Tag: Pain

Not In The Storm

Today’s a new day!

There comes a moment in life when you realize the journey is not about pretending to be strong every second of every day. It is about learning how to walk honestly with God through both the beautiful moments and the painful ones. As I continue walking this crazy beautiful health journey, I am jumping into the deep end of life.  I am choosing to live fully, love deeply, and embrace every moment God places in front of me. I am taking trips with my bride, cherishing the laughter, the quiet moments, and the memories we are building together. I am having deep and meaningful conversations about real life, real struggles, real faith, and real hope. No sugar coating. No masks. Just honesty wrapped in grace.

Some days are incredibly good. Some days feel light, hopeful, and full of strength. Then there are days that are really tough. Days where the storm feels loud and exhausting. But through every high and every low, I refuse to let the storm become my identity. My diagnosis is not my identity. My struggles are not my identity. My difficult moments are not my identity. My identity is found completely in Christ, and that is the only identity that truly matters.

The world often tries to define people by what they are going through.   God defines us by who we belong to. We belong to Him. We are loved by Him. We are redeemed by Him. We are sustained by Him. Storms may shape parts of our story, but they do not get to name us. Jesus does.

What this journey has taught me more than anything is this: life is too precious to spend buried under fear, hesitation, or regret. Too many people are waiting for “someday” to start living. Someday they will take the dream trip. Someday they will say “I love you.” Someday they will forgive. Someday they will have the hard but healing conversation. Someday they will step out in faith and pursue what God placed in their heart. But someday is never promised.

So my encouragement to everyone reading this is simple: live life to the fullest. Trust God enough to truly live. Take the trip. Make the phone call. Sit down and have the real conversation. Laugh loudly. Love deeply. Pray boldly. Stop allowing fear to keep you trapped in a life of “I wish I would have.” The storm may still rage around you, but there is a way to live beyond the storm.

Living beyond the storm does not mean pretending the storm is not real. It means refusing to let the storm steal your joy, your purpose, your faith, or your ability to truly live. It means understanding that even in the middle of pain, God is still writing beautiful chapters. It means choosing to see every breath as a gift and every day as an opportunity to love God and love people well.

At the end of our lives, most people will not regret loving too much, believing too much, or trusting God too deeply. They will regret the moments fear kept them from fully living. So live courageously. Live gratefully. Live authentically. And no matter what storm comes your way, never forget who you are.

Your identity is not in the storm.

Your identity is in Christ. ~OC

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Mental Health And The Church

Today’s a new day! May is Mental Health Awareness Month, so I wanted to share the following with you. 

The Church has not always handled mental health well. Too many people have been told to “just pray harder,” as if anxiety, depression, trauma, or emotional exhaustion are signs of weak faith. Some believers sit in pews every Sunday carrying panic attacks, grief, addiction, suicidal thoughts, or deep loneliness while smiling through worship songs because they are afraid of being judged. The truth is, loving Jesus does not make someone immune to mental struggles. Even great men and women in Scripture wrestled with despair, fear, exhaustion, and heartbreak. Faith does not erase the reality of being human.

There is nothing unspiritual about having a therapist. Therapy is not replacing God; it can be one of the ways God helps heal people. We do not shame someone for seeing a doctor when they break a bone or have cancer, so we should not shame someone for getting help with their mind and emotions. God can work through pastors, prayer, Scripture, worship, medicine, counselors, and therapists. Sometimes healing comes in a miracle, and sometimes healing comes in honest conversations in an office where someone finally feels safe enough to say, “I’m not okay.”

The Church needs to become a place where people can be real instead of pretending they have it all together. Too often Christians feel pressured to perform holiness while secretly falling apart inside. But Jesus never pushed away the broken. He moved toward them. He sat with hurting people. He listened. He restored dignity. The Church should be the safest place on earth to admit pain, not the most terrifying place to confess it.

If you are struggling mentally or emotionally, needing help does not make you weak, broken, or less Christian. It makes you human. Keep praying. Keep trusting God. But also take the steps toward healing that are in front of you. Talk to someone. Reach out for help. Healing is not always instant, and recovery is not always neat, but God still walks with people through the process. Sometimes faith looks less like pretending to be strong and more like having the courage to finally say, “Lord, I need help.” ~OC

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The Story Behind The Music 

Today’s a new day!

People often ask me how I started writing music, and the honest answer might surprise them—I don’t come from some deep well of musical training or natural talent. I’ve never claimed to be a musician in the traditional sense. But what I have always had is an ear for music and a mind full of thoughts that never seem to sit still. For years, those thoughts found their way into blog posts, journal entries, and scattered writings. I didn’t realize at the time that God was planting seeds—words that would one day find a different kind of rhythm and voice.

As time has gone on, I’ve heard people assume that what I write must just be random phrases plugged into some app, especially with how much AI is shaping the world around us. But I want to be clear—every word I share comes from a real place. It comes from my heart, from my experiences, and from what strength I still have to express what’s inside me. These songs aren’t manufactured; they’re lived. They are pieces of my journey, shaped by faith, struggle, and the quiet moments where God meets me right where I am. Yes, the vocals and music are AI generated, but each word, each vocal and style of music comes from God inspired inspiration. And a lot of late nights.

The turning point came during a time of prayer. I felt God speaking to my spirit, nudging me to take those old writings and begin turning them into songs. My first response was hesitation—I told Him plainly, “I don’t know how to write music.” But in that stillness, I felt His answer just as clearly: I do. It wasn’t about technique or training; it was about obedience. So I started, unsure but willing, trusting that if He called me to it, He would carry me through it.

Not long after, I prayed a simple but bold prayer—that God would give me something new to write every single day. And in His faithfulness, He has answered that prayer again and again. Each morning brings a new thought, a new message, a new opportunity to share something He’s placed on my heart. That’s why so many of you receive those daily texts or posts—it’s not routine, it’s provision. This journey isn’t about becoming a great songwriter; it’s about being a willing vessel. And as long as He keeps giving me the words, I’ll keep writing them. ~OC

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Letter Two: To A Nation Wrestling With Its Reflection

Dear America, 

There is an undeniable tension in the soul of this country when it comes to matters of race. We have made progress—this cannot be denied—but progress has not erased pain, nor has it resolved the deeper wounds that linger beneath the surface.

Too often, conversations about race are either avoided out of discomfort or inflamed by anger without understanding. In this fragile space, truth becomes a casualty. Some cling to narratives that deny injustice altogether, while others lose hope that reconciliation is even possible.

But we must resist both denial and despair.

The path forward requires honesty—the kind that does not seek to assign guilt, but to illuminate reality. 

It requires empathy—the willingness to step into another’s experience without defensiveness. 

It requires courage—the strength to confront not only the systems around us, but the biases within us.

A nation cannot heal what it refuses to acknowledge.

With steadfast hope,

A Servant of the Dream Yet to Be Fully Realized ~OC

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No Authority

Today’s a new day!

Fear is a powerful emotion, but as a believer, it does not have authority over your life. Scripture reminds us time and time again that God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power, love, and a sound mind. When fear tries to creep in—whether it’s fear of the unknown, fear of failure, or fear of loss—you can stand firm knowing that it does not come from God. Instead, it is something you are called to resist through faith. God’s presence in your life is greater than any anxiety that tries to take hold, and His promises are unshakable even when your circumstances feel uncertain.

Walking in freedom from fear requires trust. It means choosing to believe God’s truth over your feelings. Fear may speak loudly, but it does not have the final say—God does. When you anchor your heart in His Word, you begin to see that fear loses its grip. You are not defined by your worries or limited by your doubts; you are defined by who God says you are: chosen, loved, and secure in Him. As you continue to lean into His presence, you’ll find that courage rises, peace settles in, and fear fades into the background where it belongs—powerless and without authority over your life. ~OC

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Through The Eyes Of A Thief

The sky darkens in a way I’ve never seen before, though I’ve spent my life in the shadows. I hang here, condemned, my body wracked with pain, my past heavier than the crossbeam upon my shoulders. I deserve this, I know it. Every selfish choice, every hardened moment has led me to this hill. Beside me, another man curses, demanding rescue, demanding proof. But I have no demands left—only the bitter clarity that comes when there is nothing left to lose. And then I look at Him.

There is something different about the man in the middle. He does not spit back insults. He does not fight for breath with rage, but with mercy. I hear Him pray—not for Himself, but for those who have nailed Him here. “Father, forgive them.” Forgive them? In that moment, the weight of my own guilt presses deeper, yet strangely, hope flickers where despair once lived. If He can ask forgiveness for them, could there be mercy even for me?

With what strength I have left, I speak—not to mock, but to confess. I deserve this. He does not. And then, with a trembling voice, I ask the unthinkable: “Remember me.” Not save me from this cross, not erase my past—but remember me. It is a small plea from a broken man. Yet His reply is immediate, certain, and filled with a grace I have never known: “Today, you will be with me in paradise.” In the shadow of death, I find life. On a cross meant for punishment, I receive a promise.

As the darkness deepens, fear loosens its grip. My circumstances have not changed, but everything else has. The man beside me is not just another condemned soul—He is a King whose kingdom begins where mine ends. And somehow, by His mercy, I am invited in. This is Good Friday through my eyes: not the end of a life, but the beginning of eternity. ~OC

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Grace Over Judgement

In a world where news travels faster than ever, it didn’t take long for headlines and social media feeds to light up after the news broke that a famous golfer had been arrested on a DUI charge. Within minutes, opinions flooded in—many of them harsh, judgmental, and unforgiving. It’s striking how quickly people can shift from admiration to criticism, often acting as though they themselves have never stumbled, never made a poor decision, never had a moment they wish they could take back. The reality is, we are all human. We all have flaws, struggles, and chapters of our lives we’d rather not have put on public display.

What’s often forgotten in moments like these is that behind the fame, the trophies, and the public persona is a real person—someone who may be dealing with deep personal challenges. Instead of rushing to condemn, perhaps this is a time to reflect inward. How would any of us feel if one of our worst moments became front-page news, dissected and debated by millions? It’s easy to judge from a distance, but empathy requires us to pause and consider the full picture. Fame should never strip someone of their humanity or make them an easier target for criticism.

Today, rather than adding to the noise of negativity, I encourage each of us to choose compassion. Lift Tiger Woods up in prayer—for his health, for his healing, and for his family. Life has a way of humbling all of us at different times, and when it does, what we need most is grace, not judgment. Let’s be mindful of the words we share and the attitudes we carry, remembering that kindness and understanding will always speak louder than criticism. ~OC

You can check out the Spoken Word version of this post at my YouTube channel Todd E. Shoemaker Music.

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Purpose Equals Peace

Today’s a new day! 

For more than two decades, I have walked a road marked by uncertainty, pain, and countless moments where I was told my life might soon end. After hearing over fifty times that I had only hours, weeks, or months to live, I stopped counting. Not out of denial, but out of a quiet realization—life was never meant to be lived under the constant shadow of “what if today is the last day?” Instead, I chose to seek something deeper. In the midst of my storm, I prayed and asked Jesus to show me my purpose within the pain. And He answered.

What I discovered changed everything. My hospital rooms became mission fields. Waiting rooms turned into places of ministry. Conversations with doctors, nurses, and fellow patients became opportunities to encourage, uplift, and share hope. God didn’t remove my storm, but He gave it meaning. Over the years, He has allowed me to walk alongside others in their darkest moments—offering support, listening ears, and reminders that they are not alone. It has been one of the greatest privileges of my life to be used in this way. And in that purpose, I found something unexpected: peace. A deep, unshakable peace that doesn’t depend on circumstances.

Time and time again, I’ve heard others share a similar testimony. When they begin to understand that God has a purpose even in their suffering, something shifts. The fear loosens its grip. The questions quiet. And peace begins to take root. It doesn’t mean the storm disappears—but it does mean the storm no longer defines them. So today, I want to gently challenge you: what is God revealing to you in your current season? Are you leaning in to listen, or are you overwhelmed by the noise of the storm? Have you allowed your struggle to become your identity, or are you willing to surrender it?

Take a moment today to lay your burdens at the foot of the Cross. In fact, don’t just lay them down—leave them there. Nail your fears, your pain, your questions, and your weariness to the Cross and trust that Jesus will carry what you cannot. I can’t promise that your season of hardship will end quickly, or even in the way you hope. But I can promise this: when you seek God’s purpose in the storm, you will find His peace. Even now, as I continue walking through ongoing health challenges, I do so with hope and a calm assurance that God is not finished.

So the question remains—are you willing to take that first step today? To trust, to seek, and to walk forward in the purpose God has prepared for you? Peace and victory are not found in the absence of storms, but in the presence of Jesus within them. ~OC

You can check out the Spoken Word version at my YouTube channel Todd E. Shoemaker Music.

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Healing

Today’s a new day! 

Pain changes you. Anyone who has walked through loss, betrayal, disappointment, or hardship knows that suffering leaves a mark on the heart. Scripture never pretends that pain is easy or meaningless. Throughout the Bible we see faithful people—like Job, Esther, David, and the Apostle Paul —who endured seasons of deep sorrow and struggle. Pain has a way of reshaping our thoughts, testing our faith, and revealing what lies deep within us. It can make us guarded, bitter, or fearful. But pain itself does not get the final say in the story of a believer’s life.

Healing does. Through Jesus Christ, God offers restoration that reaches beyond the wound. Healing doesn’t mean pretending the pain never happened; it means allowing God to transform it into something redemptive. When we bring our brokenness before Him, He begins the quiet work of mending our hearts and renewing our perspective. That healing shapes who we become—people marked not by bitterness but by grace, compassion, and resilience.

The truth is that two people can walk through the same kind of pain and become very different individuals. One may carry the hurt like a heavy chain, while another allows God to turn the wound into wisdom. Healing teaches us empathy for others who suffer. It softens our hearts and reminds us of our need for God’s presence daily. In this way, healing becomes a testimony: the pain may have changed us, but God’s love determines who we ultimately become.

If you are in a season where pain feels overwhelming, remember that your story is still unfolding. God is not finished with you. The same Lord who heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds is still at work today. Pain may shape the chapter you are in, but healing—God’s healing—will shape the person you are becoming. ~OC

You can listen to the Spoken Word version of this post at my YouTube channel Todd E. Shoemaker Music.

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Health Update

Today, I was released from the hospital. My condition is still considered very serious, but my medical team felt I would be more comfortable at home. Walking through my own front door felt surreal — a mix of gratitude, relief, and the quiet weight of reality. Hospitals have a rhythm of their own: monitors beeping, nurses checking in, the steady hum of constant care. Home is different. Home is where the fight becomes more personal.

My body and mind have become very tired of this long health journey. There’s a kind of exhaustion that sleep doesn’t fix — the kind that settles deep into your bones after years of pushing through appointments, procedures, waiting rooms, and unknowns. I continue to fight, but that fight is getting harder. That’s just me being real with you. Strength doesn’t always look like standing tall and fearless. Sometimes it looks like admitting you’re worn down and showing up anyway.

This journey has stretched me in ways I never imagined. It has taught me that courage can be quiet. That hope can flicker but still refuse to go out. That even on the days when I feel fragile, there is still a part of me choosing to stay, to try, to believe. Being home reminds me that this journey isn’t only physical — it’s emotional, spiritual, relational. It’s allowing yourself to rest without guilt. It’s letting others help. It’s accepting that you can be both strong and struggling at the same time.

I hope my health journey can help someone else walking out their own crazy beautiful journey. If you’re in the middle of yours — tired, uncertain, wondering how much more you can carry — please know you’re not weak for feeling that way. You’re human. And even when the fight feels heavier than ever, there is something incredibly powerful about your decision to keep going. We don’t always get to choose our battles, but we do get to choose to face them with honesty. Today, I’m choosing honesty. And I’m choosing to keep fighting, one breath at a time. ~OC

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