Day 212

Isaiah 13–14 | Matthew 24:15–31

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Some posts are difficult to write.

This one’s harder to publish.

Because tomorrow morning, as she sips her coffee, my wife will read this.

And a couple hours later, my sweet, innocent, 13-year-old daughter will, too.

They are the two I love most in this world.

And they’re the two I’ve hurt the most with my words.

When My Greatest Gift Becomes My Greatest Sin

God gave me a gift.

I can shape a phrase.

Craft a story.

Frame a moment.

I use it to comfort. To encourage. To teach.

But sometimes… more times than I’d like to admit… I use it to win.

When we fight, I don’t fight fair.

I don’t always raise my voice.

But I always raise the stakes.

I take something they said and twist it.

I weaponize tone. I blur motive.

I pull rank—intellectually, emotionally, even spiritually.

Because in the heat of conflict, I don’t want reconciliation.

I want victory.

I want to be the smartest in the room.

The most justified. The most injured.

The one who gets the final word.

And if I’m honest… That desire to ascend—to be above, to be right, to be seen—It’s not just any sin.

It’s the same sin that got Lucifer cast down.

“I will ascend to heaven. I will set my throne on high. I will make myself like the Most High.” (Isaiah 14:13–14)

That’s what Isaiah says Lucifer declared.

It wasn’t murder or theft or adultery that caused the fall.

It was pride.

A refusal to be under anyone.

Especially God.

And I see it in myself.

The Devastation Pride Leaves Behind

Isaiah 14 is a taunt—a funeral song for a tyrant.

It’s poetic and prophetic and sobering.

Because it reminds us that no one ascends forever.

Every proud throne becomes a grave.

And for me, that grave is not abstract. It has names: Talacey and Sophia.

Two women I love.

Two hearts I’ve crushed over the years.

I’ve buried peace under a need to be impressive.

I’ve sacrificed gentleness on the altar of my ego.

And I’m so tired of it.

Because my words can preach grace in the morning… and still demand control by night.

And I hate that about my flesh.

The Gospel for the Proud

But this isn’t the end of the story.

Because Isaiah doesn’t just mock the fallen king.

He points to a better King.

One who never demanded to ascend… but willingly descended.

Who didn’t grasp for power… but laid it down.

Who had every right to crush us with His words… but stayed silent so He could carry our shame.

The antidote to pride isn’t performance. It’s repentance.

And the only way up? Well, the only way up is down.

When They Read This

So when my wife reads this tomorrow, and when my daughter does too…

They won’t be surprised.

They already know it.

They’ve already lived it.

But maybe they’ll also see something else.

A dad who’s done making excuses.

A husband who’s done weaponizing words.

A man who’s done pretending repentance is weakness.

And a follower of Jesus who finally believes that lying low isn’t losing… it’s becoming like Christ.

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Lord, forgive me. For my pride. My sharp tongue. My need to be right. Thank You for exposing what I would rather hide. And thank You that You, the highest King, came all the way down—to rescue the lowest. Help me love the way You love. Speak the way You speak. And humble me, not once, but daily, until pride no longer feels like home. Amen.