Eschatology can feel overwhelming because there are so many opinions, interpretations, and debates. People hold strong beliefs, and when those beliefs are challenged, it creates confusion and even division. I am not here to argue a position or push a system. I am not trying to convince you of my view. I simply want to step back, let Jesus speak for Himself, and allow you to hear what He said and come to your own conclusions.

Jesus did not just describe events. He revealed a pattern that leads somewhere. He spoke of wars, division, famine, disease, fear, and lawlessness, and He called them birth pains. Birth pains are not random. They are not meaningless. They signal that something is coming and that it is close. They increase in intensity and frequency, and they move toward a moment that cannot be stopped. This means it is not a time to ignore what is happening, but a time to recognize it and prepare.

When you look at the world right now, it is hard to ignore how closely it reflects what He described. War is no longer isolated or short lived. Conflicts continue without true resolution, tensions rise between nations, and even when there are pauses, peace never fully holds. At the same time, nations are not just clashing externally, they are breaking internally. Division runs through governments, cultures, and even families.

The systems people once trusted are also beginning to strain. Economies shift, supply chains break, and what once felt stable no longer holds. Food, energy, and financial systems reveal how fragile everything really is, where one disruption in one place now affects the entire world. Disease has already shown how quickly everything can shut down, how fast fear can spread, and how deeply life can be altered.

But beyond all of that, something deeper is happening. Truth itself is being destabilized. What was once clearly right is now questioned, and what was once clearly wrong is often defended. Across society, we are seeing what Scripture warned about, that good would be called evil and evil would be called good. Respect is fading, authority is rejected, and what was once hidden is now openly celebrated. This is not just change. It is moral inversion.

When truth collapses, people do not become stable, they become desperate. And this is where the pattern Jesus described becomes clear. The chaos we are seeing is not only creating pain, it is creating demand. A demand for peace where there is war, for order where there is confusion, and for stability where everything feels uncertain. As pressure increases, people become more willing to accept solutions they once would have questioned.

Scripture warns that when that moment comes, the answer will not look obviously false. It will be convincing. It will appear to solve what the world cannot fix. It will promise peace, order, and stability. And because the world has been shaken, divided, and worn down, many will receive it, not because they are forced, but because they are ready.

This is why the birth pains matter. They are not just signs of trouble; they are shaping the conditions. The world is being pressed to the point where it will accept what it once rejected. The chaos is not random; it is preparing the ground.

Jesus said this is only the beginning. That means greater pressure is coming, deeper deception, and a level of shaking the world has never seen. Everything that can be shaken will be shaken. What people trust in will not hold. What is hidden will be revealed, and the line between truth and deception will become clear.

And at the height of that pressure, when the world reaches its breaking point, He returns. Not quietly, not symbolically, but with power, authority, and finality. The same Jesus who warned of the birth pains will be seen by all.

So the question is no longer just what is happening. The question is what we do.

When birth pains begin, people do not ignore them. They do not debate them. They prepare, because they know the moment is close. But they also anticipate, because they know something beautiful is about to happen. The pain carries purpose, and that purpose produces expectation.

In the same way, we do not respond with fear, we respond with joy. We rejoice because our King is coming. His return is not distant or uncertain, it is imminent, and with Him comes the fulfillment of everything promised. This is not the end of hope; it is the arrival of it.

So we do not fix our eyes on the pain of this moment. We see it, but we are not weighed down by it. Our hearts are not heavy, they are expectant. What we are witnessing is not the collapse of everything, but the transition into what has been promised.

Because what is coming is life with Jesus. A restored world. A kingdom that cannot be shaken. A reign of righteousness, peace, and truth that will never end.

The birth pains are not the end of the story, they are the announcement.

“The Spirit and the bride say, Come. And let the one who hears say, Come. He who testifies to these things says, Surely I am coming soon. Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.” Revelation 22:17, 20

“A mature judge does not rush to conclusions—they wait for God to reveal what is hidden.”

Over the years in the church, I have heard people speak about others and say, “I see no fruit… they openly denied the faith… look at their actions.” As though this is the full measure of a person—based only on what we can see, what we hear, or what we observe. It sounds right. It sounds wise. But it is often incomplete.

The Bible gives us a clear warning about this kind of judgment through Job’s friends. They looked at Job’s life, saw his suffering, and made a conclusion. In their experience, suffering meant sin. They had seen patterns, they had understanding, and they spoke with confidence. But they were wrong. God later said they had not spoken what was right about Him. Their problem was not that they saw something—it was that they believed what they saw was the whole truth.

And we can do the same thing. A lack of visible fruit does not always mean there is no life. A tree can be alive and still not producing at the moment. It may be struggling in ways we cannot see. So when we say, “I don’t see fruit,” we may be right in what we observe, but wrong in what we conclude. This is where we must slow down and become more careful in how we judge.

If we are honest, there are times we say, “This is what the Spirit is showing me,” but our own thoughts are so loud—our experiences, our opinions, even our wounds—that we cannot clearly hear Him. What feels like discernment can actually be reaction. In those moments, wisdom is not found in speaking quickly, but in stepping back, taking it to the Lord, and waiting. Right judgment is not rushed; it is formed in humility and patience.

We also have to hold firmly to this truth: if the Spirit truly lives in someone, He does not leave them. God does not begin a work and abandon it. So what we may be seeing is not someone who has been left by God, but someone who is struggling, resisting, or in pain. And if we judge too quickly, we risk misreading what God is still actively doing.

This is where the story of Peter becomes so powerful. Peter didn’t just fail—he denied Jesus three times, publicly and in fear. If we were judging by what we saw, we would say, “There is no fruit. Look at his actions.” We might even conclude that he had turned away completely. But when Jesus comes to Peter after the resurrection, He does not approach him the way we often approach one another. He does not ask him to explain himself. He does not confront him with his failure. He does not even ask, “Why did you deny Me?” Instead, He asks a deeper question: “Do you love Me?”

In that moment, Jesus goes straight to the heart. Not the action, but the root. Because He knew something we are still learning—failure does not always mean separation. The real question is not simply what someone has done, but where their heart is.

I have experienced this in my own life. There have been people who were in deep pain who would not even let me hug them. They would pull away, resist, and refuse. But if I stayed consistent, if I kept showing up and reaching out, they would eventually break down and let it out. It was never truly rejection—it was pain that had not yet been released. This is what I believe Jesus did with Peter. He did not withdraw because of Peter’s denial. He moved toward him, stayed present, and kept reaching, not to expose him, but to restore him.

And when Peter responds, Jesus does something even more powerful—He entrusts him again with responsibility. “Feed My sheep.” He does not define Peter by his worst moment. He restores him based on what is still alive in him—his love for Christ.

This is how we must learn to judge. Not ignoring fruit, but not stopping there either. Not reacting to failure, but looking deeper and asking, “Is there still love for Christ? Is there still something alive inside?” Because where there is still love, there is still life. And when we see that—even if it is faint, even if it is buried under pain, failure, or resistance—we are not called to step back in judgment, but to step in through prayer. We begin to pray not with accusation, but with faith, asking the Lord to strengthen what remains, to stir their love for Him again, to heal what is wounded, and to break through whatever is holding them back. We pray with patience, trusting that God sees what we cannot see and is able to reach deeper than we ever could. Instead of writing them off, we partner with God, believing that what is still alive in them can grow, be restored, and bear fruit in His time.

And in all of this, we begin to understand that this is part of our calling. Scripture tells us that the saints will judge the world. Jesus commands us not to judge by appearances, but to judge rightly. And we are told that maturity comes as we are trained to discern good and evil. This means we are learning now. Through people, through situations, through moments where we are tempted to say, “I see it clearly,” and God gently reminds us, “Look again.”

He is teaching us to slow down, to listen, to wait, and to love. Because you cannot judge like Christ if you do not love like Christ. Even when you have been hurt. Even when someone has failed. Just as Jesus moved toward Peter, we are called to move toward others with truth and mercy together.

In the end, a mature judge does not simply say, “I see no fruit.” A mature judge says, “I see something, but I do not yet see everything. Lord, show me what is true.” Because only God sees the root, and where the root remains, there is still hope, still life, and still the hidden work of God unfolding.

The church has been misunderstood over time. Many people today think the church is a building, a service, or an organization. The world often sees it as a system filled with rules, structure, and sometimes failure. But when Jesus spoke about the church, He was not talking about a place. He used the word ekklesia, which means a people who are called out. The church is not somewhere you go. It is a people who belong to Him. It is a living body, a family joined together in Christ.

Because of this, the command in Scripture not to forsake gathering together is often misunderstood. It is not about attending a building or following a routine. It is about staying connected to other believers. God did not create us to live alone. We need one another for strength, encouragement, and growth. When someone steps away from fellowship, they are not just leaving a meeting, they are stepping away from support that God designed for them.

Many people who truly love Jesus are no longer part of gatherings. This is not always because they have turned away from God. Many have been hurt. Some have seen hypocrisy. Others have become discouraged or tired. Their reasons are real. But even when they step away, God does not leave them. The Holy Spirit continues to speak to them and draw them. God is still pursuing them.

This is where the responsibility of the church becomes clear. Jesus showed us that God does not wait. In the story of the lost sheep, the shepherd goes out to find the one who is lost. He does not sit back and wait for it to return. This shows us that reaching people is not about asking them to come. It is about going to them. It is about meeting them where they are and walking with them through what they are facing.

But how we go matters. It is not through arguments. It is not through pressure. It is not through trying to prove that we are right. It must be done in love, without judgment. The one who goes must first pray. They must ask God to search their heart and make their motives right. They must go for the same reason Jesus would go, not to correct from a distance, but to restore and bring life. When love leads, walls begin to come down and truth can be received.

“The church has many organizers, but few agonizers.” — Leonard Ravenhill

What is needed is not more plans or structure, but hearts that are burdened, broken, and willing to carry the weight of others in prayer and love.

There are also those who are called to go outside what many consider normal church settings. This is not something new. John the Baptist did not stay within the religious system of his time. He went into the wilderness and the people came to him. Jesus did not stay in one place. He walked among the people. He went into their homes. He sat with those who were rejected. He lived life with them. His ministry was personal and real.

This same truth is seen in the film A Great Awakening, which shows the life of George Whitefield. It makes it clear that structure is not what brings awakening. Awakening comes through obedience. It comes when a life is changed by Jesus and that person is willing to go. Whitefield went into prisons and reached people others ignored. He humbled himself and even washed their feet. Through this, many came to know Jesus. He understood that if his calling was not accepted inside the church, he would go outside the walls and reach the people directly. He showed that the work of Jesus is not limited to a place. It moves through those who are willing to obey.

This shows us that awakening does not come from sitting in tradition and looking down on others. It comes from stepping into people’s lives with love. It means helping them in their struggles, walking with them, and showing them who Jesus truly is. This is not leaving the church. This is the church being lived out.

At the same time, gathering still matters. Going and gathering are not against each other. They work together. Gathering strengthens us. It teaches us and builds us up. Going allows us to live out what we have received. If we only gather, we become focused on ourselves. If we only go without staying connected, we become weak. God’s design is both. We are filled together, and then we go out and pour into others.

We must also be careful of tradition. Jesus warned about this. He spoke against those who allowed their traditions to replace the truth of God. Tradition becomes dangerous when it replaces relationship. It becomes harmful when it blocks the work of God. The problem is not structure itself, but when structure becomes more important than people.

The answer is not to walk away from the church. The answer is to restore it. The church must return to what it was meant to be. It must be alive, led by the Spirit, and focused on people. It must value truth more than routine. It must care more about reaching others than maintaining systems. It must gather with purpose and go with love.

In the end, the church is not defined by where it meets. It is defined by how it lives. It is a people who belong to Jesus. It is a people who stay connected and go out to reach others. It does not wait for people to come. It goes after them. And it is through this obedience that true awakening begins.

Isaiah 51:2 shows us something very simple but very powerful. Abraham was just one man, unknown and ordinary, with no sign of greatness in his life. Then God says, “I blessed him, and made him many.” Abraham did not become something on his own. He became something because God blessed him.

This is the truth we often miss. We do not become strong, complete, or full of purpose first. We become those things when God places His blessing on our lives. His blessing is what causes growth. His blessing is what brings increase. His blessing is what turns one into many. Without God’s blessing, we can work hard and achieve things, but it will always be limited. It may look good on the outside, but it will not reach its full purpose. When God blesses a person, something changes. There is strength where there was weakness, direction where there was confusion, and peace where there was striving. We become more because He is with us.

God can bless anyone, rich or poor, because His blessing is not based on what a person has. It is based on His presence in their life. A person can have everything this world offers and still have no peace, while another may have very little yet walk closely with God and have deep peace and purpose. That is what it means to be truly blessed. God does bless us here on earth. He provides what we need, opens doors, and gives us strength and peace for each day. These are real blessings, and we should be thankful for them, but they are not the whole story.

The greater part of God’s blessing is not found here. It is eternal. Everything in this life will pass away, but what God gives will never fade. The greatest blessing is to belong to Him, to walk with Him, and to have the promise of eternal life. What we experience now is only a small part of what is still to come, and that is why our hope is not in what we see, but in who He is.

This is where a blessed life is truly seen. It is seen in what God grows inside of us. Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control are not things we create on our own. They are the fruit of His Spirit living in us. They are the evidence that His blessing is real, not just around us, but within us.

This becomes most clear in the hardest seasons of life. In the loss of a loved one, His blessing is His presence holding you together. In sickness, it is the strength and peace He gives each day. In the loss of work, it is the faith to trust Him and keep moving forward. The situation may not feel like a blessing, but God is still there, and He is still working.

Because of Him, I became. I was not strong, but He gave me strength. I was lost, but He gave me direction. I was not whole, but He began to shape me into something new. This did not happen because of my effort or my ability, but because His hand was on my life. He called me, brought me into His family, and placed His Spirit within me, and that is where everything changed. I became steady when life was not steady. I found peace when everything around me felt uncertain. I kept going, not because I am strong, but because He lives in me.

This is what it means to be blessed and highly favored. It is not about what I have, but about who is with me and who is in me. God’s blessing is His presence, and when His Spirit lives in you, your life will change. Abraham became because God blessed him, and the same is true for us. When God places His hand on your life, you will grow, you will endure, and you will become exactly who you were meant to be. Because of Him, we become, and we are still becoming.

“The greatest enemy of knowledge is not ignorance; it is the illusion of knowledge.” — Daniel J. Boorstin

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This morning while reading about the war in Iran from two different sources, something did not sit right with me. It was the same war and the same events, yet the way it was presented felt like it was pulling me in two different directions. One report focused on what was going wrong, the instability, the danger, and the uncertainty, while the other focused on control, progress, and what was being accomplished. As I read, I could feel that it was not just informing me but influencing how I was supposed to see it.

That is when the question really settled in my mind. If the same facts can be presented in a way that leads me to two completely different conclusions, then how do I really know what is true? I am not there and I cannot see any of it with my own eyes, so everything I know is coming through someone else, through their words, their emphasis, and their perspective. It became clear to me that the way something is presented can shape how it is understood, and that means I may not be receiving truth in its fullness, but only a version of it.

This realization began to trouble me because if my understanding can shift depending on who is telling the story, then I am not standing on something solid. I am being moved by presentation, by tone, and by what is chosen to be highlighted or left out. That kind of understanding is not steady, and it certainly does not feel like freedom. It feels like dependence on voices that I cannot fully verify.

This is what brings me back to something deeper that I have been writing about this past year. The Bible says that you will know the truth and the truth will set you free. Truth that sets you free cannot be something that changes depending on how it is presented or who is speaking. It cannot be something that is shaped by perspective or influenced by agenda, because that would leave me in the same place of uncertainty.

Jesus did not say that He would simply teach the truth, He said that He is the truth. That changes how I see everything, because now truth is not just something I try to gather from the world, it is something unchanging that I can be anchored to. Knowing Jesus keeps the truth right in front of me. He tells us in His Word what man is really like, what the future holds, and what it will look like, and He tells us that He will never leave us. There is no confusion in Him.

So, in a world where things can be twisted, framed, and used to influence, knowing Jesus is what keeps me from being moved by it all. It does not mean I will know every detail of what is happening, but it means I will not be controlled by it. His truth becomes the standard I measure everything else against. When something creates fear, confusion, or division, I can step back and ask if it aligns with what He has already made clear. Instead of chasing every voice, I return to the one voice that does not change.

And more than that, knowing Jesus and having His Spirit in me removes the confusion. I am not left trying to figure everything out on my own, because His truth is already established within me through His Word. When truth is spoken, there is no uncertainty in it, there is clarity, there is agreement, and there is peace. It does not need to be forced or explained away, it stands on its own. Instead of being pulled in different directions by what I hear, I am able to discern what aligns with Him and what does not. That is why there is even a sense of rejoicing when truth is spoken, because it confirms what He has already made known. In a world filled with voices that shape and influence, I am not left to sort through them alone, because I am anchored in Him, and in Him there is no confusion.

This morning I sit quietly and before I can even gather my thoughts, the weight of everything begins to settle in. The world feels unsettled, conflicts across nations continue, tensions rise and fall without warning, and here at home division runs deep while the pressures of everyday life never seem to let up. The cost-of-living shifts, uncertainty lingers, and beneath it all is something even heavier, the concern for health, for family, for the people I love. It is not just one thing, it is everything at once, and it has a way of pressing into the heart in a way that is hard to explain.

It is not weakness to feel overwhelmed; in fact, when we shed tears, they may be part of how God draws us closer to Him. Scripture says that He keeps every tear in a bottle, and I have often wondered why He would hold onto something like that. The only answer that settles in my heart is this, every tear matters to Him. Every moment of fear, every quiet burden, every time I feel the weight of things I cannot fix, He sees it and He does not overlook it. He does not turn away from it. He draws near. He meets me in it, not after I have figured it out, not after I have become stronger, but right in the middle of it.

And that reminds me of something I need to hold onto today, God has not lost control. Nothing happening in the world has caught Him off guard, nothing in my life is outside of His sight, and nothing I am carrying is beyond His care. The chaos I see does not mean He is absent, it means I need to look beyond what is shifting and remember what is not. Jesus said that in this world I would have trouble, and that is evident all around me, but He also said to take heart because He has overcome the world. That means even when everything feels uncertain, the outcome is not uncertain to Him.

So today, even when the weight feels heavy, I am not without hope. Not because everything suddenly makes sense, and not because the circumstances have changed, but because God has not changed. He is still present, still aware, still holding every detail, and still walking with me through all of it. I may not have the strength to carry everything in front of me, but I do not have to, because the One who holds the world is also holding me. And when I cannot see what He is doing, when the path feels uncertain and the answers are not clear, I am reminded of this truth:

“When you cannot trace His hand, trust His heart.” — Charles Spurgeon

And that is where my hope rests today. Not in what I see, but in who He is—faithful, present, and still in control.

God is the God of the impossible. That truth has never changed. But I have had to learn, often through frustration and disappointment, that He has also given me responsibility for the possible. There have been many times when I have gone to God in prayer, asking Him to move, to fix, to provide, and when nothing seemed to happen, I felt let down. But over time, I have come to realize that in many of those moments, I was asking God to do something He had already called me to do.

If I am responsible for the possible, then why do I keep asking God to do it for me? I have had to wrestle with that question honestly. The answer is not always comfortable. Sometimes it is because I want relief without responsibility. It is easier to pray for change than to walk it out. Sometimes it is fear. I hesitate, I doubt, and instead of stepping forward, I stay still and call it waiting on God. Other times, it is simply that I forget God is not a substitute for obedience. He is the One who strengthens me in it, not replaces me in it.

Because doing the possible is not easy. It requires discipline when I feel tired. It requires sacrifice when I would rather choose comfort. It requires action when it would be easier to wait and hope something changes on its own.

I have had to take a hard look at my own prayers. There were times I prayed, “God, help my finances,” while I was not managing my money wisely. Times I asked, “God, help me grow spiritually,” while I was neglecting time in His Word and avoiding prayer. I have prayed, “God, help me be in better shape,” but I was not taking care of my body with discipline. I have prayed, “God, give me peace,” while filling my mind with things that produced stress and distraction. In each of these, I was asking for change without being willing to act.

This has caused me to reflect more carefully. Are my prayers focused on the impossible, where only God can move? Or am I asking Him to step into responsibilities He has already placed in my hands?

What I have learned is this: when I commit to doing the possible, when I take ownership of what I can do, I eventually reach a point where I can go no further on my own. That is where the impossible begins. That is where God steps in, not because I avoided responsibility, but because I fulfilled it.

I used to tell my children when they were growing up, “Do what you can, every time you can, and you will be known as someone who gets things done, not someone who kicks the can down the road.” That was not just something I wanted for them. It is something I have had to learn to live myself.

God is not asking me to sit back and wait for Him to do everything. He is asking me to be faithful, to act, to walk in obedience with what He has already given me. And when I reach the end of my strength, when I have done all that I can do, that is when I see Him move in ways that only He can.

Turn on the news today and it is impossible to miss. Donald Trump stands at the center of indictments, courtrooms, investigations, and relentless media scrutiny. His name fills headlines daily, surrounded by accusations, criticism, and condemnation. He is portrayed not only as politically unfit, but as morally disqualified. Yet beyond the political noise, there is a deeper argument being made, often by those outside the faith. They point to him and ask, “This is your man? This is who you support?” From that question, they attempt to draw a sweeping conclusion—that the beliefs, values, and convictions of those who stand for biblical truth must also be flawed, compromised, or invalid.

This argument may sound convincing on the surface, but it collapses under the weight of Scripture. It assumes that God’s work is dependent upon human perfection, and that His purposes are carried out only through those who meet a certain moral standard. That idea is not found in the Word of God. In fact, Scripture reveals the exact opposite.

In Isaiah 45, God speaks of Cyrus, a pagan king who did not know Him, did not follow Him, and did not belong to His covenant people. Cyrus was not chosen because of righteousness or devotion. Yet God declares that He takes Cyrus by the right hand, that He goes before him to subdue nations, to break down gates of bronze, and to open doors that no one can shut. God calls him by name, appoints him, and strengthens him for a divine purpose, even though Cyrus himself does not acknowledge the Lord. This is not an isolated moment in Scripture. It is a clear demonstration of how God works.

The pattern continues throughout the Bible. Moses, the deliverer of Israel, was a man who had taken a life. David, called a man after God’s own heart, committed adultery and arranged for the death of an innocent man. Samson was driven by weakness and impulse. Peter denied Christ at His most critical hour. Paul persecuted the church before becoming one of its greatest leaders. These were not perfect men. They were flawed, broken, and at times deeply sinful. Yet God used each of them to accomplish His purposes and reveal His glory in ways that no perfect man ever could.

When critics attempt to discredit truth by pointing to the imperfections of a man, they reveal a misunderstanding of who God is. They judge the validity of truth based on the vessel, while God has always demonstrated His power through imperfect instruments. The issue is not the perfection of the man. The issue is the sovereignty of God.

What we are witnessing in our time is more than political conflict. It is a collision between human reasoning and divine authority. In a culture filled with division, moral confusion, and increasing hostility toward faith, many have assumed that God must operate within the boundaries of human approval. They expect Him to choose leaders who align with their expectations, reflect their values, and satisfy their understanding. But God has never worked that way.

Scripture confronts this mindset directly. “Who are you to question Me?” the Lord declares. “Will the clay speak to the potter? Will you instruct Me on the work of My hands?” There is a line that must not be crossed. When man assumes the authority to decide whom God can or cannot use, he elevates his own understanding above the authority of God. That is not discernment. That is presumption.

Whether one believes Donald Trump is being used by God or not, one truth remains unshaken. God is not subject to media narratives, public opinion, or cultural pressure. He raises up leaders for His purposes. He uses individuals to bless, to judge, to expose, and to prepare. His plans are not shaped by headlines, and His purposes are not determined by human approval.

As A.W. Tozer once said, “God is not looking for men of great faith, but for common men to trust His great faithfulness.” This truth cuts through every argument and every accusation. God has never depended on perfect people. He has always revealed His power through His sovereignty.

God does not ask for permission. He does not explain Himself to man. He is the Potter, and we are the clay. He forms, He appoints, He establishes, and He removes according to His will alone. If He chooses a Cyrus, He does not justify it. If He raises up a flawed man, He is not hindered by it. If He uses the unexpected, it is not an exception, it is His pattern. His power is not proven through perfect people, but through His absolute authority over all things.

And in the end, when the headlines fade, when the courtrooms fall silent, and when every argument loses its voice, one truth will remain standing above all others, unchallenged and eternal. The Lord reigns, and He alone determines the course of men, nations, and history.

There have been times in my life where I have had to face something I did not want to admit. Conflict is not tied to a place, it is tied to people. Family, extended family, neighbors, business, and church all carry different roles, but they all carry the same reality. At some point, there will be misunderstanding, offense, and hurt. Some relationships I was placed into by God, like family. Others came through my own decisions, like business. And some I believe I was led into. But none of them are free from difficulty.

I have been hurt in ways that stayed with me longer than I expected. Words spoken in a moment that were never taken back. Being misunderstood when I knew my intentions were right. Having my integrity questioned when I had done nothing wrong. Being overlooked after giving my time and effort. Watching people change under pressure. Even silence, when something should have been addressed but was not, has created distance that did not need to be there. Those things do not just pass. They settle if they are not dealt with.

But I have also had to face the other side of it. I have not only been hurt, I have hurt others. There have been times I spoke too quickly and said things that cut deeper than I realized. Times I cared more about being right than understanding the person in front of me. Times I did not listen well, or I assumed instead of asking. There were moments I avoided hard conversations, and that avoidance created space where things broke down. Pressure, especially in business, has made me harder than I should have been at times. I can see now that I have contributed to the very thing I do not like dealing with.

Part of this for me is how I am wired. In construction, they have called me a pit bull. When something is not right, I lock in. I push. I do not back down. That has helped me solve problems and move things forward. I believe that drive was given to me for a reason. But I have also come to see that the same traits that help me can also cause harm if they are not under control. The same strength that helps me stand firm can turn into pride. The same persistence that solves problems can run over people. What was meant to build can end up tearing down.

Another weakness I have seen in myself is this. When I get hurt, I can close a person out like they do not exist. I do not always argue or fight. I just shut the door. I stop engaging. I move on as if they are no longer there. And in my mind, it feels controlled. It feels like I am handling it without conflict. But in reality, it creates a different kind of damage. It leaves things unresolved and creates distance that grows over time. It is not strength, it is avoidance.

I think about my brother Frank and the fifty years he stayed with the same group of people. That kind of life does not happen without conflict. It does not happen without hurt on both sides. What allowed him to stay was learning how to deal with it. He told me something that has stayed with me. If what someone says about you is true, then it shows you something you need to work on. If it is not true, then how you respond will determine what happens next.

That same truth is written in Scripture. “Do not repay evil with evil or insult with insult. On the contrary, repay evil with blessing” (1 Peter 3:9). That goes directly against my natural response. My instinct is to push back or shut down, not to respond with something better.

“Be quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to become angry.” James 1:19

Jesus made this even clearer when He spoke about forgiveness. He said to forgive again and again, even when it happens repeatedly. When the disciples heard that, they said, “Lord, increase our faith” (Luke 17:5). They understood that this kind of life requires something beyond natural strength.

That is where this becomes real for me. I do not struggle with strength. I struggle with control. I struggle with knowing when to hold back, when to stay engaged, and when not to shut a person out. I struggle with choosing patience over reaction and forgiveness over pressing the issue. What I have seen clearly is this. If I do not bring my strength under control, it will continue to cause damage, no matter how justified I feel in the moment.

This is not just my struggle, it is a human one. Every person will face it. We will be hurt, and we will hurt others. The question is not whether it happens, but what we do when it does. We can let it harden us, or we can deal with it the right way.

For me, the issue is not strength. The issue is what I do with it. Left on its own, it pushes too hard or shuts people out completely. But when it is brought under control, it changes how I respond, how I speak, and how I handle people. That is where the real work is.

“He who is slow to anger is better than the mighty, and he who rules his spirit than he who takes a city.” — Proverbs 16:32

That puts it in the right place. The greatest battle is not with other people, it is within ourselves. And that is something every one of us must learn.

Why is this date so important to me? Because it was the day the Lord spoke to my heart and asked me to step into something I was completely unprepared for—to start a business. At the time, I was working in a cabinet shop, just an ordinary man trying to be faithful to what God had been stirring inside of me. There was no roadmap, no business training, no savings, no equipment, no warehouse, and no clear path forward. Yet there was something stronger than all of that—a quiet but unmistakable call from God that would not leave me alone.

So I did what I knew to do, and I went to Him in prayer. I remember laying three specific things before the Lord and speaking plainly from my heart: “Lord, if this is truly from You, then I’m asking You to provide.” I asked that I would be able to leave the man I was working for on good terms, because I knew that honoring him mattered to God. I asked for work—something I could put my hands to so I could begin producing cabinets, because I was not looking for comfort, I was looking for obedience. And I asked that God would direct my steps, that He would show me how to find a place to work and even provide the machinery we would need, because I had no idea how to get there on my own.

At that same time, life was already stretching me in ways that felt overwhelming. Carol was nine months pregnant, and within two weeks our first son Jeremy would be born. Responsibility was not something coming in the future—it had already arrived, and it was standing right in front of me. Yet it was in the middle of that pressure, not outside of it, that God chose to call me forward. Looking back now, I understand something I did not fully grasp then: God was not asking me to have it all figured out, He was asking me to trust Him. As it is written, “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths” (Proverbs 3:5–6). I did not have understanding, but I made a decision that day that I would trust.

What followed did not happen all at once, but it happened faithfully. Step by step, God answered every prayer I had placed before Him. I was able to leave on good terms, and that mattered more than I knew at the time. Work began to come, not in abundance at first, but in just enough measure to keep moving forward. Doors opened that I did not know how to open, and provision came not ahead of time, but right on time, again and again. That is when I began to learn a truth that has stayed with me ever since: when God calls you, He does not consult your resources—He supplies them. What He looks for is not whether you are prepared by the world’s standards, but whether you are willing to obey when He speaks. As Scripture reminds us, “My God shall supply all your need according to His riches in glory by Christ Jesus” (Philippians 4:19).

Over the years, I have watched God do what only He can do. He has brought people into my life at just the right moment, people I never could have arranged or planned for. He has opened doors that I did not even know existed and placed me in situations that required more than I had, only to prove that He was more than enough. He has given wisdom in moments when I had none of my own and carried me through seasons that felt too heavy to bear. There were times when I wanted to quit, times when everything felt uncertain and even hopeless, times when the weight of responsibility pressed harder than I thought I could endure. Yet through it all, there was a steady and unshakable truth that remained: I was not walking alone. Jesus walked with me, and I learned to hold onto the promise that “He who began a good work in you will be faithful to complete it” (Philippians 1:6), not as a distant hope, but as a daily reality.

What God has done has gone far beyond building a business. He has built a life, one that I could have never imagined when I took that first step of faith. He has blessed me with four incredible children, thirteen grandchildren, and sons and daughters-in-law whom I count as my own. The richness of that blessing cannot be measured in anything this world offers, and it stands as a testimony to the kind of provision only God can give. In all of this, I have come to understand something that the world does not see clearly. What the world calls success has no value to God, because it is built on things that do not last. Titles, money, recognition—these may carry weight among men, but they do not move the heart of God. What He blesses, however, carries a weight and a substance that cannot be explained, measured, or taken away. As Jesus said, “What does it profit a man to gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?” (Mark 8:36).

Scripture also says, “The blessing of the Lord makes one rich, and He adds no sorrow with it” (Proverbs 10:22), and I have come to know that this kind of richness is not found in what you accumulate, but in what God establishes. There is a wisdom that does not come from education, a favor that cannot be earned, and a life that cannot be explained apart from the hand of God working quietly, faithfully, and powerfully over time. It is almost fitting that it all began on April 1st—April Fool’s Day—because to the world, what I did likely looked foolish. There was no plan, no money, no experience, only a decision to trust what God had said. Yet I have learned that what appears to be foolishness to men is often obedience before God, for “the foolishness of God is wiser than men” (1 Corinthians 1:25).

There is a quote that has stayed with me through the years, one that continues to prove true: “Never be afraid to trust an unknown future to a known God.” That is what I did on April 1, 1977, and it is what I continue to do. Because what I have learned is that trusting God is not a single decision made once, but a life that is lived daily, step by step, often without full understanding, but never without His presence. The same God who spoke then is still speaking now, still leading, still refining, still proving that His ways are higher than ours. What began as a step of faith has become a walk that has not ended, and I have come to see that God never calls a man to arrive—He calls him to follow. And as long as He leads, there will always be more to trust, more to learn, and more of His faithfulness yet to be revealed.