Day 151

1 Chronicles 11–12 | 1 Corinthians 9 | Psalm 64

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I write these posts for the world to see.

And if you don’t know me personally, maybe they sound like the words of a faithful man—anchored, steady, devoted.

But I haven’t arrived.

And most days when I click “publish,” I cringe a little.

Because I know who’s going to read it.

Talacey.

Sophia.

Jason.

Monica.

They’ve seen me at my worst.

They’ve heard the words I wish I could take back.

They’ve been on the receiving end of my sharpness, my selfishness, my silence.

And I imagine them reading some of these posts and rolling their eyes, thinking…

Are you kidding me? This guy is a liar. A hypocrite. A fraud.

Sometimes I believe that too.

Because most days I write about truths I fail to live.

But Then There’s 1 Chronicles 11

It’s this long list of warriors—David’s mighty men.

Thirty-seven of them. Battle-tested. Name-remembered.

But here’s what gets me: they weren’t mighty because of their resumes.

They were mighty because they showed up.

Some had failed.

Some were outlaws.

Some were Gentiles and outsiders.

But they rallied around their king.

They believed in something bigger than their failure.

And they fought for it anyway.

That’s What Paul Got Too

In 1 Corinthians 9, Paul says something striking:

“I discipline my body and keep it under control, lest after preaching to others I myself should be disqualified.” (v. 27)

Even Paul—the apostle, the theologian, the church planter—felt the weight of that inner war.

He knew what it was to preach grace and still feel unworthy of it.

To proclaim victory and still limp from the fight.

But he didn’t quit.

He ran.

He labored.

He pressed on—not because he had arrived, but because Christ had taken hold of him (Philippians 3:12).

And So Do I

I’m not faithful every day.

I’m not gentle every day.

I don’t love like I should. I don’t pray like I want to. I don’t model the kind of father or husband I long to be.

But I still write.

Not because I’m the picture of holiness,

but because I’m the picture of need.

And because I believe the gospel is true even when I don’t feel like it.

Especially when I don’t feel like it.

I write to remind myself of what’s real.

And I publish it in public because I need the accountability.

Because deep down, I still believe this:

The grace that saved me is strong enough to sanctify me.

And the Christ who called me is still working in me.

Even when I feel like a fraud.

What Psalm 64 Knows

David wrote it as a hunted man.

Enemies whispered. Swords sharpened.

He wasn’t safe. And he wasn’t silent either.

But instead of fighting with fury—he fought with faith.

“Let the righteous one rejoice in the Lord and take refuge in him!” (v. 10)

David didn’t rejoice in his own strength.

He rejoiced in the One who never failed, even when he did.

So What Now?

Maybe you feel like a fraud too.

Maybe you wonder why anyone would listen to you talk about Jesus when your life doesn’t always look like Him.

But here’s the good news: We don’t fight to earn righteousness. We fight because we already have it.

And the people God uses most are often the ones who know just how much they need Him.

So don’t quit.

Don’t edit yourself out of the story.

Don’t believe the lie that you’re too messed up to matter.

You’re in the fight because He called you into it.

And you’ll finish it because He’s not done yet.

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Lord, I confess how often I feel disqualified. I see my weakness, my inconsistencies, my failures—and I want to retreat. To go quiet. But You see all of it, and You haven’t walked away. Thank You for grace that keeps pursuing me. Strengthen me to fight even when I feel like a fraud. Remind me that the victory isn’t in how I feel—but in what You’ve already done. Let me run with humility, speak with honesty, and rest in the truth that You use cracked vessels to carry living water. Amen.