Tag: Obedience

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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I Never Gave Up

Today’s a new day!

I don’t know when my story will end. Only God knows how many chapters remain or what the next page will hold.

I’ve faced battles that nearly broke me, received news that could have crushed my spirit, and walked through storms I never imagined surviving. My journey hasn’t been easy, and I know there are more battles ahead.

But nowhere in my story will you ever read the words, “I GAVE UP.”

I may get tired. I may hurt. I may stumble. I may have days when I don’t understand what God is doing. But by His grace, I will keep fighting, keep believing, and keep overcoming.

My health challenges are part of my story, but they will never define who I am. My faith is bigger than my fear, and my God is greater than any battle I face.

I don’t know how many pages I have left, but as long as God gives me another day, I intend to make it count.

The story isn’t over. The fight isn’t finished. And giving up? THAT WILL NEVER BE MY LEGACY! ~OC

“For I can do everything through Christ, who gives me strength. ~ Philippians 4:13

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Be Careful Who You Let Speak For God

There are two people you should be very careful about believing:

A religious leader who tells you how to vote.
And a politician who tells you how to pray.

A pastor, priest, preacher, or church leader can teach you Scripture. They can challenge you to live like Jesus. They can encourage you to seek God’s wisdom.

But your faith should never be reduced to a voting guide.

And a politician? They can ask for your vote. They can talk about their policies, their vision, and their plans for the country.

But they don’t get to tell you what your faith should look like.

Jesus was not a Republican.
Jesus was not a Democrat.
Jesus did not come to build a political party.

Jesus came to build His Kingdom.

So read your Bible. Pray. Think critically. Examine every candidate and every leader. And never surrender your God-given conscience to someone simply because they stand behind a pulpit or behind a podium.

Don’t let politicians become prophets.
And don’t let pastors become political puppets.

Follow Jesus.

Let His Word shape your heart, your character, your compassion—and yes, even the way you vote.

Jesus should have the loudest voice in your life. ~OC

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Twenty Reasons to Get Out of Bed Every Day

Sometimes getting out of bed can be tough.

Can I get an amen?

As I have walked this crazy, beautiful health journey, I have learned a few lessons. I have learned that some mornings begin with pain. Some begin with exhaustion. Some begin with questions we don’t have answers for. And some mornings, simply putting your feet on the floor feels like an accomplishment.

But I’ve also learned something else:

As long as God gives us another day, there is still a reason to get up.

So, from someone who has learned to keep fighting, keep believing, and keep overcoming, here are 20 reasons to get out of bed every day:

1. Because you woke up.

Every new morning is a gift. Yesterday is gone. Tomorrow isn’t promised. But today is here.

2. Because God isn’t finished with you.

If you’re still here, your story isn’t over. There is still purpose in your life.

3. Because someone needs you.

Your spouse, your children, your family, your friends, your church, your neighbor—or someone you haven’t even met yet.

4. Because there is still someone to love.

Love isn’t just something we receive. It’s something we give away.

5. Because there is still someone who needs encouragement.

Sometimes your simple “I’m praying for you” can change someone’s entire day.

6. Because your testimony matters.

Someone may be watching how you walk through your storm. Your scars may become someone else’s hope.

7. Because pain doesn’t get the final word.

Pain may be part of your story, but it doesn’t have to define your story.

8. Because there are still miracles to witness.

Sometimes miracles look like healing. Sometimes they look like strength to make it through another day.

9. Because you can still make a difference.

You don’t have to change the entire world. Sometimes changing one person’s world is enough.

10. Because tomorrow’s blessing may require today’s obedience.

You may not understand what God is doing today. Keep walking anyway.

11. Because there are still memories to make.

There are sunsets you haven’t seen, conversations you haven’t had, places you haven’t visited and moments you haven’t experienced.

12. Because laughter is still waiting for you.

Life can be incredibly hard, but there is still room for joy.

13. Because somebody needs to hear your story.

Never underestimate what God can do with a life that refuses to give up.

14. Because you are more than your circumstances.

Your diagnosis isn’t your identity. Your failures aren’t your identity. Your worst day isn’t your identity.

15. Because there is still work to do.

Maybe it’s big. Maybe it’s small. Maybe it’s simply loving the person standing beside you. It all matters.

16. Because hope is still alive.

Even when you can’t see the way forward, you can take the next step.

17. Because God can bring beauty from brokenness.

Some of the most beautiful things in life can grow from the hardest seasons.

18. Because someone else needs to see you keep going.

Your perseverance may give someone else permission to believe they can keep going too.

19. Because you haven’t seen the end of your story.

Don’t close the book while God is still writing the chapters.

20. Because Jesus is still with you.

Through the good days. Through the bad days. Through the pain, fear, uncertainty and exhaustion.

You are never walking alone.

So tomorrow morning, when getting out of bed feels impossible, start small.

Put your feet on the floor.

Take a breath.

Say a prayer.

And whisper:

“Lord, thank You for another day. I don’t know what today will bring, but I’m still here. I’m still fighting. I’m still believing. I’m still overcoming. Let’s see what You can do with this day.”

Then get up.

Not because every day will be easy.

But because every day is still worth living.

Keep fighting.
Keep believing.
Keep loving.
Keep overcoming.

And most importantly—

Keep Jesus at the center of it all.

Today is a new day.

Get up. God isn’t finished with you yet. ~OC

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The Mountain

Is God is calling you to climb a mountain?

You’ve been staring at this mountain long enough.

The diagnosis.
The disappointment.
The betrayal.
The loss.
The fear.
The rejection.
The impossible situation.

And somewhere along the way, you started believing that because the mountain is BIG, your God must be small.

NO.

Caleb stood at 85 years old and looked at a mountain filled with giants and said:

“GIVE ME THIS MOUNTAIN.”

Not give me an easier assignment.
Not give me a different battle.
Not wait until the circumstances improve.

Give me this mountain.

That’s the kind of faith I want.

Faith that doesn’t collapse when circumstances change.

Faith that doesn’t disappear when the answer doesn’t come quickly.

Faith that doesn’t need everything to make sense before it takes another step.

I will walk in the confidence of God- regardless of the mountain standing in front of me.

Because my confidence isn’t in my circumstances.

My confidence is in Jesus.

The mountain doesn’t determine whether God is faithful.

The diagnosis doesn’t determine whether God is faithful.

The storm doesn’t determine whether God is faithful.

The enemy doesn’t determine whether God is faithful.

God is always faithful. Period.

So bring me the mountain.

Bring me the thing that scares me.

Bring me the thing that makes me realize I can’t do this in my own strength.

Because when I reach the place where I can’t, I discover the place where He can.

I don’t need to understand the entire journey.

I just need enough faith to take the next step.

One More Step.

When I’m tired—one more step.
When I’m afraid—one more step.
When I’m hurting—one more step.
When I can’t see the way forward—one more step.

Not because I’m strong enough.

Because Jesus is.

And hear me clearly:

I am not backing down.

I am not bowing to fear.
I am not surrendering to circumstances.
I am not allowing yesterday to dictate tomorrow.

God, give me this mountain.

Because I know who walks with me.

His name is Jesus.

The One who walked out of the grave.
The One who conquered death.
The One who holds my future.
The One who has never abandoned me.
The One who is still Lord when everything around me is falling apart.

I don’t need the mountain to be smaller.
I need my faith to become bigger.

So, Jesus…

Give me this mountain.

Give me the courage to climb it.
Give me the faith to face it.
Give me the strength to endure it.
Give me the perseverance to finish it.

And when I reach the top, I won’t take the credit.

I will point everyone to you.

Because I didn’t overcome because I was strong.

I overcame because Jesus was with me every step of the way.

The mountain may be big.
The battle may be real.
The circumstances may be brutal.

But Jesus is still Lord.

And if Jesus is with me—

I will keep on climbing.

Give me the mountain.
Give me Jesus.
and let’s go.

“Now therefore, give me this mountain…” — Joshua 14:12

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Parent Your Phone

As I watch the news or scroll through social media, I hear and read a lot about how parents should police their children’s cellphone use.

I agree.

But maybe as adults we need to be worried about just more than the younger generations phone use.


Maybe as adults we need to put OUR own phones down.

That one hurts.

Because we can talk about kids being addicted to their screens.

We can talk about teenagers who spend hours scrolling.

We can talk about social media stealing their attention.

We can talk about the dangers of what they’re watching.

But if we’re honest…

We have to look in the mirror first.

Because sometimes we are just as guilty of the very thing we’re warning everyone else about.

Our phone is beside us when we wake up.

It’s in our hands while we’re eating.

It’s there when someone is talking to us.

We reach for it when we’re bored.

We reach for it when we’re uncomfortable.

We reach for it when we’re lonely.

We reach for it when we don’t want to think about what we’re feeling.

And sometimes…

We reach for our phones before we reach for God.

Ouch.

Maybe we don’t need to parent our children’s phones nearly as much as we need to parent our own.

Because somewhere along the way, many of us stopped using our phones and started being used by them.

A notification goes off…

We respond.

Someone posts something…

We check it.

Someone sends a message…

We stop whatever we’re doing.

The phone rings…

We immediately reach for it.

And the person sitting right in front of us?

They wait.

Our spouse waits.

Our children wait.

Our friends wait.

Sometimes even God waits.

And we wonder why our relationships feel disconnected.

Maybe it isn’t because we don’t love people.

Maybe it’s because we’re physically present…

but emotionally somewhere else.

Jesus said, “Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” — Matthew 6:21

So where is our heart?

Because sometimes you can tell where someone’s heart is by where their eyes are.

And if our eyes are constantly staring at a screen…

Maybe we should ask ourselves what has captured our attention.

I’m not saying phones are evil.

I’m not saying technology is evil.

I’m not saying social media is evil.

I’m saying anything that can control us needs to be surrendered to Jesus.

The Bible says, “I will not be mastered by anything.” — 1 Corinthians 6:12

Not anything.

That means our phones don’t get to master us.

Notifications don’t get to master us.

Algorithms don’t get to master us.

Social media doesn’t get to master us.

Jesus is supposed to be our Master.

So maybe we need to start parenting our phones.

Maybe we need to teach ourselves that dinner is more important than notifications.

That a conversation is more important than a comment.

That our children’s eyes deserve to meet our eyes.

That our spouse deserves our full attention.

That sitting with someone who is hurting is more important than scrolling past another post.

That prayer deserves more attention than Facebook.

That God’s Word deserves more attention than our newsfeed.

And maybe we need to remember something incredibly simple:

Life is happening on the other side of the screen.

Your children are growing up.

Your marriage needs you.

Your friend may be hurting.

Someone around you may desperately need someone to listen.

And you may be missing it…

because you’re looking down.

So today, I’m asking myself the same question I’m asking you:

Who is parenting whom?

Do I control my phone…

or does my phone control me?

Could I put it down for an hour without feeling anxious?

Could I sit at lunch or dinner without checking it?

Could I spend time with God without reaching for it?

Could I have a conversation without looking at it?

Could I go somewhere without needing to document it?

Could I be completely present…

without a screen between me and the people I love?

Because maybe the issue isn’t our phones.

Maybe the issue is what we’ve allowed our phones to become.

So here’s my challenge:

Put it down.

Not forever.

Just long enough to look up.

Look at your spouse.

Look at your kids.

Look at your friend.

Look around your dinner table.

Look at the person sitting alone.

Look at the world God actually gave you.

And then…

look up toward Heaven.

Because there is a God who has been trying to get our attention long before our phones ever existed.

And maybe today He isn’t asking you to download another Bible app.

Maybe He’s simply whispering:

“Put the phone down, My child.
I’m right here.”

So before we tell the younger generation to get off their phones…

look at your own screen.

Before you complain about their screen time…

look at your own.

Before you tell them they are addicted…

ask yourself if you are.

And before you scroll to the next post…

stop.

Look at your phone.

Now ask yourself one brutally honest question:

“If I gave God the same attention I give this phone, how different would my life be?”

Let that question sit with you.

Don’t scroll.

Don’t defend yourself.

Don’t make excuses.

Just sit with it.

Maybe it’s time we stopped parenting everyone else’s phones…

and started parenting our own. ~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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Life With Purpose

Today’s a new day!

Twenty-four years ago, I never imagined the road my life would take.

If someone had told me I would spend decades walking through cancer, Parkinson’s Disease, Myasthenia Gravis, a stroke, gastroparesis, early-stage Lewy Body Dementia, countless hospital stays, surgeries, treatments, and more doctor’s appointments than I could ever count, I probably would have wondered how anyone could endure that much.

The truth is, there have been days when I wondered the same thing.

There have been moments when fear tried to take over. There have been seasons of grief as I watched abilities I once took for granted slowly disappear. As a former marathon runner, I remember what it felt like to run mile after mile with freedom. Today, every step is a reminder that life has changed.

But here’s what I’ve discovered.

I couldn’t choose my diagnoses, but I could choose what I did with them.

Somewhere along this journey, God began changing my perspective. Instead of asking, “Lord, why is this happening to me?” I found myself asking, “Lord, how can You use this for Your glory?”

That question changed everything.

Purpose doesn’t eliminate pain, but it gives pain eternal significance.

Some of the most powerful moments of my faith haven’t happened in church buildings. They’ve happened in emergency rooms, hospital rooms, intensive care units, doctor’s offices, and quiet moments when all I could do was whisper the name of Jesus.

I’ve experienced frightening hallucinations brought on by Parkinson’s Disease and dementia. They were unlike anything I had ever known. Yet even in those moments, when my mind should have been consumed with fear, God filled it with peace and worship. Songs came flooding into my heart. Instead of darkness having the final word, Jesus reminded me that His presence reaches places illness never can.

Those songs eventually became Songs in the Battle.

What the enemy intended to use to discourage me, God transformed into worship.

In 2019, during surgery, God gave me a glimpse of Heaven that forever changed how I see suffering. I experienced a place more beautiful than words could ever describe. I had no pain. I had a new body. I didn’t want to leave.

Then I heard these words:

“Not yet, my son. I have more work for you to complete.”

When I woke up in recovery pointing toward Heaven, I knew my life no longer belonged to me. It belonged completely to the One who had sent me back.

That experience didn’t remove my health challenges.

It gave them purpose.

I’ve learned that ministry isn’t confined to a platform or a microphone. Sometimes ministry looks like encouraging another patient in a waiting room. Sometimes it’s praying for a nurse who has had an exhausting shift. Sometimes it’s simply choosing joy when your circumstances make no sense.

Every diagnosis has become another opportunity to testify to God’s faithfulness.

Every setback has become another opportunity to trust Him.

Every scar has become another reminder that God is still writing my story.

I’ve also learned that weakness isn’t the opposite of usefulness.

The world measures people by what they can produce. God measures us by our willingness to trust Him. Scripture reminds us that His power is made perfect in weakness. Looking back, I can honestly say I’ve often experienced God’s strength most clearly when I had none of my own.

If my journey has taught me anything, it’s that purpose isn’t determined by our physical abilities. It’s determined by our willingness to surrender whatever we have to God.

I don’t know what tomorrow’s doctor’s appointment will bring.

I don’t know what new challenge may be waiting around the corner.

But I do know this:

As long as God gives me breath, I want every breath to point someone toward Jesus.

If my story gives hope to someone newly diagnosed…

If it encourages a caregiver who is exhausted…

If it reminds someone that miracles still happen—even when they don’t look the way we expected…

If it helps one person discover that Jesus never abandons us in our suffering…

Then every difficult day has eternal value.

I have made the choice to live out my health issues with purpose.

Not because this journey has been easy.

Not because I enjoy suffering.

But because I have seen, time and time again, that God never wastes a surrendered life.

My health challenges are part of my testimony, but they are not my identity.

My identity is found in Jesus Christ.

And as long as He continues to write my story, I will keep telling the world that hope is alive, miracles still happen, and no diagnosis is greater than the faithfulness of God. ~OC

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Good Trouble for the Church

Today’s a new day!

The late Congressman and civil rights leader John Lewis left us with a simple but powerful challenge: “Get into good trouble, necessary trouble.”Get His words were never an invitation to create chaos. They were a call to courage—to stand for what is right when remaining silent would be easier.

As I look at the state of the American Church today, I can’t help but wonder if we need a little more good trouble.

I love the Church. I believe Jesus established the Church to be the hope of the world, a place where broken people discover healing, where sinners find grace, where the lonely find family, and where the Gospel transforms lives. My concern doesn’t come from a lack of love—it comes because I love the Church too much to stay silent when I see it drifting from its mission.

Too often, it seems many churches and Christian leaders have become more passionate about politics than about the Gospel. We know how to defend a political party, but do we defend the forgotten? We know how to argue over elections, but do we weep over the lost? We rally around candidates, but are we rallying around the Cross?

The Gospel was never meant to be wrapped in a political or American flag.

Jesus didn’t tell His followers to seek political power. He told them to deny themselves, take up their cross, and follow Him. He welcomed the outsider, touched the untouchable, defended the marginalized, and proclaimed good news to the poor. His ministry consistently crossed cultural, social, and political boundaries because His Kingdom was never confined by them.

The Church should be known first for its love—not its voting record.

Perhaps it’s time for some “Good Trouble.”

The kind of good trouble that speaks up when refugees are treated without dignity.

The kind of good trouble that refuses to ignore the hungry, the homeless, the disabled, the widow, the orphan, and the immigrant because Scripture refuses to ignore them.

The kind of good trouble that challenges churches to be known more for compassion than for culture wars.

The kind of good trouble that reminds us our neighbors are not our enemies.

The kind of good trouble that chooses the teachings of Jesus over political talking points.

This isn’t about choosing the political left or the political right. It’s about choosing the narrow road that Jesus called us to walk. The Kingdom of God has never fit neatly inside any political platform.

The early Church changed the world without controlling governments. They changed it because they loved radically, served sacrificially, shared generously, and proclaimed Christ boldly. They cared for plague victims, rescued abandoned children, fed the hungry, and welcomed those society rejected. Their witness wasn’t built on political influence—it was built on Christlike love.

Imagine if today’s Church became known once again for that kind of faith.

Imagine communities where every person—regardless of race, nationality, economic status, disability, or political affiliation—knew they would be welcomed because they bear the image of God.

Imagine churches where serving the poor mattered as much as winning debates.

Imagine Christians who were recognized not by the politicians they defended, but by the Savior they followed.

That’s the kind of good trouble our generation desperately needs.

The Gospel is still good news.

The Cross is still enough.

The Church still has the opportunity to be the light of the world—but only if we remember whose Kingdom we belong to.

May we have the courage to lovingly challenge what needs challenging, to speak truth with grace, and to follow Jesus wherever He leads—even when it costs us comfort, popularity, or influence.

If that causes a little good trouble, perhaps that’s exactly where the Church needs to be. ~OC

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Hope Isles: A New Beginning/Chapter Twenty-One- The Gathering Clouds

For a while, life in Hope Isles settled into something comfortable.

The kind of rhythm that made days blend together in the best possible way.

Morning coffee at Sit Awhile.

Work projects around Hope House.

Evening walks along the harbor.

Conversations that lingered long after sunset.

For the first time in years, James wasn’t looking for the next chapter.

He was simply living the one he was in.

And that felt like a gift.

One Tuesday morning, however, that peace was interrupted.

Not dramatically.

Not at first.

Just a phone call.

James was helping Ethan repair part of the old community dock when Sarah came running toward them.

Her expression immediately caught his attention.

“James.”

He set down his tools.

“What happened?”

Sarah handed him her phone.

“It’s your father.”

The words alone were enough.

James quickly took the phone.

“Dad?”

Daniel’s voice sounded weaker than usual.

Not frightened.

Just tired.

“Hey, son.”

James moved away from the noise of the work site.

“You okay?”

A pause.

Long enough to answer the question.

“Not exactly.”

The knot in James’s stomach tightened.

“What happened?”

Daniel exhaled slowly.

“Rebecca wants me back for more tests.”

James closed his eyes briefly.

The diagnosis.

The timeline.

The reality they had temporarily pushed aside.

It was all still there.

Waiting.

“Okay,” James said quietly.

“When?”

“Tomorrow.”

The words settled heavily between them.

Neither man wanted to say what they were thinking.

Eventually Daniel spoke again.

“I didn’t want you hearing it from someone else.”

James nodded.

“Thank you.”

After the call ended, he stood silently near the water.

Sarah approached carefully.

“Bad news?”

James stared out at the harbor.

“Maybe.”

She didn’t press.

She simply stood beside him.

Sometimes presence was more valuable than advice.

Eventually James spoke.

“My father needs more tests.”

Sarah nodded.

Understanding immediately.

The weight returned.

Not all at once.

But enough to be felt.

By evening, word had reached Walter.

And June.

And somehow half the island again.

James never figured out how that happened.

At dinner, June sat across from him.

“You know something?”

James looked up.

“What?”

“We’re praying.”

The statement was simple.

Matter-of-fact.

Certain.

Around the table, heads nodded.

No speeches.

No dramatic promises.

Just commitment.

The kind Hope Isles specialized in.

That night, James sat alone on the porch.

The island was quiet.

Stars filled the sky.

The ocean moved steadily in the darkness.

He thought about his grandfather.

About his father.

About the strange journey that had brought him here.

Healing had happened.

Reconciliation had happened.

But life wasn’t suddenly free of pain.

Faith didn’t erase storms.

It carried people through them.

A voice interrupted his thoughts.

“You look like a man wrestling with God.”

James glanced over.

Walter.

Of course.

Walter sat down beside him.

James smiled faintly.

“Is it that obvious?”

“To me?”

Walter chuckled.

“Very.”

For several moments neither spoke.

Then Walter looked toward the ocean.

“You know what sailors fear most?”

“The storm?”

Walter shook his head.

“No.”

James frowned.

“What then?”

“The illusion of control.”

That answer caught him off guard.

Walter continued.

“A storm reminds you that you were never really in charge.”

The words settled deeply.

James knew they were true.

His father’s illness had reminded him of that.

Life itself had reminded him of that.

Walter smiled gently.

“Faith begins where control ends.”

The old man stood.

Then paused.

“Your grandfather understood that.”

“What about my father?”

Walter looked back.

“He’s learning.”

A small smile crossed his face.

“And so are you.”

The next morning Daniel left the island for his appointment.

James accompanied him to the ferry.

The harbor was quiet.

The sky overcast.

Neither man seemed eager to discuss what might come next.

Instead they talked about simple things.

Fishing boats.

The town festival.

June’s increasingly questionable

baking experiments.

The ferry horn sounded.

Boarding time.

Daniel turned toward his son.

“I’m glad I came.”

James smiled.

“So am I.”

His father nodded.

Then added quietly:

“No matter what happens next.”

Those words lingered.

James didn’t like them.

Because they sounded too much like goodbye.

And Daniel knew it.

So he quickly added:

“This isn’t a goodbye speech.”

James laughed.

“It sounded like one.”

“Well it wasn’t.”

The ferry crew called for final boarding.

Daniel stepped forward.

Then stopped.

One last thought

“James”

“Yeah?”

His father’s eyes had a look of gratitude and peace.

“You stayed.”

James frowned slightly.

“What do you mean?”

Daniel smiled.

“You stayed when it would’ve been easier to leave.”

For a moment neither spoke.

Then Daniel nodded once.

“As it turns out, your grandfather was right.”

“About what?”

A gentle smile appeared.

“Grace really does build something worth staying for.”

With that, he boarded the ferry.

James stood on the dock watching it pull away.

The water churned behind the vessel.

The distance slowly grew.

Yet something inside him remained steady.

Not because he knew what would happen.

Because he finally trusted God with what he didn’t know.

Back at Hope Isles, clouds gathered on the horizon.

Dark.

Heavy.

Slow-moving.

Most people barely noticed them.

But old fishermen did.

And Walter certainly did.

Standing near the lighthouse later that afternoon, he watched the sky carefully.

A troubled expression crossed his face.

Not fear.

Concern.

The kind earned through years of experience.

As the wind began to shift, Walter whispered something to himself.

A prayer.

Or perhaps a memory.

Then he looked toward Hope House.

Toward James.

Toward the island.

And for the first time in many years, he felt a warning deep in his spirit.

Not about Daniel.

Not about illness.

Something else.

Something bigger.

The storm coming toward Hope Isles wasn’t merely weather.

And before it passed, the island would be forced to discover whether its foundation truly rested on hope…

or only on comfort.

To Be Continued…

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