Lights & Truth

The Burden of Trust

January 14th, 2026

Trust is often spoken of as the foundation of healthy community, but in the pursuit of purpose it is important to understand what we are trusting and where that trust is placed. To say “do not trust others” is not a call to isolation or suspicion. It is a warning against dependency. Dependency, even when well-intentioned, becomes a quiet form of inaction. It breeds complacency and slowly shifts responsibility away from the self.

Scripture reminds us that each person is given a burden to carry. “Each one should carry their own load” (Galatians 6:5). While we are called to live in unity, unity does not mean substitution. When we rely on others to carry what we were meant to bear, resentment begins to grow—often unnoticed at first. What may begin as shared faith can quietly turn into frustration, then stagnation. Eventually, function breaks down. What once felt like support becomes a weight.

As we seek function in our relationships, we naturally grow familiar with the rhythms and routines of others. In itself, this is not harmful. But human desire often complicates things. We begin to assign meaning, labels, and expectations—not only to others, but to ourselves through them. Identity, once loosened, seeks replacement. And when that replacement is found in another person, trust subtly shifts from God’s design to our own.

Life is layered. We only ever see parts, never the whole. Yet it is easy to confuse the will of the created with the will of the Creator. “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways” (Isaiah 55:8). When expectations form without this awareness, disappointment becomes inevitable. When those expectations fail, we assume something is wrong with the relationship itself. This is where misplaced trust begins to fracture function.

When trust is placed in others apart from God, it is often not them we are trusting, but a version of them we have created. Every person we encounter is still becoming. We interact not with their full reality, but with our interpretation of who they are. Scripture cautions us here: “Do not put your trust in princes, in human beings, who cannot save” (Psalm 146:3). This is not a dismissal of people, but a reminder of limitation.

Many struggle not because they lack relationships, but because they lack clarity of self. When we do not know who we are, we allow others to define us. This is the form of “trust” that quietly erodes purpose. There is only One capable of holding that weight. “Before I formed you in the womb I knew you” (Jeremiah 1:5). When identity is surrendered to God, burdens do not disappear—but they become manageable. Difficulty remains, yet growth accelerates.

Instead of trusting others to define outcomes, we are called to trust that there is purpose—even when circumstances feel misaligned with our expectations. “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding” (Proverbs 3:5). We are reminded again and again that control is not ours. Perspective is.

Think back on moments where judgment came quickly, only to be proven incomplete as events unfolded. These moments are not evidence of failure, but reminders of limitation. We do not control life. We only choose how we stand within it.

As you move through your week, consider where responsibility—and even judgment—has been placed on another who never asked to carry it. When discomfort arises, pause and examine not the person, but your posture. Ask why the moment feels heavy. Often, the power to change the experience lies not in the circumstance, but in how it is being held.

Do not trust others to know who you are.
Do not trust others to carry what was given to you.
Instead, be who you are—before God—and allow relationships to remain functional, not foundational.
The Price of Certainty

January 12th, 2026

Most of us don’t actually want to change.
We want to be right.

And because of that, we end up protecting an image instead of building a life.

Our name, our reputation, the version of ourselves that others recognize — these things begin to hold tremendous value. Once that happens, we will do almost anything to preserve them. Even behavior that looks irrational from the outside becomes completely logical to us when it serves the purpose of maintaining who we think we are.

So we form strong opinions. We pick sides. We argue. We defend. We go to war with anything that threatens our stance. Being right slowly becomes the goal, and when that happens, growth stops.

But what if being right or wrong was never the point?

We live in a world that demands sides — left or right, this or that — but there is a truth we rarely consider: neither side is the path forward. When we cling to being right or wrong, what we’re really doing is clinging to identity. And identity, when protected at all costs, becomes the enemy of movement.

This is why inaction is so common. The constant need to prove ourselves becomes the perfect excuse to stay exactly where we are.

“Ever learning, and never able to come to the knowledge of the truth.”
— 2 Timothy 3:7

Most people will spend their lives accumulating knowledge. On the surface, that seems noble. But for many, it stops there.

There is more to learn about this world than we could ever fit into one lifetime, so the real question becomes: what do we choose to learn? And the answer is almost always comfort. We find ideas that resonate with our existing identity and immerse ourselves in them. We surround ourselves with voices that agree with us. We battle anyone who challenges our perspective.

This is where clinging to “truth” quietly turns into clinging to self.

We rarely form perspectives from first principles. More often, we inherit them. Even when we go searching for confirmation, we tend to choose sources that already agree with us and dismiss those that don’t — even if they’re credible. Eventually this turns into appealing to authority rather than exercising discernment.

And this isn’t because people are evil or dishonest. Something deeper is happening.

“Woe to those who are wise in their own eyes,
and prudent in their own sight.”
— Isaiah 5:21

The reason many of us choose inaction — or adopt someone else’s beliefs entirely — is because we lack confidence in our God-given ability to discern, act, and endure failure.

We fear being wrong. So instead, we hand our freedom to others and let them decide for us. But this is rarely done in faith. Internally, doubt remains. Outsourcing responsibility becomes a way to escape accountability.

If things go well, we want credit without leverage.
If things go poorly, we want distance without consequence.

Success or failure becomes irrelevant, because the real objective is maintaining identity. And in doing so, we rob ourselves of experience — trading growth for the false safety of certainty.

“The fear of man brings a snare,
but whoever trusts in the Lord shall be safe.”
— Proverbs 29:25

Many people believe they fear uncertainty. But in reality, we often fear that we are right about people and circumstances.

We don’t avoid situations because we don’t know what will happen. We avoid them because we’ve already decided what will happen — and we don’t want to be proven wrong.

This is the root of the problem.

Even when we finally face what we were avoiding, we try to control the outcome to confirm our expectations. We attempt to bend reality itself rather than submit to learning from it.

But there is a better way to live.

God did not design us to preserve false identities. He designed us to be transformed.

“Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.”
— Romans 12:2

When we begin shedding who we think we are, we start seeing life through a different lens.

If you want your life to become unrecognizable, you must first become unrecognizable to yourself.

Routine is not the enemy — comfort is. Choose a routine you’ve never tried. Give it time. Don’t judge it prematurely. Action always produces results, whether they are desirable or not. If you don’t see change yet, it may simply be because you’re checking too soon.

Do not look to others to define you. Letting go of a false identity does not mean assuming someone else’s. Make God your reference point. When He becomes the center, you will find patience, compassion, and clarity — and those qualities will begin to form in you.

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart,
and lean not on your own understanding.”
— Proverbs 3:5–6

Be intentional about the environments you place yourself in. You are not a victim of your circumstances, and you are allowed to choose who influences you. This does not mean demonizing others. It means loving people while recognizing when you have outgrown an identity.

If you feel a pull toward a direction you never planned to go, don’t resist it out of fear. Seek out people who value accountability and responsibility — not comfort and agreement. You will feel out of place at first. That’s how growth begins.

But remember: don’t place your trust in people. Place it in God. That way, if you misstep, you don’t become bitter or blame others. You learn. You adjust. You continue.

So ask yourself honestly:

In what way will you become unrecognizable today?
Become Holy

January 9th, 2026

Relationships were never designed for our personal benefit.
They were not given to us so that we could feel whole, validated, or fulfilled.

Yet this is how relationships are often approached. They are pursued in the search for happiness, stability, or identity. Love becomes the goal instead of the fruit. When this happens, presence is replaced with performance, and sincerity slowly erodes. People become assets instead of beings, and connection turns into consumption.

Love is present in every healthy relationship—whether work, romance, or companionship—but love was never meant to be extracted. It is meant to be expressed. The moment love becomes something we are trying to obtain, we stop participating and begin performing.

People are not tools meant to complete us. We were all made in the image of God. Though we appear different on the surface, we are far more alike than we are willing to admit. In this sense, we are never truly alone. Even when we enter the world as individuals, we are sustained by others. This is not weakness—it is design. This is the purpose of relationship.

To become whole again, the individual must seek holiness. Ironically, this is nearly impossible to do in isolation. Morality itself cannot be fully practiced alone. While certain virtues can be cultivated in solitude, they cannot be fully revealed there. Without another, there is no mirror. Without reflection, growth remains unseen.

Scripture affirms this at the very beginning:

“It is not good that man should be alone.” (Genesis 2:18)

This statement is not about companionship alone—it is about formation. Holiness is not shaped in isolation. It is refined through interaction. This is why wisdom does not develop in secrecy but through friction.

“As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another.” (Proverbs 27:17)

Growth requires resistance. Without it, edges remain dull. Relationships are not meant to preserve us as we are; they are meant to shape us into what we are becoming.

This is why Christ speaks not of isolation, but of alignment:

“For where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them.” (Matthew 18:20)

This is not merely a statement about community—it is a statement about completeness. Presence is revealed not through perfection, but through unity oriented toward something higher than the self.

What is missing in life is not found by searching for the ideal relationship or the perfect situation. When we do not know who we are, we cannot recognize who belongs with us. We drift endlessly, seeking something external to resolve something internal.

This is why function matters more than form in relationships. When relationships are devotional rather than transactional, they serve purpose instead of preference. We are not meant to define ourselves and then seek others to reinforce that definition. When we do, we drive away the very people meant to refine us, all while wondering why nothing ever changes.

There is only one who can define who and what we are. The work is not in creating that identity—it is in accepting it.

As you enter the weekend, reflect not on how you felt, but on how you functioned. Did your relationships move toward purpose, or were they maintained through performance? If they fell short, ask what stood in the way. External circumstances are easy to blame, but restoration always begins internally.

Sometimes the very things we resist are placed in our lives to shape us. The person you avoid may be the mirror you need. The conflict you dread may be the refinement you are missing.

Think beyond yourself.
Think holy.
Function Over Transaction

January 7th, 2026

To reject transactional relationships does not mean to abandon discernment, nor does it mean allowing oneself to be used in ways that are not good. It means refusing to reduce life to exchange alone. The next step in practicing devotional obedience is not generosity without wisdom, but functionality with purpose.

When life is lived through the lens of calling, relationships begin to shift. People no longer exist as assets to be leveraged, but as reinforcements to obedience. They stop serving the preservation of the self and begin contributing to the work that is being formed. This is where true wealth resides. Not in accumulation, but in alignment. “Better is a little with righteousness than much gain with injustice” (Proverbs 16:8).

This does not suggest that material provision disappears. At times it increases. But what changes first is not income—it is importance. Once importance is reordered, the chase ends. Life no longer needs to be pursued; it begins to be experienced as it was intended. “Seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things will be added to you” (Matthew 6:33).

To find functionality in relationships, calling must be clarified. This requires looking past the self without dissolving it, and refusing to see life through envy. When attention is fixed on the lives of others, personal vocation is quietly neglected. It is not wrong to help build what others are creating, but without purpose this eventually turns into resentment. “Let each one examine his own work, and then he will have reason for boasting in himself alone, and not in his neighbor” (Galatians 6:4).

One sign that participation has been replaced by performance is constant outflow without renewal. This often appears financially, but it is not limited to money. Energy, time, and attention can all be spent transactionally. Life cannot be purchased. It must be grown into. “For which of you, desiring to build a tower, does not first sit down and count the cost?” (Luke 14:28).

When purpose is absent, desire becomes undefined. When desire is undefined, consumption fills the gap. This is how repetition masquerades as progress. The same life is lived again under the illusion of movement. Yet circumstance does not define identity. Perspective does. “Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind” (Romans 12:2).

Once calling becomes clear, attention naturally shifts toward alignment. This is where many stumble—not because the goal is wrong, but because the approach remains transactional. Relationships are sought based on need rather than function. But life was never meant to be assembled through strategy alone. It is meant to be responded to through obedience. “In their hearts humans plan their course, but the Lord establishes their steps” (Proverbs 16:9).

The task is not to seek people, but to seek His will. When alignment becomes the focus, what is needed is drawn in rather than chased. “The steps of a man are established by the Lord, when he delights in His way” (Psalm 37:23). In this posture, life becomes receptive. The right people and circumstances appear not as rewards, but as confirmations.

When they arrive, the self must loosen its grip again. Participation in something greater requires devotion to the whole. “For as the body is one and has many members… so it is with Christ” (1 Corinthians 12:12).

It is easy to lose sight of what matters. Even after clarity is gained, endurance is tested. Spiritual warfare is rarely dramatic; it is slow and quiet. Attrition wears resolve down until survival replaces purpose. When this happens, life becomes mechanical. Motion continues, but meaning thins. “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy” (John 10:10).

Yet the path is never closed. Even after deviation, return is always available. “Return to Me, and I will return to you” (Malachi 3:7). To realign, the heart must be reopened. Purpose must be sought again—not as ambition, but as orientation.

When this occurs, survival loosens its hold. Participation resumes. Life no longer feels like something to endure. It becomes something to inhabit.

Do not measure relationships by what they provide.
Measure them by what they form.

Examine where life has become transactional and ask whether function has been forgotten.
Return attention to alignment rather than acquisition.
Devote yourself again—not to survival, but to purpose.
Devotion as a Way of Being

January 5th, 2026

Life is not something meant to be managed—it is something meant to be entered into.
The most faithful way to navigate through it is not by controlling outcomes, but by building a relationship with it.

When life is approached transactionally, even faith begins to resemble performance. Each day becomes a calculation. Each action is measured by what it produces. Over time, sincerity is replaced by instinct, and instinct by habit. We continue moving, but no longer with intention. What was once alive becomes rehearsed.

There is another way to live.

Scripture does not call us into efficiency, but into faithfulness. Not into constant decision-making, but into obedience that is rooted in trust. “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).

This is the distinction between performative transaction and devotional obedience.

Performative transactions seek to preserve the current self. They operate from fear—fear of loss, fear of stagnation, fear of falling behind. Devotional obedience, by contrast, has faith in what cannot yet be seen. It is willing to loosen its grip on the present self in order to give birth to the one that is being formed. “For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for Me will find it” (Matthew 16:25).

Once this distinction becomes clear, the path forward is no longer forced. It is revealed.

When a relationship becomes performative, love quietly disappears. Actions turn into means, not expressions. On the surface, this appears efficient—productive even—but it carries hidden weight. When circumstances align with preference, attention drifts away from process and toward outcome. When circumstances darken, the transactional posture retreats into autopilot. Time passes quickly. Meaning thins. Joy becomes conditional.

Ecclesiastes warned of this long ago: “I have seen all the things that are done under the sun; all of them are meaningless, a chasing after the wind” (Ecclesiastes 1:14).

Life, however, does not operate randomly. It moves within design. And when purpose is absent, suffering is not redeemed—it is merely endured. This is why devotion matters. When life is lived beyond the self, meaning is no longer dependent on circumstance. The lens changes. Even difficulty becomes formative rather than destructive. “We know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him” (Romans 8:28).

Modern life has convinced us that endless labor is the path to fulfillment. When direction is unclear, dreams are borrowed. This is how consumption replaces calling. The individual is taught to fend for itself, yet creation itself reveals the opposite—we are formed for relationship. “It is not good for man to be alone” (Genesis 2:18).

Relationship always requires sacrifice, but not the loss of agency. True sacrifice removes what hinders rather than what forms. Scripture speaks plainly here: “Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit?” (1 Corinthians 6:19). To be a temple is not to be owned—it is to be entrusted.

When devotion governs the inner life, striving loosens its hold. Desire itself is reordered. “Delight yourself in the Lord, and He will give you the desires of your heart” (Psalm 37:4). This does not mean desire is indulged—it means it is refined. Goals change. Wants soften. Freedom is no longer found in endless choice, but in right alignment.

This is the shift from performance to participation.

Devotional obedience does not ask, What can I extract from this moment?
It asks, What can I offer here?

This is stewardship.

From the beginning, humanity was not given ownership but responsibility. “The Lord God took the man and put him in the Garden of Eden to work it and take care of it” (Genesis 2:15). Stewardship is not self-denial for its own sake—it is care born from relationship.

This posture extends into every domain. In marriage, love becomes service rather than expectation. “Submit to one another out of reverence for Christ” (Ephesians 5:21). In parenthood, formation replaces projection. In provision, money becomes a tool rather than a master. “Whoever is faithful with very little will also be faithful with much” (Luke 16:10).

Life is diminished when it is reduced to transaction. It is restored when it is lived devotionally.

Do not spend existence only performing.
Devote yourself—and begin to participate.
Where Freedom Lives

January 2nd, 2026

An artist sat alone in her studio, wanting to create her next great masterpiece. With excitement, she picked up her brush and stared at a blank canvas. As she looked around at the paints and tools surrounding her, ideas began to form. Yet each time she mentally walked through the process, she realized she didn’t have the exact colors or instruments to achieve the image she was envisioning. Without ever placing the brush on the canvas, she started over.

She began to pace the room, studying the possibilities, becoming aware of just how many tools she had access to, yet unaware of how complete the moment already was. What began as excitement slowly turned into anxiety. She could use anything—but where should she start? The abundance of choice overwhelmed her. Hours passed, and eventually she gave up for the day, deciding she would try again tomorrow.

That night, preparing for bed, she opened her journal to release the thoughts lingering in her mind. As she began to write, a vision of an art piece appeared with clarity. Exhausted and unwilling to return to the studio, she sketched it into the journal so it wouldn’t be forgotten. With each stroke, a calm settled in. When the image was complete, she smiled—not because it was perfect, but because it existed.

Freedom and happiness are often treated as destinations. They are spoken of as things to be obtained, as though once reached, everything else will fall into place. The problem is neither can be properly defined. There is no measurable limit to freedom or happiness. They exist whole and untouched. When a person encounters even a fragment of true freedom, its weight can be unsettling. What sounds desirable quickly becomes disorienting.

Scripture reminds us that freedom, when untethered, is not neutral.

“‘I have the right to do anything,’ you say—but not everything is beneficial. ‘I have the right to do anything’—but not everything is constructive.” (1 Corinthians 10:23)

Infinite possibility removes direction. When everything is possible, nothing is chosen. When life is lived only in potential, action is endlessly postponed. For something to remain perfectly free, it must remain untouched by decision, form, or restraint. But untouched freedom cannot produce life. It cannot create.

This is why Scripture does not frame freedom as limitless expression, but as ordered submission:

“You were called to freedom, brothers and sisters; only do not use your freedom as an opportunity for the flesh.” (Galatians 5:13)

Because we are natural beings, inaction does not leave us unchanged. Time continues regardless of participation. Even if perspective remains fixed, circumstances do not. When we refuse to move in the direction we are being called, we are still carried somewhere else. Drift is not neutral.

Scripture speaks directly to this reality:

“So whoever knows the right thing to do and fails to do it, for him it is sin.” (James 4:17)

Conflict does not require intention to appear. It finds its way in when attention is left unguarded. Inactivity quietly hands focus to something else. This is why Scripture so often warns against spiritual passivity rather than overt rebellion:

“Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour.” (1 Peter 5:8)

Structure, then, is not the enemy of freedom. It is the condition that allows freedom to function. When boundaries are set, energy is no longer spent deciding whether to act, but how to act within them. This is where freedom becomes usable. This is where creativity begins.

The order of creation itself testifies to this:

“For God is not a God of confusion but of peace.” (1 Corinthians 14:33)

We are called to actively seek good, but we are also called into rest. Rest does not mean disengagement. When Scripture commands us to keep the Sabbath holy, it is not a call to emptiness. It is a call to seriousness—to weight and intention.

“Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy.” (Exodus 20:8)

Holiness does not remove purpose; it concentrates it. A day set apart does not lose meaning—it gains it. Rest is not the absence of action but the removal of self-interest from action.

Even Christ clarified that rest was never meant to be passive abandonment:

“The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath.” (Mark 2:27)

Consider silence. Silence is not the absence of sound—it is the space where meaning can be heard. Without silence, words lose their shape. Without rest, work loses its direction. Without restraint, freedom collapses into noise.

This is why Scripture ties peace not to freedom without limits, but to minds kept within order:

“You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you.” (Isaiah 26:3)

As this year begins, intention matters. Boundaries are not barriers; they are form. Within form, creation can occur. Within restraint, expression becomes meaningful. Within obedience, freedom finds its shape.

This is where freedom actually lives.
Not Your Year

December 31st, 2025
Stop Thinking You Matter

Individuals often place too much importance on who they are as opposed to what they are. A hard truth must be accepted: on a universal scale, identity does not matter. Legacy is not the suit that is worn—it is the gift given to the world.

When a child enters life, the significance of self diminishes—not as punishment or reward, but as a grounding in truth. Psalm 115:16 states, “The heavens are the Lord’s heavens, but the earth he has given to the children of man.” Life is a stewardship, not ownership.

Freedom is never absolute; it is always exercised within boundaries. If limitless choice were granted, the tendency would be toward inactivity. This is why disengagement, avoidance, or “retirement” goes against human design. Human beings are made to create, act, and move. Inaction is not peace—it is deterioration.

The Lie of a Bad Year

Life does not happen to anyone; it happens for everyone.

Human beings are creatures of habit. Patterns form, memories accumulate, and outcomes are expected to repeat. When they do not, the instinct is to assume something is wrong. Yet nothing is personal until it is made personal. Every challenge, every unexpected turn, every moment of seeming failure is moving the individual forward, even if it is not perceived.

Romans 8:28 affirms this: “And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.” Hardship is part of the design. It strips away ego, exposes limits, and compels reliance on something greater than self.

The apparent “bad year” is necessary. It positions for growth, not diminishment. It challenges reliance on self and invites reliance on divine order.

Freedom Within Boundaries

True freedom comes not from control—it comes from acceptance. Life is granted; it is not owned. The world cannot be forced to conform to desire, but perspective can change.
- Acceptance: Look forward, not backward. The past is fixed; perception is not.
- Action: Move constantly. Creation thrives within boundaries. Proverbs 16:9 reminds, “The heart of man plans his way, but the Lord establishes his steps.”
- Surrender: Let go of illusions of control. Boundaries enable rather than restrict. Within them, creativity, purpose, and true freedom flourish.
The year may not have unfolded as desired. Yet every moment, challenge, and trial has been for growth. Salvation and freedom are not earned—they are recognized. The story is larger than any page in the book of the present year. Follow the will of God, embrace limitations, and continue creating in ways that exceed imagination.
Concealed Perfection

December 29th, 2025

The greatest service we can provide to others who are in the middle of their journeys is not perfection, but honesty about our imperfections. We are called to be perfect in spirit—“Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect” (Matthew 5:48)—yet because we exist within earthly desire, we often fall short of that calling. When this gap is misunderstood, shame begins to take root in the soul, and what was meant to grow instead becomes restrained.

We should never seek to make mistakes, but we must accept that when we are not aligned with the path, stumbling is inevitable. “All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God” (Romans 3:23). When we surrender to this truth—not as an excuse, but as an acknowledgment—we open ourselves to redemption and become a light for others who are still finding their footing. Without this surrender, we begin to build an idol of the best version of ourselves, and over time we will do almost anything to protect that image.

This is another trap. An image maintained at all costs pulls us away from intentionality and keeps us locked in a constant inner conflict. Like an onion, this false identity develops layers—each one added to protect the last—but because it is unnatural, the layers contradict one another. What begins as spiritual strain eventually manifests mentally, and then physically. “A double-minded man is unstable in all his ways” (James 1:8). At some point, the burden becomes too heavy to carry. It is up to us to stop feeding this cycle if we want to live with purpose.

To be perfect, in a way, requires accepting imperfection. Healing cannot begin until something is acknowledged. Human reasoning tends to respond only to what is visible and tangible, yet many of the forces shaping our lives are unseen. Scripture reminds us that “we walk by faith, not by sight” (2 Corinthians 5:7). Whether one believes in God or not, it is undeniable that not everything real can be explained. This leaves us with a choice: faith or ignorance. No one is predestined toward either. We all arrive at this crossroads eventually.

When a misstep occurs, it must be accepted—not hidden. Covering a mess instead of cleaning it does not remove the stain; it only ensures that you alone will remember where it lies. “Whoever conceals his transgressions will not prosper, but he who confesses and forsakes them will obtain mercy” (Proverbs 28:13). Notice that mercy is tied not just to confession, but to forsaking—to turning away.

It is common to believe that freedom comes from confessing our mistakes to another person. Sometimes this is true—but not always. Confession is not forgiveness, and speaking something aloud does not automatically make it right. Forgiveness comes from God alone. “If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us” (1 John 1:9). Scripture is clear about where forgiveness originates.

Confessing to others can bring accountability or healing, but when done improperly it becomes another trap. “Confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, that you may be healed” (James 5:16). Healing—not absolution—is the fruit here. If confession is used to ease guilt without producing change, or to receive reassurance rather than correction, it fractures the soul instead of restoring it. In those moments, confession becomes performance.

There are even times when confession to another is unwise. Not everyone is meant to carry your truth. Discernment is required. Jesus Himself did not entrust every truth to every person. “He did not commit Himself to them, because He knew all men” (John 2:24). Silence, when guided by repentance and obedience, can be more faithful than careless exposure.

We all carry burdens. “Each one should carry their own load” (Galatians 6:5), yet we are also told to “carry each other’s burdens” (Galatians 6:2). These ideas are not opposed. A support circle exists to strengthen your spirit, not to remove your responsibility. When this is understood, we step away from enablement and begin walking toward true spiritual maturity.

We often do not want others to see our mistakes. Yet one of the most powerful things we can show is that there is order even in failure, and a way out even when we fall. “My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Corinthians 12:9). Do not be ashamed of missteps—move forward from them. Do not pretend they did not happen to preserve an image.

As this year comes to an end, do not dwell on what could have been. Choose today to move forward renewed. We will all make mistakes. When it happens, do not look back in condemnation—but do not ignore it either. We are forgiven for sins committed in ignorance, yet remaining ignorant once truth is revealed is not an option. “If we claim to be without sin, we deceive ourselves” (1 John 1:8). Knowledge will come. With it comes clarity.

You can choose the freedom that clarity brings, or you can attempt to hide from it. But if you choose to hide, know this—“there is nothing concealed that will not be disclosed” (Luke 12:2).
So the question remains: which will you choose today?
The Broken Key

December 26th, 2025

There was once a man locked inside a prison cell.
He had been there so long that he no longer remembered the reason he was imprisoned. Each day, he watched through the small window as people passed by, seemingly enjoying every moment of their lives. From where he sat, freedom looked effortless—something meant for others, never for him.

One night, he dreamed that he was a successful businessman. In the dream, he moved freely through the world, spreading good fortune to everyone he encountered. The dream filled him with a joy he had not felt in a very long time. He walked through this dream world fully alive, experiencing the pleasures of life as if they were always meant to be his.

As he continued forward, he came upon a familiar building.
It was a prison.

Drawn toward it, he looked inside the cell—and there he saw himself, sitting alone. In that moment, memory returned. He remembered the choices he had made, the wrongs he had committed, and the circumstances that had cost him his freedom. He remembered that he had placed himself in the prison as an act of atonement, believing punishment was the only way to make things right.

Then another truth surfaced—one far heavier than the first.

He had been there so long that he had completely forgotten about his family, who were waiting for him beyond the walls. And with that realization came the most painful truth of all: at any point, he could have left. The key to the cell had been around his neck the entire time.

But he also remembered something else.

Long ago, afraid of what freedom would require of him, he had bent the key. Not enough to destroy it—only enough so that it would no longer turn easily. He told himself it was broken. It was easier that way.

The weight of this understanding crushed him. Pain gave way to sorrow, and sorrow gave way to shame. He did not want to carry it. He did not want to face what he had done. So he focused all his strength on forgetting. He wanted the dream to end. He wanted to wake up.

And so he did.

He awoke back inside the prison cell—just a man sitting alone. Once again, he had no memory of how he got there, only the quiet belief that he deserved to be there. He sat in silence, watching the world pass by from behind the bars, unaware that the key still rested against his chest—waiting to be straightened.

The first step to greatness in our lives is choosing the path of righteousness.
Too often we convince ourselves that our missteps are simply part of who we are. As mentioned in previous posts, this way of thinking is not neutral—it is influenced by an unseen power that attempts to work through us rather than with us. Scripture reminds us that “we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities… against spiritual wickedness in high places” (Ephesians 6:12).

When we practice acceptance—not resignation, but surrender—we begin to uncover the gifts that were hidden beneath our resistance. Surrender does not mean handing control over to something else. It means releasing the chains that have held us for so long.
“Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom” (2 Corinthians 3:17).

It is in the enemy’s best interest to keep us distracted by looking outward for the cause of everything in our lives. We’ve been inside our prisons for so long that we observe freedom from behind bars and mistake that view for truth. From that position, we judge ourselves as incapable or unworthy of freedom—and then accept that image as who we are.

But the enemy does not want us to look from inside the prison.
Because if we did, we would see that the key we needed was with us all along.
“I have set before you life and death… therefore choose life” (Deuteronomy 30:19).

There is a widespread belief that following God’s will is about earning rewards for good behavior. While this sounds innocent, it subtly removes sincerity. Scripture tells us we are not workers earning wages—we are heirs.
“If children, then heirs—heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ” (Romans 8:17).

Seeing it this way dismantles ritualistic thinking. It reminds us that we were never lacking. The dreams placed inside us were not temptations; they were reminders. A glimpse of something already prepared for us.
“Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you” (Jeremiah 1:5).

In a strange way, our dream world feels truer than what we wake up to—not because the world itself is false, but because our perspective has been shaped by fear, limitation, and distortion. As Scripture says, “As a man thinks in his heart, so is he” (Proverbs 23:7).
Once that perspective shifts, surrender stops feeling like loss and begins to feel like alignment.

When we stop depending solely on our own abilities, we open ourselves to the inheritance God has already given. Even though we see ourselves as flawed, we were not designed to be defective. We were designed to be whole.
“God created mankind in His own image” (Genesis 1:27).

We do live in a finite world and we do have limitations—but those limitations are only final when we insist on operating outside His order. The only time we break logical structure is when we are acting within His will, not our own.
This was one of the clearest messages Christ gave us. Again and again He said He came not to do His own will, but the Father’s (John 5:30). Prophet, King, and Judge—yet perfectly submitted.

As we close this week, remember this:
We are called to think beyond the self while turning inward for truth. If we rely only on ourselves, we cannot find salvation. When we chase balance instead of truth, we wander into the wilderness.

And if we’re honest, some of us try to put the chains back on.

We convince ourselves we were more comfortable before awakening and attempt to return—but the chains no longer fit. Instead, we get stuck in between. No longer asleep, but not yet fully surrendered. This is where isolation creeps in. This is the trap.

The enemy wants us to believe we have no home.
But Scripture tells us otherwise: “I go to prepare a place for you” (John 14:2).

You cannot bring your old self into the promise. The inheritance was never meant for who you were in captivity. Once truth is revealed, accept the gifts that come with it.

So ask yourself honestly:
What dream have you been denying—not because it’s impossible, but because it requires you to let go of who you used to be?
The Lie of Balance

December 24th, 2025

Once freedom is obtained, it is common to believe that all things thereafter will be ideal. This, too, is a trap of the enemy. There are levels to salvation that most are unaware of, which is why Scripture warns so clearly about serving two masters. “No one can serve two masters… you cannot serve God and mammon” (Matthew 6:24). Though this warning is often framed in the language of jealousy, what it truly addresses is the falsehood hidden within the idea of balance.

Balance, conceptually, can only be applied to natural or worldly matters. There is no balance when it comes to the spiritual realm. Once this truth is accepted, the danger of allowing room for missteps becomes clearer. Missteps may be unavoidable because of free will, but this does not mean they are part of the Great One’s design. Free will allows us to choose our direction, but it also makes us vulnerable to distraction—especially when we fix our eyes too long on the things of this world.

There are, undeniably, bad actors that seek to pull us away from the place we are meant to be. This is difficult to address because evil rarely presents itself as evil. It often arrives as a good feeling, a moral compromise, or a reasonable exception. “Even Satan disguises himself as an angel of light” (2 Corinthians 11:14). Ignorance of sin is not what condemns us; rather, it becomes a gateway that slowly alters our perception of what is objectively good or evil. Over time, the distinction blurs, and we begin to wander into darker paths while convincing ourselves we are still walking rightly.

Balance, on the surface, sounds virtuous. But it does not apply to truth. We do need balance in the natural world—to care for our bodies, to rest, to steward our physical lives wisely. Yet morality does not operate this way. To walk in goodness requires the continual pursuit of good. There is no allotted space for evil. To sin is to stray from the path. And while grace makes it possible to reach the destination despite our wandering, it does not mean wandering was ever intended. “The way is narrow” (Matthew 7:14), not because God is restrictive, but because truth does not divide itself.

When we seek balance in this sense, we are often seeking justification—to remain who we were while expecting different outcomes. Universally, this is impossible. We cannot become something new while remaining the same. If the present version of ourselves were capable of producing the future we desire, we would already be living in it. This is why balance, when used to excuse misdirection, becomes one of the enemy’s most effective tools. It fragments us. We begin oscillating between identities until we lose sight of who we truly are. This is often the moment when salvation becomes necessary—not as rescue from the world, but as restoration of self.

When salvation first arrives, it is often accompanied by joy, clarity, even euphoria. Like the prodigal son, we are welcomed back with celebration (Luke 15). But soon after, the wilderness appears. Scripture shows this pattern repeatedly. After deliverance comes wandering. Not because God abandons us, but because choice remains. The wilderness is where faith is refined. If we remain faithful, order begins to reveal itself—not through passivity, but through obedience. “Trust in the Lord… and He will make your paths straight” (Proverbs 3:5–6).

This is not a call to inaction. It is an invitation to discern calling before movement. When we pursue what we are called to, rather than what merely feels good, things begin to align. This is the deeper level of salvation—where the pull of the enemy weakens, though it never fully disappears.

To those who are on the journey now: remain steadfast. Do not deceive yourselves into believing that allowing darkness is part of the way. Lot’s wife looked back and became frozen in place (Genesis 19:26). Turning toward former lives often leaves us stuck—emotionally, spiritually, even physically. This is the danger of replacing discipline with balance.

If you are still seeking the first step of salvation, continue to listen to what is stirring within you. Be patient. Darkness resists departure, and leaving it can be painful. But this pain becomes a form of discernment. Distractions pull; the path invites. If something removes your sense of choice entirely, it is not of God. “Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom” (2 Corinthians 3:17).

As we approach the new year, take time to examine the paths before you. Not all that feels good is good. Not all that is difficult is evil. Choose wisely. Choose fully. Choose today.

Stop Thinking You Matter

The Lie of a Bad Year

Freedom Within Boundaries