Through A Different Lens

Today’s a new day!

Another night of very little sleep, so I found myself awake rewatching the amazing documentary Photography No. 24: Ken Griffey Jr. at the Masters.

Ken Griffey Jr. has always been one of my favorite players, especially during his days with my Cincinnati Reds. There is something special about watching someone with that kind of passion, talent, and eye for the moment.

And it got me thinking about something I have always enjoyed: photography.

I love seeing a beautiful photograph. You know the kind I mean—the one that makes you stop scrolling, stare at it for a moment, and maybe even takes your breath away.

I’ve taken some pretty good photos with my iPhone over the years, but lately I’ve been thinking about taking photography a little more seriously.

As I continue dealing with Parkinson’s, Myasthenia Gravis, and now Dementia, I have had to accept that I am no longer able to run. Running was a huge part of my life, and losing that ability has been difficult.

But maybe this is an opportunity to discover something new.

Maybe I can trade running for photography.

And there is another reason this idea excites me.

I am having more trouble with my voice these days. Sometimes finding the words or getting them out the way I want to can be difficult.

But a photograph doesn’t need a voice.

A photograph can speak.

It can tell a story.
It can capture emotion.
It can make someone stop and think.
It can show beauty in places we might otherwise overlook.

And perhaps photography could give me another way to raise awareness about Parkinson’s, Myasthenia Gravis, and Dementia.

I could use the images I capture to tell stories about this journey, while also reminding people that there is still beauty to be found in the middle of difficult circumstances.

I’ll be working with a limited budget, so I would really appreciate any suggestions from photographers or people who know cameras.

What would you recommend for someone getting started? What older or affordable cameras would be good to experiment with?

And if anyone has an older camera, lenses, tripod, camera bag, or other photography equipment sitting around that you aren’t using anymore and would be interested in donating, I would be incredibly grateful.

I don’t need the newest or most expensive equipment.

I just need an opportunity to learn.

I’m honestly excited about the possibilities.

Maybe I can’t run anymore, but I can still chase moments.

Maybe my voice is becoming quieter, but I can still tell stories.

Maybe my body has changed the way I move through this world, but it hasn’t taken away my desire to find beauty in it.

So perhaps this is the beginning of a new adventure.

A new journey.
A new creative outlet.
A new way to speak.
A new way to raise awareness.
A new way to see.

And who knows?

Maybe the next beautiful photograph I take will tell a story that words never could. ~OC ❤️📸

#Photography #ParkinsonsAwareness #MyastheniaGravis #DementiaAwareness #CincinnatiReds #KenGriffeyJr #PhotographyJourney #Overcomer #NeverGiveUp #FindTheBeauty #NewBeginnings

August 13, 2026 0

Don’t Live With Regrets

Today’s a new day!

I’ve often thought about something that feels both heartbreaking and unnecessary.

When I die, I don’t want people to suddenly tell the world how much I meant to them.

I don’t want long social media posts about the memories we never made.

I don’t want flowers that arrive too late, or words spoken over a casket that could have been shared over a glass of ice tea.

I want the conversation while I’m still here.

I want the phone call.

I want the text that says, “I’m thinking about you.”

I want the laughter around the dinner table, the long conversations on the porch, the road trips, the prayers together, and the ordinary moments that somehow become extraordinary simply because they were shared with someone we love.

Life is incredibly fragile.

As someone who has spent years walking through chronic illness, I’ve been reminded again and again that tomorrow is never guaranteed. We all assume there will be another birthday, another holiday, another chance to reconnect. But sometimes, that chance never comes.

One of the greatest tragedies isn’t death itself.

It’s the conversations we never had.

The forgiveness we never offered.

The hugs we never gave.

The visits we kept putting off.

The words, “I love you,” that remained trapped behind pride, busyness, or the illusion that there would always be more time.

Don’t wait.

If someone comes to your mind today, maybe that’s not an accident.

Call them.

Invite them to lunch.

Take the drive.

Write the letter.

Pray with them.

Make the memory now instead of wishing you had after they’re gone.

At the end of our lives, very few people regret spending too much time with those they love.

They regret the opposite.

They regret the vacations they postponed, the friendships they neglected, the family gatherings they skipped, and the relationships they allowed to slowly drift away.

Love isn’t measured by what we say after someone dies.

Love is measured by how we show up while they’re still living.

Jesus demonstrated this beautifully. He walked with people, ate with them, listened to them, laughed with them, wept beside them, and loved them in the everyday moments of life. He didn’t wait until it was too late to express His love.

Maybe today is your reminder.

Don’t let another day slip by.

Don’t assume they’ll always be there.

Don’t allow pride to steal another year.

Reach out.

Create the memories.

Take the picture.

Share the meal.

Say the words.

One day, the opportunity will pass.

Live in such a way that when the day of goodbye finally comes, your heart is filled with gratitude instead of regret—not because everything was perfect, but because you chose to love while there was still time.

Don’t wait until a funeral to celebrate someone’s life.

Celebrate them today. ~OC

August 10, 2026 0

Living

Today’s a new day!

I know what it’s like to be dying.

I know what it feels like to look at your life and realize that tomorrow is never promised. I know what it’s like to spend time in hospital rooms, sit across from doctors, hear words that change the way you look at the future, and wonder how much time you have left.

I know what it’s like to come face-to-face with my own mortality.

But here’s the thing:

I don’t spend much time thinking about death.

I know it’s there.

I know one day my earthly journey will come to an end. I don’t deny it. I don’t run from it. And because of my faith, I don’t fear what comes after this life.

But I’m not going to spend the days I’ve been given worrying about the day they run out.

I’ve got too much living to do.

I’ve got too many memories to make.

Too many conversations to have.

Too many sunsets to watch.

Too many laughs to share.

Too many hugs to give.

Too many stories still waiting to be told.

Too many people I love who still need to hear, “I love you.”

There are places I still want to see, songs I still want to write, prayers I still want to pray, and moments I still want to experience.

There are memories I haven’t made yet with the people I love.

So I’m going to make them.

I’m going to laugh when I can.

I’m going to cry when I need to.

I’m going to celebrate the ordinary moments because I’ve learned that ordinary moments are often the extraordinary ones we remember most.

I’m going to sit a little longer at the dinner table.

I’m going to call the friend I’ve been meaning to call.

I’m going to tell people what they mean to me while they’re still here—and while I’m still here.

I’m going to stop saving life for someday.

Because someday isn’t guaranteed.

Today is.

Living with serious health challenges has taught me something I could never have learned from a textbook:

Life isn’t measured only by how many years we have.

It’s measured by what we do with the years we’ve been given.

Death may be somewhere down the road, but I’m not going to stand on the road staring at it.

I’m going to keep walking.

I’m going to keep loving.

I’m going to keep believing.

I’m going to keep making memories.

I’m going to keep squeezing every drop of meaning, purpose, joy, and hope out of this crazy, beautiful life.

And when my time finally comes, I don’t want to look back and wish I had lived more.

I want to be able to say:

I lived.

I loved deeply.

I laughed loudly.

I made memories.

I encouraged people.

I shared my faith.

I fought through the hard days.

I celebrated the good ones.

I didn’t waste my life being afraid of losing it.

I chose to live it.

Because death may be inevitable.

But today is a gift.

And I’m not wasting the gift.

I’ve got too much living to do.

Too much loving to do.

Too many memories to make.

Too much purpose left to pursue.

And as long as God gives me breath…

I’m going to fully embrace it. ~OC

August 8, 2026 0

My Medical Rap Sheet Doesn’t Get The Final Word

Today’s a new day!

Here is my medical rap sheet.

Crippling Arthritis — 2002 (Ended up being cancer)
Cancer — 2003
Parkinson’s Disease — 2007
Myasthenia Gravis — 2009
Gastroparesis — 2015
COVID Long Haulers — 2022
Type Two Diabetes 202 (medication induced)
Cluster and Migraine Headaches — 2024
Dementia — 2024

Looking at that list, many people would probably assume my life is over.

They would assume the best years are behind me. That my dreams have ended. That all that’s left is surviving.

But they would be wrong.

Every single day, I choose life.

I choose to keep making memories with my beautiful bride of twenty-six years. I choose to laugh, to love, and to appreciate the moments that many people rush past.

I choose to continue advocating for other patients who need someone to remind them that they are more than a diagnosis.

I choose to keep fighting against human trafficking because there are people who desperately need hope, justice, and someone willing to stand in the gap.

Does that mean this health journey is easy?

Absolutely not.

There are days filled with pain. Days of exhaustion. Days when my body reminds me of every diagnosis on that list.

But years ago, I made a decision.

This health battle would never become my identity.

My diagnoses describe some of the battles I face—they do not define the man I am.

I refuse to allow illness to steal my purpose. I refuse to let disease dictate my joy. I refuse to surrender the calling God has placed on my life simply because my body doesn’t always cooperate.

Instead, I choose to keep living.

I choose to keep loving.

I choose to keep serving.

I choose to keep overcoming.

If you’re walking through a battle today—whether it’s a health crisis, grief, depression, financial hardship, addiction, or something no one else can see—I want to encourage you.

Don’t let your battle become your identity.

Keep fighting.

Keep making memories.

Keep dreaming.

Keep showing up.

Keep loving the people around you.

Live your life to the fullest, even if it looks different than you once imagined.

Champions aren’t defined by the battles they face.

They’re defined by the courage to keep getting back up.

So today…

Choose hope.

Choose purpose.

Choose joy.

Choose life.

And whatever comes your way, keep overcoming.

Live like a champion. ~OC

August 7, 2026 0

Hope Isles: A New Beginning/Chapter Thirty-The First Clue

For several moments, no one said a word.

The revelation hung over the room like a gathering storm.

A survey vault.

A hidden map.

And somehow Samuel Whitaker had known about it for decades.

Walter slowly lowered himself back into his chair.

“I knew Samuel had secrets,” he said quietly.

“But not like this.”

Margaret folded her arms.

“Neither did I.”

Richard looked exhausted.

“I’ve spent the last two days reviewing every archived document I could find. Most references were incomplete. Many files had been removed years ago.”

Daniel frowned.

“Removed by who?”

Richard shook his head.

“I don’t know.”

That answer unsettled everyone.

Because it meant someone had intentionally hidden information.

Not lost.

Not forgotten.

Hidden.

James looked down at the journal.

The worn leather cover suddenly seemed different.

More important.

As if Samuel had known this day would come.

Sarah noticed him staring.

“What are you thinking?”

James slowly opened the journal again.

“There has to be more.”

Walter nodded.

“If Samuel left clues, he wouldn’t leave just one.”

James carefully flipped through pages.

Years of entries passed beneath his fingers.

Stories.

Prayers.

Observations.

Fishing reports.

Town events.

Lessons about faith.

Then—

He stopped.

A folded piece of paper slipped from between two pages.

Everyone leaned forward.

James carefully picked it up.

The paper was yellowed with age.

Folded several times.

Hidden intentionally.

Walter’s eyes widened.

“I’ve never seen that.”

Neither had anyone else.

James unfolded it slowly.

Inside was a hand-drawn map.

Not of Hope Isles.

At least not entirely.

The coastline was recognizable.

The harbor.

The lighthouse.

The old church.

Hope House.

But several unfamiliar markings had been added.

Small symbols.

Numbers.

And one large circle drawn near the northern cliffs.

Daniel stared at it.

“What is that?”

Before James could answer, Margaret suddenly stood.

Her chair scraped sharply across the floor.

Everyone looked at her.

She was staring at the map.

Not with confusion.

With recognition.

“Margaret?”

She didn’t answer immediately.

Instead she slowly walked closer.

Her eyes fixed on the large circle.

Finally she whispered:

“Oh my goodness.”

Walter blinked.

“What?”

Margaret looked up.

“I know where this is.”

The room went silent.

“You do?”

She nodded.

“When Samuel and I were teenagers, there was an old structure near the cliffs.”

James frowned.

“A structure?”

“It wasn’t on any public maps.”

Walter looked surprised.

“I’ve lived here my entire life. I’ve never heard about it.”

“Most people didn’t.”

Margaret smiled faintly.

“It had already fallen apart by the time we were young.”

Sarah stepped closer.

“What was it?”

Margaret looked at the map.

Then back at them.

“An old weather station.”

James frowned.

“A weather station?”

“At least that’s what everyone called it.”

She paused.

“Samuel never believed that was its real purpose.”

Richard immediately straightened.

“What do you mean?”

Margaret’s expression became thoughtful.

“One summer, Samuel became obsessed with it.”

That statement drew a laugh from Walter.

“That sounds like Samuel.”

She smiled.

“It does.”

The memory seemed to carry her back decades.

“He spent weeks researching old town records.”

“Every spare minute.”

“He was convinced the building had been used for something else before becoming a weather station.”

James looked down at the map.

His pulse quickened.

“What did he think it was?”

Margaret’s smile faded.

“A storage site.”

The room became quiet again.

Richard’s eyes narrowed.

“For what?”

Margaret slowly pointed toward the circle.

“For documents.”

Daniel exchanged a glance with James.

The pieces were beginning to connect.

Not perfectly.

But enough.

Richard looked at the map.

Then at the journal.

Then back at the group.

“If this location still exists…”

James finished the thought.

“It could lead us to the vault.”

Walter leaned back.

Part of him looked excited.

Part of him looked worried.

“I can’t believe we’re actually saying this.”

Sarah laughed nervously.

“Neither can I.”

Daniel looked toward the window.

The northern cliffs sat far beyond the harbor.

Hidden by distance.

Silent.

Waiting.

Finally he turned back.

“When do we go?”

James smiled.

For the first time all afternoon.

“Tomorrow.”

Walter immediately stood.

“Good.”

Margaret raised an eyebrow.

“You’re coming?”

Walter grinned.

“After all this?”

He pointed toward the map.

“Not a chance I’m staying behind.”

The room erupted with laughter.

The tension finally breaking.

Outside, evening shadows stretched across Hope Isles.

The lighthouse beam swept across the water.

Steady.

Faithful.

Almost as if it were guiding them.

And somewhere beyond the northern cliffs…

Hidden beneath years of time and silence…

A secret Samuel Whitaker had protected for decades was waiting to be discovered.

What none of them knew was that before sunrise, someone else would be searching for it too.

Someone who had just learned about the map.

Someone willing to do almost anything to find the vault first.

And by morning…

The race for Hope Isles’ greatest secret would begin.

To Be Continued…

July 31, 2026 0

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

July 31, 2026 0

Everyone Belongs

This week marks the 36th anniversary of the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA), a landmark moment in our nation’s history.

The Americans with Disabilities Act was more than a piece of legislation. It was a declaration that every person has inherent worth, dignity, and the right to fully participate in society. It challenged barriers that had excluded millions of Americans and affirmed that disability should never determine a person’s value or limit their opportunity.

While we have made significant progress over the past 36 years, the journey is far from over.

Too many people with disabilities still encounter physical barriers, employment discrimination, inaccessible healthcare, transportation challenges, and attitudes that underestimate their gifts and potential. True accessibility is about more than ramps and parking spaces—it is about creating a culture where every person is welcomed, respected, and empowered to thrive.

As someone who has spent years walking through significant health challenges, I have experienced firsthand both the compassion of others and the obstacles that still exist. I have also learned that disability does not diminish purpose. It does not erase calling. It does not prevent God from working through our lives in powerful ways.

The Church has a unique opportunity to lead by example. We should be the first to ensure that people with disabilities are not merely accommodated but fully embraced as essential members of the Body of Christ. Every gift matters. Every voice matters. Every life matters.

The ADA reminds us of an important truth: inclusion is not charity—it is justice. And for those of us who follow Jesus, it is also an expression of His heart. Throughout the Gospels, Jesus consistently welcomed those whom society overlooked, reminding us that every person bears the image of God.

As we reflect on the legacy of the Americans with Disabilities Act, may we celebrate how far we’ve come while recommitting ourselves to building communities where every person can flourish with dignity, opportunity, and hope.

Let’s continue removing barriers—not just in our buildings, but in our hearts.

Because everyone belongs. ~OC

July 31, 2026 0

Hope Isles:A New Beginning/Chapter Twenty-Nine-What Was Hidden

No one moved.

Not even the kind of shifting that usually follows bad news—no chair adjustments, no clearing throats, no nervous glances toward the window.

Just stillness.

Richard stood in the center of Hope House like a man carrying something heavier than paper. The folder in his hands looked ordinary.

That somehow made it worse.

Walter finally spoke, his voice low.

“Start at the beginning.”

Richard nodded once, as if he had already rehearsed this moment a hundred times.

“I thought Harbor Horizon came here for profit,” he said. “That’s what every file, every briefing, every investor call suggested.”

Daniel leaned forward slightly. “And now?”

Richard exhaled slowly. “Now I know that was only part of it.”

He set the folder on the table but didn’t open it yet.

“They weren’t just interested in land. They were interested in something tied to the land.”

Sarah frowned. “What does that even mean?”

Richard’s eyes flicked up.

“A name kept appearing in older internal correspondence. Not recent emails. Not modern proposals. Archived documents. Almost forgotten.”

James felt a strange tightening in his chest.

“What name?”

Richard opened the folder.

And slid a single sheet forward.

At the top was a stamped header from decades ago.

Preston & Kane.

The room seemed to tilt slightly.

Daniel stared at it. “That’s my old company…”

Richard nodded. “Yes. But it’s not just that.”

He pointed to a line near the bottom of the page.

A signature.

Samuel Whitaker.

James stopped breathing for a moment.

Walter leaned forward sharply.

“That’s not possible. Samuel wasn’t involved in corporate land deals.”

Richard looked at him steadily.

“He was more involved than anyone realized.”

Silence again.

This time heavier.

Daniel finally spoke, his voice cautious.

“What did my father have to do with Harbor Horizon?”

Richard turned another page.

“This is where it gets complicated.”

He tapped the document.

“Before Samuel Whitaker retired from consulting entirely… he was brought in on a confidential advisory panel. One that evaluated coastal sustainability projects.”

Sarah shook her head. “That doesn’t sound unusual.”

“It wasn’t,” Richard agreed. “Until one project stood out.”

He paused.

“The Hope Isles waterfront proposal.”

James felt a cold ripple move through him.

Daniel’s expression tightened. “You’re saying my father reviewed the same project I later rejected?”

Richard nodded.

“And according to these records… Samuel didn’t just review it.”

He hesitated again, choosing the words carefully.

“He flagged it first.”

The room went completely still.

Walter’s voice dropped.

“He stopped it before Daniel even saw it?”

Richard corrected gently, “He identified concerns that triggered the deeper review process. Without his report, Daniel never would have been assigned to it.”

James slowly looked down at the journal still sitting on the table beside him.

Pieces began to shift in his mind. Not neatly. Not comfortably.

But unmistakably.

Sarah whispered, almost to herself, “So Samuel… set everything in motion.”

Richard nodded once.

“And that’s not all.”

Daniel’s jaw tightened slightly. “There’s more?”

Richard opened the final document in the folder.

“This is a communication from Harbor Horizon’s founding board.”

He slid it forward.

James read the first line out loud without realizing he was doing it.

“‘Project Hope Isles is not solely a development initiative.’”

He stopped.

Looked up.

Walter’s face had gone pale in a way James had never seen before.

Daniel leaned closer. “Keep reading.”

James continued.

“‘It is a recovery site for legacy environmental data originally compiled under Preston & Kane consulting oversight.’”

Sarah blinked. “That’s… technical jargon. What does that even mean?”

Richard answered quietly.

“It means someone wasn’t just interested in building on Hope Isles.”

He paused.

“They were trying to recover something that was already buried there.”

No one spoke.

The harbor outside felt suddenly too loud in contrast.

Daniel stared at the page. “That still doesn’t explain why my father is connected.”

Richard flipped to the final sheet.

A scanned memo. Handwritten notes in the margin.

Samuel’s handwriting.

James recognized it instantly.

His throat tightened.

Walter stood slowly, like his legs had finally caught up with what his mind already feared.

Richard pointed to one underlined sentence.

James read it aloud.

“‘If Harbor Horizon attempts to access the original survey vault beneath Hope Isles, it must be prevented at all costs.’”

Daniel’s voice came out barely above a whisper.

“Survey vault?”

Richard nodded.

“There’s something under this island.”

A long pause.

Then James spoke, slowly.

“And Grandpa knew exactly what it was.”

Richard met his eyes.

“I think he did more than know.”

He slid the final line of the memo forward.

A sentence circled three times.

James read it.

And everything in the room changed.

“‘Only Samuel Whitaker retains the full map of what lies beneath Hope Isles.’”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty.

It was full.

Full of questions.

Full of history.

Full of something none of them were ready for.

Walter finally spoke, barely audible.

“So Samuel didn’t just protect this island…”

Daniel’s eyes stayed fixed on the page.

“He hid something here.”

James slowly closed the journal.

Outside, the ocean kept moving like nothing had changed.

But inside Hope House…

Everything had.

And for the first time, James understood the truth forming beneath all of it.

Hope Isles wasn’t just their home.

It was a locked door.

And Samuel Whitaker had left them the key—one piece at a time.

To Be Continued…

July 30, 2026 0

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

July 29, 2026 0

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