Matthew 14:27-31 This morning as I read this passage, a simple thought struck me.

Peter stepped out of the boat because of one word from Jesus: “Come.”

He did not step out because the storm had stopped. He did not step out because the waves had settled. He did not step out because he understood how he could walk on water. Peter stepped out because one word from Jesus was enough.

That one word gave him the courage to leave the safety of the boat and step into the impossible. As long as Peter kept his eyes on Jesus and trusted what Jesus had said, he walked on water.

What stands out to me is that the storm did not change when Peter stepped onto the water. The wind was still blowing, and the waves were still crashing. The circumstances around him were exactly the same. The only thing that changed was where Peter placed his focus. As long as his eyes were fixed on Jesus and his heart was anchored in what Jesus had said, he walked above the very thing that should have overcome him.

The moment Peter shifted his attention from the voice of Jesus to the strength of the storm, fear entered his heart. His thoughts likely became consumed with questions. What if I fall? What if I drown? What if this doesn’t work? The “what ifs” became louder than the word Jesus had spoken.

As I reflected on this passage, I couldn’t help but see myself in Peter. There have been seasons when I knew exactly what God had promised, yet the winds around me seemed so strong that I began listening to my fears more than His voice. The battle was never about the storm itself; it was about whether I would trust what God had said when everything around me seemed to be saying something different.

God may not speak audibly to us the way He spoke to Peter, but He has already spoken through His Word. When fear tells us we are alone, God says He will never leave us nor forsake us. When anxiety tells us tomorrow is uncertain, God tells us not to worry about tomorrow because He is already there. When weakness tells us we cannot endure, God reminds us that His grace is sufficient and His strength is made perfect in weakness. The question is not whether God has spoken; the question is whether we will believe what He has already said when the storm is raging.

Someone once said, “Doubt begins when we allow our circumstances to interpret God’s promises instead of allowing God’s promises to interpret our circumstances.” That is exactly what happened to Peter. The storm became more real to him than the Savior standing before him. The wind became louder than the word, “Come.”

What encourages me most about this story is that Peter’s failure was not the end of the story. When Peter began to sink, he cried out, “Lord, save me!” and Jesus immediately reached out His hand and caught him. Jesus did not wait for Peter to swim back to the boat. He did not leave him to struggle on his own. The moment Peter cried out, Jesus responded.

That is the beauty of our Savior. Even when our faith is weak, His faithfulness is not. Even when we take our eyes off Him, He never takes His eyes off us. Even when we are sinking under the weight of fear, disappointment, uncertainty, or doubt, His hand is still reaching for us.

As I finished reading this passage, I kept coming back to the same thought: One word from Jesus was enough to get Peter out of the boat, but the moment Peter stopped trusting that word, he began to sink.

The storms of life will come. The winds will blow, and the waves will rise. The “what ifs” will always try to steal our focus. But when God has spoken, one word is enough. One promise is enough. One truth is enough.

And when we begin to sink, we can take comfort in knowing that the same hand that reached down and caught Peter is the same hand that still reaches down for us today.

“Duty is ours; results are God’s.” John Quincy Adams

There are mornings when a particular thought settles into the mind and refuses to leave. Not because of a conversation, a recent event, or any obvious reason. It simply arrives and demands attention. This morning, that thought was anger.

As I reflected on it, questions began to surface. Why is anger such a powerful force? Why does Scripture warn us to be slow to anger while acknowledging that anger exists? Why did Paul write, “Be angry, and do not sin”? Scripture warns us about anger, yet God Himself expresses anger and Jesus displayed it as well. That alone tells me that anger cannot simply be dismissed as something inherently wrong. If it were, God would not possess it as part of His holy character, nor would Christ have demonstrated it during His earthly ministry. The question, then, is not whether anger exists, but what kind of anger we are experiencing and what we choose to do with it.

The more I considered these questions, the more I realized that anger often reveals what matters most to us. It exposes our convictions, our concerns, and the things we believe are worth protecting. It can arise from selfish motives, but it can also arise when we see truth rejected, righteousness challenged, or something precious placed at risk.

As I examined my own heart, I realized that some of my anger is connected to the direction I see our culture taking. I have watched profound changes take place during my lifetime. Ideas and values that once formed a common foundation are increasingly questioned or rejected. Faith is often treated as something that should remain private, while biblical convictions are portrayed as outdated or intolerant.

As I look at California and our nation, I cannot ignore the changes taking place around us. Faith is increasingly treated as something that belongs behind closed doors, prayer is often dismissed, and biblical truth is challenged on nearly every front. I am concerned that future generations may grow up with little understanding of God, prayer, or the truths of Scripture. These concerns weigh heavily on me because they touch matters that I believe are foundational, not only to faith, but to the moral fabric of society.

As these thoughts continued to move through my mind, I found myself looking to Jesus. If anger itself is not always sin, then what does a godly response to anger look like? Jesus became angry, yet He never sinned. His anger was not rooted in pride, self-interest, or revenge. He was angered by the corruption of God’s house, the hypocrisy of religious leaders, and the hardness of hearts that resisted truth. What stands out to me is that His anger never distracted Him from His purpose. Instead, it strengthened His commitment to it.

The example of Christ reminds me that anger is not an end in itself. It is a call to action. If I am concerned about the next generation, then I must invest in the next generation. If I believe biblical truth is being abandoned, then I must know it, live it, and teach it. If I am concerned about the decline of prayer, then I should pray more. If I believe faith is being marginalized, then I must live my faith openly, courageously, and without apology. The answer is not outrage. The answer is responsibility.

Perhaps that is why this subject settled so heavily on my mind this morning. Godly anger is not meant to leave us frustrated. It is meant to move us. It calls us to pray, to teach, to stand firm in our convictions, and to faithfully carry out the work God has given us to do. The world will continue to change. Governments will come and go. Cultural values will rise and fall. But my calling remains the same: to follow Christ, to proclaim truth, to invest in those who come after me, and to remain faithful until the Lord calls me home.

Maybe that is the purpose of godly anger. Not to consume our hearts, but to awaken them to action.

“What is man that You are mindful of him, and the son of man that You care for him?” Psalm 8:4

Today I sit at my sister’s kitchen window in Idaho, looking across the fields toward the brown hills and mountains beyond. As I enjoy the peacefulness of the view before me, my thoughts turn toward eternity. If this world, though touched by sin and brokenness, can still possess such beauty, what must eternity be like? What must it be like to stand in the presence of God and see His creation as He intended it to be from the beginning? The thought fills my heart with anticipation and wonder.

As I continue to gaze out the window, my mind begins to wander through the years of my life. I find myself reflecting on the faithfulness of God and the many ways His hand has guided, protected, and blessed me. Looking back, I can see His presence in places where I did not recognize it at the time. I can see His wisdom in decisions that once seemed confusing, His protection in circumstances I barely understood, and His grace in moments when I was most aware of my own weaknesses and failures.

My thoughts first turn to salvation. Who am I, O Lord, that You would reach down and rescue me? Who am I that You would forgive my sins, call me Your child, and promise me a home with You forever? There is nothing in my life that deserves such mercy, yet God freely gave it. The greatest blessing I have ever received is not found in anything I have accomplished, but in the grace that was extended to me through Jesus Christ.

I think about the family into which God placed me. He gave me parents who loved Him and taught me His ways. He blessed me with brothers and sisters who shared life’s journey with me and who remain a blessing to this day. Sitting here in my sister’s home, I am reminded once again of the gift of family and of the countless memories that have shaped my life.

My thoughts then turn to Carol. Through every season of life, she has walked faithfully beside me. She has shared my joys and carried burdens alongside me. She has been my closest friend, my trusted companion, and the love of my life. During these past two weeks of traveling together, I have been reminded once again how precious her presence is and how richly God has blessed me through her. Who am I, O Lord, that You would give me such a wife?

I think about my children and the privilege of being their father. I think about the joy of watching them grow, the lessons learned together, and the blessing of seeing the men and women they have become. I think about the husbands and wives who joined our family and who have encouraged my children in their faith and commitment to God. As a father, there is no greater comfort than seeing your children continue to walk with the Lord.

My thoughts move naturally to my grandchildren. Thirteen young lives that remind me of God’s faithfulness from one generation to the next. To watch them grow and to know that they are being taught to love and follow God is a blessing beyond anything I could have imagined when I was a young man. Their lives are evidence that God’s promises continue long after our own stories have begun.

I reflect on the work God has allowed me to do throughout my life. I think about the opportunities He has provided, the people He has placed in my path, and the purpose He has given me. Many people spend their lives searching for meaning, yet God allowed me to spend much of my life doing work that I enjoyed and work that mattered. His blessing has been evident in ways both large and small.

I also think about the friendships God has given me over the years. During this trip, Carol and I have spent time with family and friends, sharing meals, conversations, memories, and laughter. These moments have reminded me how blessed I have been by the people God has placed in my life. True friends are one of God’s greatest gifts, and I am grateful for those who have walked beside me through the years.

As I reflect on all these things, a common thread begins to emerge. Everywhere I look, I see the hand of God. I see His faithfulness in the relationships He has given me. I see His goodness in the opportunities He has provided. I see His grace in the mistakes He has forgiven. I see His love in blessings that I neither earned nor deserved. The older I become, the more clearly I recognize that every good thing in my life has come from Him.

It is then that I am reminded of David’s words in Psalm Eight. As David considered the greatness of God’s creation, he was overwhelmed by the realization that the Creator of the universe would care for him. Sitting here today, I find myself asking the same question. What is man that You are mindful of him? Who am I, O Lord, that You should think of me and care for me?

I do not know that there is an answer that fully explains God’s love. I only know that He has been far better to me than I deserve. As I look out this window toward the fields, the hills, and the mountains beyond, my heart is filled with gratitude. I have lived a life marked by God’s faithfulness. I have been blessed beyond measure by His grace. I have been loved by a God whose goodness exceeds my understanding.

For all of this, I can only offer a simple prayer.

Thank You, Lord.

“What many call hate is often nothing more than a refusal to surrender conviction.”

Recently, several San Francisco Giants pitchers found themselves at the center of a national controversy after choosing not to wear Pride-themed hats during a team-sponsored event because of their Christian convictions. The response from many media outlets, commentators, and social media critics was immediate and severe. The players were labeled hateful, intolerant, ignorant, and bigoted. Their refusal to participate was presented as evidence of hostility toward others, and many people questioned whether individuals holding such beliefs should be accepted in modern society.

As I followed the story, I found myself asking a simple but important question: What exactly did these players do that was hateful? They did not attack anyone. They did not insult anyone. They did not refuse to work with anyone. They did not advocate for mistreatment of anyone. They simply chose not to wear a hat that expressed support for a message they could not endorse because of their understanding of Scripture. Despite this, many critics concluded that their refusal to participate was proof that they hated the people associated with the movement being celebrated.

The criticism surrounding these players reveals something much deeper than a disagreement over a baseball promotion. It highlights a growing belief within our culture that disagreement itself is unacceptable. Increasingly, it is not enough for people to peacefully coexist while holding different convictions. The expectation is that everyone must publicly affirm, celebrate, and endorse the same beliefs. When someone declines to do so, even respectfully and without hostility, that person is often accused of hate simply because they refuse to participate.

This raises a question that deserves honest consideration. When did refusing to endorse a belief become the same thing as hating a person? Throughout history, people have disagreed about religion, politics, morality, and countless other issues while still treating one another with dignity and respect. Today, however, disagreement is often viewed as a personal attack. The reaction to these San Francisco Giants pitchers suggests that many people no longer distinguish between disagreement and discrimination, between conviction and hostility, or between refusing to celebrate something and actively seeking to harm someone.

Jesus warned His followers that this would happen. In John 15:18 He said, “If the world hates you, keep in mind that it hated Me first.” Those words were not spoken to people who were being hateful. They were spoken to people who were following Christ. Jesus understood that there would be times when faithfulness to God would be misunderstood by the world. He knew there would be moments when people would confuse conviction with hate and obedience with intolerance.

Perhaps the real reason standing for Christ creates conflict is because the message of Christ reminds people that they are accountable to God. If God determines what is right and wrong, then our choices have consequences. The world does not want to hear that there is a Judge, that sin is real, or that one day every person will give an account for how they lived. It is easier to reject the messenger than to consider the message.

The conflict is not really about baseball hats, social issues, or even the players themselves. It is about a culture that wants freedom without accountability and truth without God. Christians should not be surprised when biblical convictions are criticized because the world rejected Christ long before it rejected His followers.

Yet Jesus did not leave His followers with a warning alone. In John 16:33 He said, “In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” What a powerful reminder for believers living in a culture that increasingly misunderstands biblical faith. The world may reject His truth, but it cannot change it. The world may oppose His followers, but it cannot overcome Him.

The San Francisco Giants controversy will pass, but the choice facing Christians remains the same. Will we stand firm when faithfulness costs us something? Jesus warned us that the world would not always understand those who follow Him. So do not be discouraged when conviction is called hate or truth is called intolerance. Stand firm in Christ. The world may reject His followers, but it cannot overcome their Savior. “Take heart,” Jesus said, “I have overcome the world.” That promise is as true today as it was when He first spoke it.

“Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.” — Often attributed to Plato

Last night, I received a phone call from a good friend, someone I had worked alongside for ten years. Although we had stayed in touch over the years, I realized that I had not actually seen him face to face in nearly nine years. Our conversation quickly became a journey through old memories as we reflected on projects, challenges, victories, and experiences that had shaped both of our lives. It was one of those conversations that reminds you how quickly the years pass and how deeply certain relationships become woven into the story of your life.

As we talked, he mentioned something that completely surprised me. He told me there was an analogy I had shared with him years ago that had remained with him ever since. That immediately captured my attention because over the course of a lifetime we have countless conversations. Most are forgotten almost as quickly as they happen. Rarely do we know which words will stay with someone long after they have been spoken or how God might use a simple conversation to influence another person’s life.

He reminded me of a conversation that had taken place in my office many years earlier. During that conversation, I described a man walking through life carrying a backpack filled with rocks. I explained that the rocks represented the burdens, disappointments, wounds, fears, failures, regrets, and struggles that people accumulate throughout life. I told him that a true friend notices when the weight becomes too much and comes alongside another person to help him discover, confront, and remove those burdens one rock at a time. To my surprise, he remembered not only the analogy itself but also the meaning behind it. While I had nearly forgotten the conversation, he had carried both the image and its significance with him for years. Hearing him bring it up after all this time reminded me that we never really know how God may use a conversation, a story, or a simple illustration in another person’s life.

Listening to him describe the analogy after all these years, I realized he was no longer talking about a story he had heard. He was talking about truths he had experienced. Life had taught him what those rocks represented and how difficult it can be to help someone lay them down.

Every person carries a backpack through life. Hidden inside are rocks that represent burdens accumulated over the years. Some are disappointments that never healed. Some are failures that continue to haunt the mind. Some are fears that quietly influence decisions. Some are wounds inflicted by others. Some are grief, guilt, rejection, loneliness, betrayal, anger, or broken dreams. To those around him, the man carrying the backpack may appear strong, successful, confident, and in control, yet no one can see the weight hidden beneath the surface.

The first challenge is that the person carrying the backpack may not even know what rocks are inside. He knows he feels the weight. He knows he is tired. He knows something is affecting the way he moves through life. Yet after carrying those burdens for years, sometimes decades, the weight becomes familiar. What once felt abnormal eventually becomes normal. What once felt temporary becomes part of his identity. Some rocks become so intertwined with a person’s life that he no longer distinguishes between the burden and himself. A man who has carried rejection for years may come to believe he is unworthy of acceptance. A man who has carried guilt for years may believe he is beyond forgiveness. A man who has carried fear for years may mistake fear for wisdom. The burden changes the way he sees himself, the way he sees others, and ultimately the way he sees the world.

The second challenge is even more difficult because some of the rocks are covered in shame. They represent failures, poor decisions, painful memories, or deeply personal wounds that the individual hopes no one will ever discover. The thought of another person looking inside the backpack can feel more painful than continuing to carry the weight itself. Many people spend years protecting the very burdens that are slowly crushing them because exposing them feels more frightening than enduring them. The burden becomes a secret companion, and although it causes pain, it is familiar. Sometimes people cling to the very thing that is hurting them because they have carried it for so long that they no longer know who they would be without it.

The rocks do more than create weight. They change the person carrying them. Over time, the burden affects how he thinks, how he trusts, how he loves, how he leads, and how he responds to adversity. He learns to compensate for the weight. He develops defenses. He builds walls. He adjusts his expectations. Eventually he forgets that he is walking differently at all. What began as something he carried slowly becomes something that shapes the way he lives. His relationships are affected. His decisions are affected. The burden alters his posture toward life itself.

The longer a person carries those burdens, the more normal they become. What once felt like a temporary struggle slowly becomes a way of life. The walls become permanent. The defenses become instinctive. The isolation becomes comfortable. The anger becomes justified. The fear becomes caution. The person adapts so completely to the weight that he no longer recognizes how much it has changed him. He assumes this is simply who he is. He forgets that there was a time when he walked differently, trusted more freely, loved more openly, and lived with greater peace. The burden does not simply affect his journey; it begins to define it.

That is why helping a friend remove a rock is not as simple as reaching into the backpack and pulling it out. Before a burden can be removed, it must first be identified. Before it can be identified, it must be acknowledged. Before it can be acknowledged, trust must exist. A true friend understands that healing cannot be forced. He listens patiently. He walks alongside rather than pushing from behind. He creates a safe place where burdens can be revealed without fear of judgment and where wounds can be discussed without fear of condemnation. Sometimes the greatest gift a friend can offer is not advice, solutions, or answers. Sometimes the greatest gift is simply being present long enough for another person to feel safe enough to open the backpack.

Even when a rock is finally removed, the journey is not over. A person who has carried a burden for years must learn how to walk without it. He must learn how to trust again, hope again, forgive again, and believe again. The burden shaped his life for so long that freedom itself can feel unfamiliar. Sometimes removing the rock is only the beginning. Learning to live without it is the greater challenge.

As I continued thinking about our conversation, I realized there was an even deeper truth hidden within the analogy. A friend can help us identify the rocks. A friend can help us unpack the backpack. A friend can walk beside us through the process of healing. However, there are some burdens that no human being can remove. Some wounds run too deep. Some grief cuts too deeply into the soul. Some failures seem too great. Some guilt feels too heavy. Some shame has wrapped itself so tightly around a person’s heart that only God can unravel it.

This is where the analogy points beyond friendship and toward Christ. Jesus sees every rock in the backpack. He sees the burdens we hide from others and the burdens we hide even from ourselves. He sees every wound, every disappointment, every fear, every regret, every failure, and every tear. Nothing is hidden from Him. Nothing surprises Him. Nothing is beyond His ability to heal. Many times He uses a trusted friend to help us unpack what we have been carrying, but His purpose is not merely to reveal the burden. His purpose is to free us from it.

That is why the words of Jesus carry such power when He says, “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28). Jesus does not ask us to pretend the rocks are not there. He does not ask us to carry them alone. He invites us to bring them to Him. The burdens we have hidden, the wounds we have protected, and the weight we have carried for years are not things He wants us to manage better; they are things He wants us to surrender. God often places friends in our lives to help us discover the rocks we cannot see, but ultimately it is Christ who removes the burden, heals the wound, restores the soul, and teaches us how to walk again.

As I hung up the phone that evening, I found myself grateful not only for a friendship that had endured the passing of years, but also for the reminder that some of life’s deepest truths are not learned in a moment. They are discovered over time through experience, hardship, relationships, and God’s faithfulness. A few words spoken in an ordinary moment may stay with someone for decades. An analogy shared in passing may become a lens through which they better understand themselves, others, and even God. Perhaps that is one of God’s greatest gifts in this life: friends who help us unpack the backpack and a Savior who invites us to lay it down.

When did we stop seeing people as individuals and start seeing them as labels? When did the first question after a crime become, “What color was the victim?” or “What color was the suspect?” instead of, “What happened?” and “Who is responsible?” When did labels become more important than truth, and identity more important than character?

I grew up believing that people should be judged by their actions, not by the group they belong to. I never cared whether someone was black, white, brown, rich, poor, Republican, Democrat, Christian, Muslim, or anything else. Every person deserves respect because they are human. Trust, however, is earned through honesty, integrity, and personal responsibility. A person’s character—not their skin color, religion, politics, or social status—is what ultimately matters.

I was raised in a working family where showing up, working hard, paying your bills, and keeping your word were simply expected. We weren’t wealthy or connected. We learned that life isn’t always fair, but that complaining about it never solved anything. You took responsibility for your choices, learned from your mistakes, and kept moving forward.

Those lessons guided my life. I went to school, worked hard, raised a family, built a career, and tried to leave things better than I found them. Along the way, I learned that freedom comes with responsibility, rights come with obligations, and success is usually built one decision at a time.

The strange thing is that my values haven’t changed much over the years. I still believe faith matters. I still believe family matters. I still believe hard work matters. I still believe people should be judged by their character and held accountable for their actions. Yet many of those beliefs, which once seemed ordinary, are now treated as controversial.

Today, it often feels as though we live in a world that sees people as categories before it sees them as individuals. We are encouraged to view one another through the lens of race, politics, religion, gender, or ideology before we know a single thing about their heart, their character, or their life story. In the rush to assign labels, we risk losing sight of our common humanity.

I don’t claim to have all the answers, and I don’t expect everyone to agree with me. I simply believe we would be better off if we spent less time dividing people into groups and more time holding individuals accountable for their own choices. Justice should be blind. Respect should be freely given. Trust should be earned. Character should still matter.

Perhaps that makes me old-fashioned. If so, I’m comfortable with that.

The measure of a person is not the color of their skin, the label attached to their name, the political party they support, or the group to which they belong. The true measure of a person is found in their character, their integrity, and the choices they make when no one is watching.

As Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. reminded us:

“I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.”

More than sixty years later, that still seems like a dream worth pursuing.

As I reflect on my seventy-six years of life, I realize there are two things that stand out more than most: the first time I did something and the possibility that I may be doing something for the last time.

When we are young, life is filled with firsts. The first day of school. The first job. The first car. The first date. The first home. The first child. Life seems full of new adventures, new discoveries, and new experiences. We rarely think about endings because our focus is on beginnings.

As I have grown older, I have noticed that there are fewer first times. Most roads have already been traveled. Most experiences have already been lived. Yet every now and then, God still gives us a new first.

This trip that Carol and I are taking is one of those firsts. We are traveling through Northern California, Oregon, Idaho, and Nevada on a road trip with no real agenda other than to enjoy the journey. I have driven many of these roads before, but always with a destination in mind. I was focused on getting from one place to another as quickly as possible. Carol, on the other hand, has always wanted to stop and smell the flowers, take photographs, explore small towns, and enjoy the scenery along the way.

This time I decided to slow down. Instead of focusing on where we were going, I decided to enjoy where we were. We stop when we want to stop. We take pictures when something catches our eye. We wander through towns we have never visited and take time to appreciate God’s creation. To my surprise, I have discovered that slowing down is actually quite enjoyable.

One of the things I wanted to do on this trip was visit family. At my age, I understand that none of us are promised tomorrow. I do not know if this will be the last time I see some of them on this side of eternity. That thought is not meant to be sad. In many ways, it has made these visits even more meaningful.

What has blessed me most is not the places we have seen but the people we have spent time with. Sitting together, sharing stories, laughing about old memories, meeting new family members, and simply being present has reminded me of what truly matters.

As I have reflected on this trip, I have come to realize that the older we get, the fewer first times we experience and the more aware we become of last times. The last visit with a friend. The last family gathering. The last road trip. The last opportunity to say the things that should be said.

None of us knows when those last times will come. Most of the time we experience them without even realizing it. That is why this trip has meant so much to me. It reminded me that life is not measured by the number of days we have left but by what we do with the days we are given.

One day there will be a last road trip. One day there will be a last family visit. One day there will be a last sunset, a last conversation, and a last goodbye. Knowing that does not make life sad. It makes life precious.

Perhaps that is the lesson God has been teaching me on this journey. Do not rush through life chasing tomorrow. Be present today. Enjoy the people He has placed in your life. Say the words that need to be said. Create the memories that need to be made. Because one day the first times will be gone, and all that will remain are the memories of how we spent our last times.

As I look back over seventy-six years, I am grateful for the many first times God has given me. But today, I find myself more thankful for the moments in between. The ordinary conversations, the shared meals, the laughter with family, the beauty of His creation, and the relationships that have shaped my life. Those are the things that endure.

This trip has reminded me that life is not about how quickly we reach a destination. It is about who we travel with, what we learn along the way, and whether we take the time to appreciate the blessings God places before us. In the end, it may not be the first times or even the last times that matter most. It may simply be that we were fully present for the time we were given.

“The truth is incontrovertible. Malice may attack it, ignorance may deride it, but in the end, there it is.” Winston Churchill

What happened to common sense in America? Common sense used to mean looking at the facts, accepting reality, taking responsibility, and applying the same standards to everyone. Today, nonsense is often treated as wisdom while common sense is treated as controversial.

A young man was stabbed to death. A jury heard the evidence, considered the self-defense claim, and returned a guilty verdict after only a few hours of deliberation. Yet much of the discussion became about race instead of the facts. Common sense says justice should be based on evidence, not skin color.

California requires voters to be United States citizens. Yet a gym membership card can be accepted as identification in certain voting-related circumstances. A gym membership proves membership in a gym. It does not prove citizenship. Common sense says if citizenship is required, citizenship should be verified.

Carol and I are traveling through Northern California and Southern Oregon. We have seen countless able-bodied men living on the streets. Some clearly suffer from mental illness or addiction and deserve help. Others appear capable of working and supporting themselves. Common sense says we should help those who cannot help themselves, but we should not reward those who refuse to help themselves.

California has spent billions of dollars addressing homelessness, yet the problem remains visible in communities throughout the state. Common sense says if a solution is not working, it is time to try a different solution.

The nonsense is not limited to one issue. We see it whenever facts are replaced by narratives, responsibility is replaced by excuses, and different standards are applied to different people.

Common sense says tell the truth. Common sense says take responsibility. Common sense says apply the same rules to everyone.

The question is not whether America can find its way back. The question is whether we still have the courage to choose common sense over nonsense.

“The eyes of the world are upon you. The hopes and prayers of liberty-loving people everywhere march with you.” General Dwight D. Eisenhower, June 6, 1944

Today we remember D-Day, the day when thousands of Allied soldiers stormed the beaches of Normandy and changed the course of history. Nearly 5,000 men gave their lives on June 6, 1944, and thousands more were wounded as they fought their way onto the shores of France. These men were not fighting for fame, politics, or personal gain. They were fighting because freedom itself was under attack.

It is important to remember why D-Day was necessary. The world had already watched Hitler invade nations, break treaties, oppress millions, and spread tyranny across Europe. For too long, many hoped the problem would resolve itself. It didn’t. Evil grew stronger, the cost of confronting it increased, and eventually a generation of young men was called upon to do what had to be done. They landed on those beaches because the alternative was allowing tyranny to continue unchecked.

As I look at today’s headlines and the growing tensions involving Iran and other hostile regimes around the world, I can’t help but think about the lessons of history. The men of D-Day understood that peace is not maintained by wishing threats away. They understood that strength deters aggression and that freedom survives only when good people are willing to defend it.

None of us want war. Every reasonable effort should be made to pursue peace. But history teaches us that ignoring dangerous threats does not create peace—it often delays conflict until the price becomes much higher. One has to wonder how different history might have been if the world had confronted Hitler’s aggression sooner. Could millions of lives have been saved? Could the devastation of World War II have been reduced? We will never know for certain, but we do know that waiting came at an enormous cost.

What also strikes me is how America would respond today if we lost nearly 5,000 soldiers in a single battle. Would we unite as a nation the way Americans did in 1944? Or would politicians immediately spin the tragedy to support their agendas? Would the media focus on honoring the sacrifice, or would the story become another political battleground before the fallen had even been brought home?

The Greatest Generation understood something we desperately need to remember today: freedom is never free. Every liberty we enjoy—the freedom to worship, speak our minds, raise our families, and live without fear of oppression—was purchased and protected by men and women willing to sacrifice everything.

Today, as we remember the heroes of Normandy, let us honor not only what they did, but why they did it. They stood against evil. They defended freedom. They accepted sacrifice so future generations could live in liberty.

May we never forget their courage. May we learn from their example. And may we always remember that the price of freedom is eternal vigilance, because freedom has never been free.

God bless the heroes of D-Day, our veterans, our military, and the United States of America.

There is a unique trial that comes to those who believe they have heard from God concerning things yet to come. It is not the trial of suffering, persecution, or loss. Those trials are visible and easily recognized. The trial of time is different because it works quietly. It begins with confidence. When God first speaks, His words settle deeply into the heart, bringing clarity, direction, and a sense of certainty about the future. What He says seems straightforward, and it is easy to believe that we understand not only the words themselves but also their meaning. Yet as the years pass and life unfolds in ways we did not anticipate, the confidence we once had in our understanding begins to face an unexpected test.

Jesus said, “My sheep hear My voice.” He did not say they occasionally hear it or that they spend their lives wondering whether they have ever heard it at all. He said they know His voice. A sheep recognizes the shepherd because it has heard that voice repeatedly. After many years of walking with Christ, I have come to know His voice in much the same way. I have heard His correction when I needed discipline, His comfort when I faced disappointment, His conviction when I drifted, and His encouragement when I grew weary. Because of those experiences, the struggle I face today is not rooted in doubt about whether Jesus can speak. The struggle lies in determining whether I fully understood what He meant when He spoke.

Over the years, there have been things that I believed the Lord impressed upon my heart concerning the future. Those impressions were not passing emotions or fleeting thoughts. They remained with me through the changing seasons of life and became part of the framework through which I viewed the years ahead. Without realizing it, I began living as though I understood what those things meant. I made assumptions about how events would unfold and quietly attached expectations to what I believed I had heard. Looking back, I can see that I was not merely listening to God’s voice; I was also interpreting His words, often with more confidence in my interpretation than I should have had.

Now, as I find myself drawing closer to the horizon I once associated with those things, I am confronted with questions that I never expected to ask. These questions are not directed toward God’s faithfulness. Nor are they rooted in uncertainty about His ability to communicate with His people. Instead, they are directed inward. I find myself wondering whether I understood only part of what was being said. I wonder whether I filled in details that God never supplied or attached timelines that existed only in my own mind. The passing years have forced me to recognize that hearing from God and fully understanding God are not always the same thing.

When I read the Scriptures, I discover that this tension is woven throughout the lives of many who walked closely with God. Joseph heard from God concerning his future, yet he could not have imagined the betrayal, slavery, and imprisonment that would precede the fulfillment of what he heard. David was anointed king while still a shepherd, but before he ever sat on the throne, he spent years hiding in caves and fleeing for his life. Even the disciples, who walked with Jesus daily, heard Him speak plainly about His suffering, death, and resurrection, yet they misunderstood His meaning because they filtered His words through their own expectations. In each case, God spoke truthfully, but those who heard Him understood only part of the story.

The older I become, the more I realize that God often reveals enough to require faith while withholding enough to require trust. He may disclose an outcome without explaining the process. He may reveal a destination without describing the road that leads there. He may speak accurately about the future while leaving us with only a partial understanding of how His words will unfold. Time eventually exposes the difference between what God said and what we assumed He meant.

This realization has not weakened my faith; it has deepened my humility. I have learned that my confidence cannot rest in my ability to interpret every detail correctly. It must rest in the character of the One who spoke. I am still living according to what I believe God has impressed upon my heart, but I do so with a greater awareness of my own limitations. I no longer assume that I fully understand every implication of what I have heard. Instead, I move forward trusting that God is capable of clarifying, correcting, and teaching me as His purposes unfold.

As time continues to move forward, some questions remain unanswered. Yet I no longer view those questions as threats to my faith. Instead, they remind me that I am a follower rather than the author of the story. My responsibility is not to possess complete understanding of the future. My responsibility is to remain faithful to the Shepherd whose voice I know. If I have misunderstood, He is able to correct me. If I have assumed too much, He is able to teach me. And if what I heard still lies ahead in ways I cannot yet comprehend, then no passing year and no apparent delay can prevent Him from accomplishing exactly what He intends.

The greatest lesson time has taught me is that faith does not require complete understanding. Faith requires trust. I may not fully understand everything I have heard, but I know the One who spoke. When time tests what I heard, I am reminded that my confidence was never meant to rest in my interpretation of the future. It was always meant to rest in the faithfulness of God.