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The night before school started, I was tucking in my daughter, just like I’ve done countless times before, but as I pulled the blanket up around her shoulders and settled in beside her, something shifted. She started to cry. Now, she’s definitely not my most sensitive child — that’s my son. He wears his heart on his sleeve and feels everything deeply. But my daughter is usually composed, independent, strong. So her tears caught me completely off guard. I gently asked her what was wrong. She hesitated for a moment, then whispered, “I’m going to miss you tomorrow.” Oh man. My heart just about broke. That moment — those quiet, vulnerable words — said so much. Underneath the back-to-school nerves, the new clothes, the growing independence, she was still just a little girl who needed her mom. She was still holding on, even if she didn’t always show it. She had a hard time settling down that night. Her body was tired, but her mind and emotions were still racing. She finally asked, “Mom, can ...
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I’ve been reflecting these last few days on the human heart and mind. Before I knew the Lord—before I truly surrendered my life to Him—I only saw the world one way. I could only see through my humanness, through my own limited perspective. For example, when my son’s bike was stolen, the old me would have looked at the man who took it and thought: criminal, low life, worthless. But now, with the Lord’s perspective, I see something entirely different. I see a man who is broken, just like I am—someone in desperate need of Jesus, someone who is still precious in God’s sight. Now, when I see someone caught in destructive choices, I don’t just see a “criminal.” I see a person created in the image of God, deeply loved by Him, and desperately in need of the hope only Christ can give. I don’t have to share the same struggles to understand. Maybe I’ve never battled addiction like the man who stole my son’s bike, but I’ve had my own demons. I’ve carried my own chains of anger, pride, insecurity, ...
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My son has been wanting to go to a youth group for a couple of weeks now…but every time he has plans to go, something always falls through. Either his friends have conflicts or they back out at the last minute, leaving him with no one to go with. Finally, on Sunday night, I said, “I don’t think you’re going to find anyone to go with. You should just go by yourself.” The look on his face said it all. He immediately started arguing, rattling off excuses. He told me how scary it felt to walk into a new place alone, to meet new people, to not know what to expect. I could empathize—those feelings are so real, the fear that tries to paralyze you before you even begin. I encouraged him: “Go scared. Fear is a liar. I promise you, when you get home tonight, you’ll see how fear lied to you.” While he was at youth group, I prayed. I prayed that God would show my son that when we step out in faith—especially when we are terrified—He shows up. I prayed that my son would experience firsthand how the...
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Friday at the YMCA, I was playing noon basketball… honestly, I wasn’t at my best. My shots weren’t falling, and with each miss, my confidence kept slipping away. I don’t think I made a single shot. After a few games of struggling, frustration started to creep in. As people began leaving for the afternoon, teams ended up switching, and I landed on a new team. As I walked onto the court, one of the guys looked at me and said, “Let’s go. I know you can at least put up eight points this game—I’ve seen you shoot. I’ll get you the ball.” Immediately I laughed and said, “No, please, don’t pass me the ball—I’m not hitting anything.” But he just smiled and said, “That was before. This is a new game. I got you.” And just like that, something shifted. I played on his team for the next two games, and everything just clicked. I ended up scoring most of our points—I honestly don’t remember missing a single shot. It felt almost surreal. But the difference wasn’t really about making shots; it was the ...
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The Christmas season is my favorite. I love the decorating, the lights, the excitement in the air—but more than any of that, it always draws me to reflection. It reminds me of my desperate need for a Savior. I know Christianity can be misunderstood, and I certainly carried some of those misconceptions myself before I truly believed. But the faith isn’t about being perfect or having it all together. It begins with brokenness. It begins with people who recognize they cannot save themselves. And it begins with a God who steps into our mess—not because we are put together, but because we aren’t. I didn’t truly grasp the Gospel—or the power behind it—until the Lord let me fall so hard that I finally recognized my desperate need for rescue. I still remember the moment my mess collided with God’s grace. It was at my rock bottom, when I felt empty, ashamed, and out of answers. Yet that’s exactly where the Lord met me—full of love, mercy, and compassion. That moment changed everything. It was t...
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