1 Kings
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We’re hosting a party today. Thanks to Talacey and her brother Brandon who are doing all the work while I “supervise” with one hand, tables are set. Chairs arranged. The backyard’s been scrubbed, swept, and decorated with banners. Because Nana is turning 95.
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It’s easy to measure the day by what you checked off. The boxes you marked. The tasks you tackled. The output you created. I’m the kind of guy who does something not on the list then adds it to the list—just so I can cross it off. And today—three days after surgery—my list doesn’t look…
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Yesterday, therapy hurt. Not the kind of hurt that fades with Advil. The kind that makes your stomach turn and your vision blur. The kind that leaves you wondering whether this is recovery… or regression.
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There’s a lot Paul could have said. The Corinthians were distracted, divided, and disoriented. Drifting into pride. Chasing novelty. Unraveling the gospel. But Paul doesn’t start with rebuke. He starts with a reminder.
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God’s given me influence. Words. Insight. And most days, I try to use them for His glory. But some days… I want to use them to win. To prove a point. To set the record straight. To correct the narrative.
