Tag: faith

Reclaiming Our Love: A Call to Self-Respect and Holy Resistance

I have grown weary of many things. Weariness has become a constant companion, not from the weight of my own burdens, but from the heaviness of living in a world where too many take life for granted.

The alteration of 19 lives—16 children and 3 adults—should shake us to our core. Their names, faces, and dreams cut short should have been enough to bring the world to its knees in repentance and resolve. Yet here we are again—mourning, lamenting, shaking our heads, while the drumbeat of indifference plays on. It is evidence that many people do not truly care about God’s creation. “For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb”(Psalm 139:13). If God took such care in creation, how dare we treat life as disposable?

The Premise Within the Premise

I have said many times that the “golden rule” has a premise within a premise. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you (Matthew 7:12). But let’s be honest—the deeper truth often goes unexamined. When you practice an action toward someone else, you are not only expressing your heart—you are granting permission for the recipient to respond in kind.

If I act in love, I am giving space for love to flourish. If I act in hate, I create the cycle where hate multiplies. More than that, it reveals what I truly believe about myself. “For the mouth speaks what the heart is full of” (Luke 6:45). If I live from a place of bitterness, anger, and hatred, then those toxic forces govern my entire worldview.

But here’s the deeper truth: my refusal to respond in kind reveals what I believe about myself. My unwillingness to lash out in vengeance is not weakness—it is the fruit of self-love. I am not absolving the harm done. I am not practicing “cheap grace” that excuses wickedness. My love for myself will not allow me to descend into the pit of destruction.

Love as a Form of Resistance

When I think about the murder of children during morning mass, the assassination of political figures, the endless parade of mass shootings, and the rising tide of unjustified hatred, one conviction becomes clear: it is more important than ever to reestablish the practice of self-love.

  • We should love ourselves enough to demand laws that protect life. That means finally enacting universal background checks—not as a partisan talking point but as a moral baseline for a civilized people. “Rescue those being led away to death; hold back those staggering toward slaughter” (Proverbs 24:11).
  • We should love ourselves enough to guard our children fiercely. Protect them not just from bullets, but from predators, manipulators, traffickers, and political charlatans who prey on innocence for profit and power. “But if anyone causes one of these little ones—those who believe in me—to stumble, it would be better for them to have a large millstone hung around their neck and to be drowned in the depths of the sea” (Matthew 18:6).
  • We should love ourselves enough to demand justice. Remove criminals from positions of influence, prosecute wrongdoing without hesitation, and stop excusing corruption because of political allegiance. “Learn to do right; seek justice. Defend the oppressed. Take up the cause of the fatherless; plead the case of the widow” (Isaiah 1:17).
  • We should love ourselves enough to dismantle false religion. No more cheap justifications for heinous acts wrapped in Bible verses. No more bastardized theologies that baptize hatred in the name of Christ. “Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You shut the door of the kingdom of heaven in people’s faces”(Matthew 23:13). Jesus himself would have beaten the holy hell out of such posers in the temple courts (John 2:15).
  • We should love ourselves enough to speak truth to power. Stop sipping the snake oil that poisons the well of decency and goodwill. “Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen: to loose the chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke, to set the oppressed free and break every yoke?” (Isaiah 58:6).
  • We must love ourselves enough to honor prophetic voices. Repent for how we mocked and demonized men like Dr. Jeremiah Wright. History has proven his words to be far more right than wrong. “Surely the Sovereign Lord does nothing without revealing his plan to his servants the prophets” (Amos 3:7).
  • We must love ourselves enough to imagine the Kingdom of God rightly. Stop settling for the illusion of empire. The Kingdom is not built on exploitation, greed, racism, or nationalism. “For the kingdom of God is not a matter of eating and drinking, but of righteousness, peace, and joy in the Holy Spirit” (Romans 14:17).

A Warning and a Hope

If we do not reclaim love—real love, rooted in God’s truth and in respect for ourselves—we will reap the harvest of this hell on earth. “Do not be deceived: God cannot be mocked. A man reaps what he sows” (Galatians 6:7). And make no mistake, that harvest is already ripening.

But if we dare to love ourselves enough to break cycles of hatred and indifference, then we will sow a different kind of seed. “The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control” (Galatians 5:22–23).

The Kingdom of God is waiting. The question is—do we love ourselves enough to embrace it?

44: Grace in the In-Between

Today I turn 44. Birthdays mark more than candles on a cake — they invite us to pause, to breathe, and to take inventory of both the goodness of God and the weight of life. For me, this birthday feels like standing in the in-between: caught between deep gratitude and very real difficulty.

I am grateful. Grateful that God has sustained me through every season, even the ones I thought might break me. Grateful for family, ministry, and the countless ways love has shown up. Grateful because the testimony of my life is that God has been faithful, even when I have been weary.

But I must also be honest: this year has not been without difficulty. The responsibilities of leadership, the trials that come with caring for others while managing my own humanity, and the silent battles of the heart are all present. To turn 44 is to stand at a crossroads where blessing and burden hold hands.

And yet, maybe this is where true faith is lived out — in the tension. The Apostle Paul once wrote, “We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair… struck down, but not destroyed” (2 Corinthians 4:8-9). Those words ring deeply for me today. They remind me that difficulty does not cancel gratitude, and gratitude does not erase difficulty. Both can coexist, and both can shape me into who God is calling me to be.

So as I mark this birthday, I choose to see it as a sacred pause — a moment to honor both the goodness and the struggle. Gratitude tells me God is still writing my story. Difficulty reminds me that I cannot write it alone. Together, they push me closer to the One who knows the plans He has for me (Jeremiah 29:11).

Here’s to 44 — a year of walking honestly in the tension, trusting that even here, in the in-between, God’s grace is sufficient.

A Blessing for Year 44

May the God who has carried you thus far carry you still.

May the weight of difficulty never silence the song of gratitude.

May your steps be ordered, your heart be strengthened,

and your spirit find joy in both the sunshine and the shadows.

And may this year be marked by grace upon grace,

until your testimony shines brighter than your trials.

Amen.

When Support Means More Than Asking

One of the unusual admissions I’ve had to make as a caretaker is that I hate the question, “What do you need?”

At first glance, it sounds thoughtful. It sounds generous. But for the one in the thick of caregiving, that question can feel like another stone added to an already heavy load. The truth is, in any given moment, my greatest need is for the issue or concern before me to be resolved. My need is not a theory—it is practical, immediate, and often too big to explain in words.

When you become the caretaker—the responsible party in a family, an organization, or a community—you become the gravitational pull of that orbit. People trust and rely on you to make things happen. They believe you have the skills, the wisdom, and the strength to hold things together. And yet, the gravity of that role often pulls you away from your own center. You become so focused on what others need that neglect—emotional, physical, even spiritual—sets in almost without warning.

That is why support for the caretaker is not optional—it is essential.

The Misstep of Asking

The question “What do you need?” comes from a good place, but it misses the heart of what it means to support someone carrying the weight of others. To answer that question honestly requires thought. It requires a pause. It requires energy to sift through the whirlwind of demands and identify one thing among many.

But for the weary caretaker, thinking itself is one more task. Recall is one more task. Decision-making is one more task. What seems simple to others is, in fact, another layer of labor for the person already overburdened.

This is why many caretakers don’t answer the question at all—or give a polite, surface-level response. It is not that they don’t have needs. It’s that articulating those needs is too costly in the moment.

Real support must take a different shape.

Elijah’s Story: Exhausted but Not Abandoned

In 1 Kings 19, the prophet Elijah stands as a mirror for every exhausted caretaker. After his great victory over the prophets of Baal on Mount Carmel, Elijah should have been celebrating. Instead, he found himself utterly spent—emotionally drained, spiritually discouraged, physically empty. He collapsed under a broom tree in the wilderness and prayed for his life to end. “I have had enough, Lord,” he said. “Take my life; I am no better than my ancestors.” (v. 4)

Elijah had given everything he had. The tank was empty. His spirit was broken. He could no longer see past the weight of his assignment.

But notice what God does. God doesn’t respond with a lecture. God doesn’t send a vision of a brighter tomorrow. God doesn’t even ask the dreaded question: “What do you need, Elijah?”

Instead, God sends an angel. Quiet. Gentle. Practical. The angel touched Elijah and said, “Get up and eat.” (v. 5) There was bread baking on hot coals and a jar of water at his head. Elijah ate, drank, and lay down again.

And when he still could not go on, the angel returned a second time. This time the message was even more compassionate: “Get up and eat, for the journey is too much for you.” (v. 7)

With that nourishment, Elijah gained the strength to travel forty days and nights to Mount Horeb, the mountain of God. There, in the quiet of a cave, God revealed Himself not in wind, not in earthquake, not in fire—but in a gentle whisper (v. 12).

This is the picture of true care: no interrogation, no heavy demands, just sustenance, presence, and the reminder that even in exhaustion, you are not alone.

What True Support Looks Like

If you want to support a caretaker, don’t ask them to think harder. Don’t hand them another responsibility wrapped in the form of a question. Instead, remember their humanity.

Support looks like the angel in Elijah’s story—meeting needs without asking for instructions. Support is showing up with a meal when words fail. Support is folding the laundry without asking which load to start. Support is offering to watch the children or sit with the loved one so the caregiver can rest. Support is stepping in without ceremony and lifting the weight, even for a little while.

It’s not about fixing everything at once. It’s about helping someone make it through this moment so they have the strength to reach the next.

No one can continue the journey without help, sustenance, rest, and restoration. And sometimes the smallest act of care—bread and water by the bedside—becomes the very thing that allows a person to keep going.

Silent Help, Holy Help

People mean well when they say, “Take care of yourself. Get some rest. Make time for you.” But advice often falls flat because the environment isn’t right. The words don’t stick when the storm is raging.

What makes a difference is silent, holy help. The kind of help that doesn’t need recognition, that doesn’t demand a thank-you, that simply acts in love. It is in those quiet acts that the caregiver’s environment begins to change. And once the environment changes, healing, restoration, and renewal can take root.

When Elijah finally reached Mount Horeb, God came not in the dramatic signs but in the gentle whisper. Caregiver support is often like that whisper—quiet, consistent, and life-giving.

Be an Angel

Sometimes the most faithful thing you can do is not to speak, but to act. To show up with food. To take on a responsibility without being asked. To sit in silence beside someone carrying the weight of others.

The angel who ministered to Elijah never asked him what he needed—the angel simply provided it. That is the kind of presence that gives life. That is what it means to be an angel in someone else’s wilderness.

Be an angel.

Closing Prayer

God of compassion and strength,
We lift before You every caregiver—those who hold families together, who shoulder unseen burdens, who quietly keep life moving for others while their own strength runs thin. We confess that too often we ask them questions when what they need is presence. Teach us to be angels—hands that bring bread, voices that bring calm, hearts that bring rest. For the weary caregiver, we pray Your renewal. For the isolated, we pray Your companionship. For the burdened, we pray Your peace. May Your gentle whisper remind them that they are not alone, and may we be faithful to embody Your care in small, quiet, sustaining ways. In Jesus’ name, Amen.