

I learned that something small can create enormous consequences.

I learned that ignoring a problem doesn’t make it disappear.

And I learned that sometimes, by the time you realize what you’re standing in, you’re already in trouble.

Which brings me to my challenge.

AMERICA, WATCH WHERE YOU’RE WALKING!

Pay attention to the hatred we’re allowing to grow. Pay attention to the division we’re excusing. Pay attention to the people we’re hurting in the name of political loyalty.

And Christians, pay attention to what is happening to your hearts.

You can stand for your convictions without standing for cruelty. You can hold politicians accountable without hating their supporters. You can disagree passionately without surrendering your compassion.

We don’t have to agree on everything to treat one another with dignity.

And we don’t have to sacrifice our faith to win a political argument.

After 11 days in the ICU, I can tell you that life is too precious to waste on hatred.

I’ve spent enough time fighting for my life to know that there are far more important things than political victories.

So the next time you’re tempted to jump into a political fight, take a moment to look around.

Ask yourself what you’re standing in.

Because sometimes, the biggest danger isn’t the pile of fire ants you can see.

IT’S THE ONE YOU NEVER NOTICED UNTIL IT WAS TOO LATE.

And if we’re not careful, America may discover that the damage caused by our political hatred is far worse than we ever imagined.

WATCH WHERE YOU’RE WALKING, AMERICA. THOSE FIRE ANTS ARE EVERYWHERE! ~OC

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Your Identity

Today’s a new day!

The world will try to define you by your past, your mistakes, your failures, your circumstances, and even your struggles. But when your identity is rooted in Jesus Christ, none of those things gets the final word.

Your circumstances may change. Your health may change. Your relationships may change. Your life may take unexpected turns. But your identity in Christ remains the same.

You are loved. You are chosen. You are forgiven. You are redeemed. You are a child of the living God!

Stop allowing the world to tell you who you are when God has already declared whose you are.

You are not defined by what you have been through. You are defined by whose you are!

Walk in that truth. Live in that freedom. And never forget: No matter what changes in your life, you will always be a child of God.

Keep believing. Keep overcoming. Keep your eyes on Jesus! ~OC

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What Happened To America?

Let me ask a question that should trouble every American, regardless of political party: What happened to our hearts when attacking a survivor of childhood rape became something politicians could do and still receive applause and support from other politicians and voters?

Think about that for a moment. Someone who survived an unimaginable childhood trauma deserves compassion, dignity, and the freedom to tell their story without being publicly humiliated or ridiculed. No survivor should have to relive their pain because a politician wants to score political points.

When did cruelty become entertainment? When did compassion become a weakness? And when did political loyalty become more important than basic human decency?

We can disagree about policies. We can debate politics. We can support different candidates. That’s part of living in a democracy. But there should never be a political party, a candidate, or an ideology that matters more to us than the dignity of another human being.

And here’s the part that troubles me most: It’s not just about the politician making the attack. It’s also about the people who cheer, defend, excuse, or dismiss that behavior simply because the person doing it belongs to their political tribe.

If your political loyalty has reached the point where you can watch a survivor of childhood rape being attacked and see nothing wrong with it, perhaps it’s time to step away from the political noise and take an honest look in the mirror.

Check your heart.

Character matters. Compassion matters. How we treat the most vulnerable among us matters.

America doesn’t become great by humiliating survivors, celebrating cruelty, or excusing the inexcusable. It becomes stronger when we remember that every human being deserves dignity, regardless of their politics, background, or personal history.

I don’t care what political party you belong to. I care whether we’ve reached a point where we’ve lost our humanity in the name of winning elections.

Because if winning means abandoning compassion, sacrificing decency, and celebrating another person’s pain, then what exactly have we won?

America, we can—and must—do better.

Our politics should reflect our humanity, not destroy it. ~OC

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Why Am I Still Alive?

Today’s a new day!

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

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

WHY AM I STILL ALIVE?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I wish I had a simple answer.

I don’t.

But I know this: JESUS. ONLY JESUS.

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

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

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

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

Faith simply gives me somewhere to take those things.

I take them to Jesus.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’m not alive because I never became afraid.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

JESUS NEVER PROMISED ME AN EASY ROAD.

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

Faithful people get sick.

Faithful people experience pain.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Does that mean God has abandoned me?

No.

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

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

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

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

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

Sometimes overcoming means getting out of bed.

Sometimes it means enduring another treatment.

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

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

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

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

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

SO, WHY AM I STILL ALIVE?

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

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

I am grateful for every single one of them.

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

JESUS.

Not because I can explain every moment.

Not because I know what tomorrow holds.

Not because I believe I am guaranteed another miracle.

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

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

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

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

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

I want to live with purpose.

I want to love deeply.

I want to forgive freely.

I want to encourage relentlessly.

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

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

You are more than your diagnosis.

You are more than your mistakes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not because I have all the answers.

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

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

But I am here.

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

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

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

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

WHY AM I STILL ALIVE?

I don’t know the complete answer.

But I know who I am trusting with the question.

His name is Jesus.

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

Not perfectly.

Not without pain.

Not without questions.

But by His grace, one day at a time.

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

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

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

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

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

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Embrace Your Timeline

WE ALL HAVE A TIMELINE.

Every one of us is living on a timeline. None of us knows exactly how long that timeline will be, yet so many people live as if tomorrow is guaranteed.

Don’t wait.

Don’t put off the trip.
Don’t keep postponing the adventure.
Don’t wait for the “perfect” time to call someone, forgive someone, love someone, or tell someone how much they mean to you.

Embrace your timeline.

Life isn’t measured only by how many years we get, but by what we do with the years we have.

So get out there. Laugh harder. Love deeper. Take the pictures. Make the memories. Dance in the kitchen. Watch the sunrise. Take the road trip. Hug your people a little tighter.

Go live. Go love. Go make some amazing memories.

Because one day, the memories we make today may be among the greatest treasures we have left.

Don’t just count the days. Make the days count. ~OC

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Do You Have a Healthy Place to Grieve?

Where do you go when your heart is hurting?

Not where do you go to distract yourself.

Not where do you go to pretend you’re okay.

Not where do you go to put on a smile so nobody asks questions.

Where do you go to grieve?

Because sooner or later, every one of us will experience loss.

We will lose people we love. We will lose dreams we once believed would come true. We will lose seasons of our lives. We will lose relationships, opportunities, abilities, homes, jobs, friendships, and sometimes even the person we thought we were going to become.

And sometimes the hardest grief isn’t the loss of a person.

Sometimes it’s grieving the life you thought you would have.

I’ve learned that grief doesn’t always look like tears.

Sometimes grief looks like anger.

Sometimes it looks like silence.

Sometimes it looks like exhaustion.

Sometimes it looks like sitting alone in a room because you don’t have the energy to explain what you’re feeling.

Sometimes grief looks like laughing with your friends while carrying an incredible amount of pain inside.

And sometimes grief comes years after the loss because we were too busy surviving to actually grieve.

So let me ask you something: Do you have a healthy place to grieve?

Because I believe this is something the Church needs to talk about more.

We are often very good at telling people to have faith.

“Pray about it.”

“Trust God.”

“God has a plan.”

“Everything happens for a reason.”

And yes, there is truth in trusting God.

But sometimes we can use spiritual language to avoid emotional honesty.

Sometimes people don’t need us to explain their pain.

Sometimes they simply need someone willing to sit beside them in it.

Jesus Himself wept.

Think about that.

The Son of God stood at the tomb of Lazarus knowing that resurrection was coming, knowing that death would not have the final word, and Jesus still wept.

John 11:35 says:

“Jesus wept.”

He didn’t apologize for His tears.

He didn’t tell Himself He shouldn’t be sad because He knew what God was about to do.

He grieved.

And perhaps that gives us permission to grieve too.

Grief Isn’t a Failure of Faith

I think sometimes Christians are afraid to admit they’re hurting because they believe sadness somehow means they’re not trusting God enough.

But grief and faith can exist in the same heart.

You can trust God and still cry.

You can believe God is good and still be angry about what happened.

You can have hope and still experience heartbreak.

You can know that heaven is real and still miss someone desperately.

You can believe God has a purpose for your life and still mourn the dreams that never came true.

Faith doesn’t eliminate grief. Faith gives us somewhere to take it.

The Psalms are filled with people who cried out to God from the deepest places of their souls.

They didn’t sanitize their emotions.

They didn’t pretend everything was okay.

They brought their brokenness into the presence of God.

Maybe that’s what a healthy place to grieve looks like.

A place where you don’t have to pretend.

A place where you can say:

“God, I’m hurting.”

“God, I don’t understand.”

“God, I’m angry.”

“God, I miss them.”

“God, I’m afraid.”

“God, I don’t know how to move forward.”

And instead of running from God because of those feelings, you run to Him.

But We Also Need People

I believe God can meet us privately in our grief, but I also believe He created us for community.

We weren’t designed to carry everything alone.

Sometimes a healthy place to grieve is a trusted friend who doesn’t try to fix you.

It’s a spouse who lets you cry without telling you to stop.

It’s a pastor who listens instead of immediately preaching.

It’s a counselor who gives you permission to process what you’ve been through.

It’s a small group where you can take off the mask.

It’s someone who can sit in the silence with you and simply say:

“I’m here. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

We need people who understand that grief doesn’t operate on a schedule.

You can’t always tell someone to “move on.”

You can’t put a deadline on someone’s healing.

And you certainly can’t measure someone’s grief by how quickly they appear to be functioning again.

Some wounds take time.

Some losses change us forever.

And sometimes healing doesn’t mean forgetting.

Sometimes healing means learning how to carry the memory without allowing the pain to destroy you.

What Happens When We Don’t Have a Healthy Place to Grieve?

We find unhealthy places.

We bury it.

We numb it.

We isolate ourselves.

We become angry.

We become bitter.

We become addicted to distraction.

We pretend we’re fine.

We pour ourselves into work.

We hide behind ministry.

We hide behind church.

We hide behind our smiles.

We tell everyone, “I’m good,” when we’re anything but good.

And eventually, what we refuse to process begins processing us.

Unwept tears don’t simply disappear.

Unspoken pain doesn’t cease to exist.

Sometimes it comes out as anger.

Sometimes depression.

Sometimes anxiety.

Sometimes bitterness.

Sometimes we begin pushing away the very people who love us because we’re carrying pain we never learned how to express.

That’s why finding a healthy place to grieve matters.

Maybe Your Grief Needs a Name

Perhaps you’ve been calling yourself tired when you’re actually grieving.

Perhaps you’ve been calling yourself angry when you’re actually heartbroken.

Perhaps you’ve been calling yourself distant when you’re actually overwhelmed.

Perhaps you’ve been wondering why you’re struggling so much when the truth is simple:

You’ve experienced a loss, and your soul needs permission to acknowledge it.

So name it.

What are you grieving?

Who are you grieving?

What dream are you grieving?

What season are you grieving?

What version of yourself are you grieving?

What did you lose that you never gave yourself permission to mourn?

Sit with that question for a moment.

Don’t rush past it.

Because sometimes the beginning of healing is simply being honest enough to say:

“This hurt me.”

And Then Bring It to Jesus

Jesus isn’t intimidated by your grief.

Your tears don’t scare Him.

Your questions don’t scare Him.

Your anger doesn’t surprise Him.

Your broken heart doesn’t make Him uncomfortable.

He already knows.

And perhaps the invitation isn’t to figure everything out tonight.

Perhaps the invitation is simply:

Come.

Come with your questions.

Come with your tears.

Come with your anger.

Come with your memories.

Come with your broken dreams.

Come exactly as you are.

Because the same Jesus who stood beside a grieving family still meets people in their grief today.

Psalm 34:18 says:

“The LORD is near to the brokenhearted.”

Not far away.

Near.

That changes everything.

So if you’re grieving today, please hear this:

You don’t have to apologize for your pain.

You don’t have to pretend you’re okay.

You don’t have to rush your healing.

And you don’t have to grieve alone.

Find a healthy place.

Find safe people.

Find a trusted counselor, pastor, friend, spouse, support group, or community where you can be honest.

And most importantly, find your way into the presence of Jesus.

Cry if you need to cry.

Talk if you need to talk.

Sit silently if you can’t find the words.

But don’t bury your grief so deeply that you bury yourself with it.

Grieve.

Feel.

Pray.

Talk.

Heal.

And remember:

You can grieve deeply and still have hope.

You can be brokenhearted and still believe.

You can cry tonight and still wake up tomorrow believing that God is not finished with your story.

Because grief may be part of your story.

But it doesn’t have to be the end of it.

So I’ll ask you one more time:

Do you have a healthy place to grieve?

And if the answer is no…

Maybe today is the day you stop pretending you don’t need one. ~OC

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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

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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

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