Numbers
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It’s 3 a.m. as I sit down to write this. In a few minutes, I’ll step into the shower and get ready for what will be the final general session of the last conference my company will ever execute. The final main-stage event for which I am responsible. And while the uncertainty remains—while I still…
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I’ve never wished for Egypt. But I have wished the injury had been cleaner. Maybe if the saw had taken my fingers completely, the pain wouldn’t have lasted this long. The therapy wouldn’t be this difficult. The recovery wouldn’t feel never-ending. The two surgeries to come wouldn’t have to come at all.
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It was New Year’s Eve. J and Monica came over to ring in the New Year with us. Their daughters ran off to play with Sophia, and the four of us settled in—a charcuterie board on the counter, drinks poured, laughter filling the house as we waited for the ball to drop. Then Monica said…
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Jesus never asks pointless questions. And the one he asks the paralytic by the pool? It seems almost cruel… until I ask it of myself.
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It’s nearly midnight. My alarm is set for 4 a.m. And after a day that started before the sun and stretched nonstop into the night, I’m running on empty.
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The slow, corrosive poison of hiding. It festers. It eats away at the soul. And what remains is shame, fear, and a growing chasm between us and God.
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A mission trip to Mexico, a widow’s quiet act of service, and a phrase that forever changed the way I see leadership. It’s all in today’s devotional.
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Whether your family tree is full of believers or just beginning, one truth remains—faith isn’t inherited. It’s personal. And the only name that truly lasts is the one written in the Lamb’s Book of Life.
