(An Easter Sermon based on John 20:1-18 shared at the First Baptist Church of Pensacola on April 5, 2015)
Early on that first Easter morning, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene made her way to the tomb. What she expected to find was death. What she discovered instead was life.
And everything changed.
That’s the power of what I want to call today “The Resurrection Factor.” It is the defining difference-maker of the Christian faith. It is not just something we believe happened—it is something that continues to happen in us and through us.
As Will Willimon once said, “We spend so much time trying to explain the resurrection, when in reality, the resurrection explains us.”
The Gospel of Johntells us it was still dark. That detail matters. Because resurrection often begins in the dark—when hope feels buried, when prayers seem unanswered, when life doesn’t make sense.
Mary came looking for a body, but she encountered a risen Savior.
And that is what the resurrection does—it interrupts our assumptions and replaces them with God’s reality.
What difference does Easter really make? Here are five ways the resurrection impacts us:
1. Forgiveness becomes our reality.
Jesus bore the weight of our sins and guilt on the cross.
“If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins…” (1 John 1:9)
Some of us are still carrying guilt like extra baggage—dragging it from one season of life to another. But the resurrection declares: you don’t have to carry that anymore.
As Max Lucado said, “God loves you just the way you are, but He refuses to leave you that way.”
The resurrection lifts the weight of guilt and replaces it with grace.
2. Hope becomes our perspective.
Let’s be honest—the resurrection doesn’t eliminate every problem. It doesn’t promise that life will always be easy. But it does change how we see everything.
As Victor Hugo wrote, “Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise.”
Because of Easter, we live with hope:
Hope for healing
Hope for restoration
Hope for second chances
Hope that God is still at work
We may not always feel optimistic—but we can always be hopeful.
3. Serving becomes our mission.
The resurrection is not just about life after death—it’s about life before death.
As N. T. Wright reminds us, God’s plan is not to snatch people out of earth, but to bring the life of heaven into it.
We are saved for something.
Resurrection people are called to:
Love boldly
Serve faithfully
Live purposefully
As Walter Brueggemann puts it, resurrection life is about aligning ourselves with God’s newness and purpose.
4. Heaven becomes our home.
Jesus said, “I go to prepare a place for you.”
The resurrection reminds us that death is not the end—it is a doorway.
It teaches us not only how to live, but how to face the end of life with faith instead of fear.
There is a quiet confidence that comes from Easter: A confidence that says, “This world is not all there is.”
Because of the resurrection, we can live under the governance of heaven here and now, and there and then.
5. Jesus becomes personal to us…not just me, but all of us.
Mary didn’t recognize Jesus at first. She thought He was the gardener.
But then He spoke her name: “Mary.”
And in that moment, everything changed.
The resurrection is not just theological—it is personal. Jesus still calls names. He still meets us in our grief. He still turns confusion into clarity.
The resurrection factor means this: the risen Christ knows you, sees you, and calls you by name.
Brennan Manning once said, “The most radical demand of Christian faith is to say yes to the present risenness of Jesus Christ.” I like that term “present risenness.” Not just in history—but in your life.
The resurrection transformed life on this planet more than any other event or experience in history.
It changes how we see our past (forgiven), our present (purposeful), and our future (secure).
So let me ask you: Why linger outside the tomb, looking for what used to be? What in this world could keep you from stepping into the resurrection life?
Because the stone has been rolled away. The tomb is empty. And Jesus is alive.
In his first epistle to the Corinthians (11:1), Paul urged the believers to, “Follow my example, as I follow the example of Christ
There is something transformative about walking where the apostle Paul once walked—standing in the shadows of ancient cities, tracing the roads of his missionary journeys, and imagining the courage it took to carry the gospel into unfamiliar and often hostile places.
All the members of our travel group arrived home safely yesterday after our 12-day tour following the footsteps of Paul.
From Thessaloniki to Philippi, from Berea to Athens—and even reflecting on the missed opportunity to visit Ephesus and Patmos—this journey has deepened our understanding of Paul’s life, ministry, and message.
Here are ten things we learned about Paul while following in his footsteps:
1. Paul went where the people were. In every city, Paul positioned himself where conversations were already happening—synagogues, marketplaces, and gathering places. In Areopagus (Mars Hill), he engaged philosophers in thoughtful dialogue (Acts 17).
Paul practiced the words of Jesus from Mark 16:15: “Go into all the world and preach the gospel to all creation.”
Paul reminds us that mission begins where people already are.
2. Paul adapted his approach without compromising his message. In Jewish settings, Paul reasoned from Scripture. In Athens, he quoted Greek poets and connected with their worldview.
As John Stott once said, “We must be global Christians with a global vision because our God is a global God.”
Paul met people where they were—but always pointed them to Christ.
3. Paul faced opposition almost everywhere he went. In Thessaloniki and Philippi, he encountered resistance, imprisonment, and persecution (Acts 16–17).
Perhaps it was because of experiences like this that Paul wrote to young Timothy, “Everyone who wants to live a godly life in Christ Jesus will be persecuted.” (II Timothy 3:12)
Faithfulness does not guarantee ease, but it does produce endurance.
4. Paul invested in people, not just places. In Berea, he encountered believers who eagerly studied the Scriptures (Acts 17:11). His ministry was never about checking locations off a map—it was about nurturing lives.
The historian Will Durant once observed, “A great civilization is not conquered from without until it has destroyed itself from within.” Paul knew that transformed people shape transformed communities.
5. Paul trusted God in uncertain circumstances. Whether traveling dangerous roads or enduring imprisonment, Paul moved forward in faith.
Paul believed that God’s presence and purpose were persistent. “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him.” (Romans 8:28)
Even when plans change—like our missed stops in Ephesus, Patmos, and Santorini—God’s purposes are still at work.
6. Paul proclaimed a bold and relevant gospel. Standing in a culture filled with idols, Paul did not dilute the truth. But neither did he aim to offend. He dialogued with others at their point of need and their level of understanding. At Mars Hill, he proclaimed the one true God (Acts 17:24).
As C.S. Lewis wrote, “Christianity, if false, is of no importance, and if true, of infinite importance.”
Paul preached a gospel that invited deeper thought and an informed response.
7. Paul saw every city as a mission field. From bustling ports to intellectual centers, Paul viewed each location as an opportunity. Athens, with all its philosophy and culture, was no exception.
David Livingstone later wrote, “Here is a plain truth: God calls us to go where He is not known.”
No place was too complex, too pagan, or too resistant.
8. Paul built bridges through common ground. In Athens, Paul referenced an altar to an unknown god and used it as a starting point (Acts 17:23).
This approach reminds us that connection often precedes conversion.
9. Paul left a lasting legacy through his letters. Though we could not walk the streets of Ephesus, Paul’s letter to the Ephesians continues to shape the church today. Whether writing from his sojourn or a prison cell, Paul’s correspondence was practical, contextual, and encouraging.
Although Paul did not know his correspondence would end up in the New Testament, Paul believed, “All Scripture is God-breathed and is useful for teaching…” (II Timothy 3:16)
Paul’s influence extends far beyond geography.
10. Paul’s life pointed others to Christ, not to himself. Ultimately, Paul’s journey was never about Paul. It was about Jesus.
His daring perspective is summarized in his words, “For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain.” (Philippians 1:21)
As Augustine of Hippo once said, “You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our hearts are restless until they rest in you.”
Although we had a few delays and cancellations during our coming and going, this journey was more than a tour—it has been a pilgrimage.
We have stood in ancient cities, traced sacred stories, and reflected on a man whose life was wholly surrendered to God’s mission. Even in the places we could not visit, like Ephesus, the impact of Paul’s ministry remains undeniable.
And perhaps that is the greatest lesson of all: Faithfulness is not measured by where you go, but by how fully you follow.
As we return home, may we carry Paul’s example with us as we aim to live boldly, love deeply, and encourage generously.
Although our journey has ended, our mission continues.
If you have ever experienced doubts or been skeptical about matters of faith and religion, you are not alone. Frederick Buechner said, “Doubts are the ants in the pants of faith. They keep it awake and moving.”
In some religious circles, however, faith and doubt are often treated as opposites, as though one cancels out the other. In such settings, doubt is viewed with suspicion, as though it is sinful, something to be hidden, hurried past, or quietly resolved before it becomes disruptive. Yet the Christian story tells a different truth. Faith is not fragile. It is resilient, examined, and durable. It can withstand questions, doubts, and honest inquiry.
One of the most ancient and instructive examples of this kind of faith is found in John 20:24-29 in the confession of Thomas. Often labeled “Doubting Thomas,” he may be better understood as “Truth-Seeking Thomas.” When the other disciples announce that they have seen the risen Christ, Thomas responds with remarkable honesty: unless he can see and touch the wounds himself, he cannot believe. Rather than rebuking him, Jesus invites Thomas to examine the evidence. The result is one of the strongest confessions of faith in all of Scripture: “My Lord and my God.”
Thomas reminds us that faith does not always arrive fully formed. For many, belief is born through the labor pains of honest inquiry. And, somewhat ironically, once faith takes root, it often generates more curiosity, not less. Authentic faith refuses to settle for slogan-like answers to deep and uncomfortable questions.
In the twentieth century, physicist and theologian Ian Barbour challenged the popular notion that science and faith must exist in conflict. Barbour insisted that his Christian faith made him a better scientist, not a lesser one—more curious, more rigorous, and more attentive to mystery. His work opened space for thoughtful dialogue rather than shallow debate. Like Thomas, Barbour understood that truth does not fear examination.
Consider how we make important decisions today—medical diagnoses, financial investments, or even choosing a school for our children. We do our due diligence. We ask questions. We examine evidence. We seek trusted sources. Rarely do we accept life-altering claims without investigation. Yet when it comes to matters of faith, some are told to suspend curiosity and simply “believe.” Thomas pushes back against that false choice. He models a faith that engages both heart and mind.
The New Testament consistently affirms this kind of integrated faith. Hebrews describes faith as “the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” Substance and evidence belong together. The gospel should never be proclaimed through emotional manipulation or social intimidation, but with truthfulness and grace, trusting the Spirit to do the deeper work of conversion.
Buechner captures this balance well when he suggests, “Faith is not being sure where you’re going, but going anyway.” Thomas did not begin with certainty; he began with courage, the courage to ask, to seek, and to stay in community even when belief felt incomplete.
Importantly, the story does not end in the locked room. Early Christian tradition holds that Thomas carried the gospel far beyond the boundaries of the Roman Empire, eventually reaching India. According to ancient sources, communities of believers there trace their origins to his witness. The disciple who once demanded evidence became a missionary whose faith changed lives across continents. Doubt did not disqualify him; it refined him.
Faith stories are life stories. The chapters already written matter, but the chapters still unfolding may prove the most significant. Like Thomas, we are invited not to silence our questions, but to bring them into the presence of Christ. There, doubt can become confession, and inquiry can give way to trust.
Navigating faith and doubts is a challenge in every generation. Yet Jesus still meets seekers where they are, with all their doubts, wounds, and questions.
If you have trouble believing in God, maybe it’s not God you have trouble believing, but the various misrepresentations of God. If you have problems believing in Jesus, perhaps it’s not Jesus you have a problem with, but the many counterfeit faces of Jesus that appear in the church and in the world. Examine the biblical account. Consider the life and teachings of Jesus. Probe the evidence, and you may just discover what you are seeking.
(This column is based on a sermon titled “The Thomas Confession” that I shared at the First Baptist Church of Pensacola on January 5, 2014.)
In the Christian tradition, the 12 days of Christmas are about much more than “a partridge in a pear tree.”
For many people, Christmas feels like a single day, or at most, a short season that ends as soon as the decorations come down and your playlist reverts back to your favorite non-holiday tunes.
Yet, in the Christian calendar, Christmas is not a moment to rush through, but a season in which we are invited to linger. That season is known as the Twelve Days of Christmas, or Christmastide, stretching from Christmas Day (December 25) to Epiphany (January 6).
Rather than counting down to Christmas, the Church has long counted from it, by designating twelve days set aside to savor the mystery that “the Word became flesh and dwelt among us” (John 1:14).
The practice of observing the Twelve Days of Christmas dates back to the early centuries of the Church. By the fourth century, Christmas and Epiphany were firmly established as interconnected feasts celebrating the incarnation of Christ and the revelation of that incarnation to the world. While Epiphany would later emphasize the visit of the Magi, Christmastide underscored the themes of birth, light, revelation, and joy.
In medieval Europe, these twelve days were marked by worship, feasting, storytelling, music, and rest. Work slowed. Communities gathered. The world itself seemed to pause long enough for people to absorb the wonder of Christmas. The Twelfth Night was often celebrated with special services, candles, and communal meals, signaling both joy and transition.
In the Christmas décor displayed in our home, we have a collection of quaint English villages. These not on remind us of the scenes in Dickens’ Christmas Carol; they also hark back to the Middle Ages when homes in English Villages kept Yule logs burning throughout the twelve days, symbolizing the enduring light of Christ in the darkest season of the year.
Christmastide invites us to live into the truth announced on Christmas Eve: “Unto us a child is born” (Isaiah 9:6). The season is not about adding more festivities but about allowing the significance of Christ’s birth to settle into our hearts.
The Twelve Days remind us that joy deepens when it is not rushed. Christmas is not meant to be consumed in a day but contemplated over time.
The familiar carol “The Twelve Days of Christmas” has often been misunderstood as a playful take on holiday gifts. While symbolic interpretations of the gifts mentioned in the carol are often debated, the song itself reflects the spirit of Christmastide. It echoes a season where joy accumulates progressively.
As theologian Frederick Buechner once wrote, “Joy is what happens to us when we allow ourselves to recognize how good things really are.” Christmastide creates space for that recognition.
The Twelve Days of Christmas culminate in Epiphany, the celebration of the Magi’s visit to the Christ child. This moment widens the lens of Christmas, reminding us that the child born in Bethlehem is not only for a small family or a single nation, but for the whole world.
Matthew 2:11 tells us, “They saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage.” The journey of the Magi signals that Christmas leads us outward from adoration to action, from wonder to witness.
Historically, Epiphany was one of the most important feast days of the year, especially in Eastern Christianity, emphasizing revelation and light. In many cultures, gifts were exchanged on January 6 rather than December 25, underscoring that the Christmas story unfolds over time.
In a culture that urges us to move on, Christmastide invites us to stay. To keep the tree lit a little longer. To sing carols past December 25. To practice gratitude after the gifts are opened. To let peace settle in once the rush subsides.
As Howard Thurman wisely observed, “When the song of the angels is stilled… the work of Christmas begins.”
The Twelve Days of Christmas remind us that Christmas is not an ending but a beginning. Christmastide invites us to experience the joy and explore the wonder that “the Word became flesh and moved into the neighborhood” (John 1:14 The Message).
Every year as Advent approaches, our home fills with familiar scenes of the manger. Some families collect ornaments; others add to their array of wreaths or village houses. For us, the season is marked by the careful unpacking of a growing collection of nativities, each one crafted in a different style, shaped by a different culture, and offering its own unique lens on the birth of Christ.
Our newest addition arrived with a story all its own: a nativity made of camel bone, brought back from Egypt when my wife visited friends there last year. Delicately carved, smooth to the touch, and striking in its simplicity, it immediately captured our imagination, not only for its beauty, but for the tradition it represents.
For centuries, artisans in Egypt and throughout the Middle East have worked with camel bone, a durable byproduct of animals that have been long essential to desert life. Camel bone carving developed out of necessity and respect, using every part of the animal rather than wasting it. Over time, the craft became a form of folk art, passed down through generations, often depicting religious scenes, daily life, and symbols of faith. In Christian communities across the region, camel bone became a meaningful medium for carving crosses, rosaries, and nativity scenes—quiet testimonies of faith formed from the resources of the land.
That connection feels especially fitting. Camels themselves appear throughout the biblical narrative, symbols of endurance, provision, and long journeys across difficult terrain. A nativity carved from camel bone feels rooted in the geography and texture of the biblical world, echoing the landscape in which the Christmas story first unfolded.
Our growing collection tells its own global story. We have a wooden nativity carved by a Jewish cabinet maker in Birmingham, an echo of Joseph’s trade. The figures are sturdy, as if shaped by hands that know the weight of purpose.
There is a blown glass nativity, fragile and luminous, capturing the wonder of the night when heaven bent low to earth.
We treasure a ceramic nativity created by my wife’s mother, its colors warm and familiar, infused with the love and legacy of family.
And on our tree hangs a pewter ornament depicting the nativity scene—small, durable, and timeless.
Now, standing quietly on our bookshelf, the camel bone nativity from Egypt adds yet another voice to this beautiful chorus. Each piece comes from a different place and perspective, yet they all tell the same story: God choosing to enter our world in the most unexpected and humble way.
As they gather together, these nativities preach a quiet sermon. They remind us that the Christmas story is not confined to a single style, language, or land. It has traveled across borders and generations, finding expression in wood, glass, ceramic, metal—and now, camel bone.
This diverse collection testifies to the global reach of the gospel and the countless cultures shaped by the message of Emmanuel, “God with us.” It also invites us to see the manger with fresh eyes—eyes that recognize that the good news of great joy truly is for all people.
In a season when the world can feel divided, our nativities stand together as a small but powerful reminder: the Child born in Bethlehem still draws the nations to the greatest story ever told—one story, one culture, one family tradition at a time.
(This past Sunday, I was privileged to share the homecoming sermon at the First Baptist Church of Williams on the occasion of their 175th anniversary, a church I was blessed to serve from 1987-1995, and a church that is like family to us. Today’s column is the message I shared.)
Good morning, friends! What a blessing and an honor it is to be here with you as we celebrate the 175th anniversary of First Baptist Church, Williams.
Think about that for a moment — 175 years! Generations have been baptized here, taught here, married here, and sent out from here. Families have rejoiced together, grieved together, prayed together, and walked with Christ together in this place.
Today we stand on holy ground — not because of bricks or mortar, but because of the faith that has grounded us here for nearly two centuries. Yet, this anniversary is not simply a moment for nostalgia. It’s a moment to remember why this church exists and to recommit ourselves to the mission of God’s church for the future.
On this occasion, and in the days ahead, I encourage you to treasure the past, embrace the present, and prepare for the future.
Let us begin with the scripture reading from Matthew 16:13-18:
13 When Jesus came to the region of Caesarea Philippi, he asked his disciples, “Who do people say the Son of Man is?” 14 They replied, “Some say John the Baptist; others say Elijah; and still others, Jeremiah or one of the prophets.” 15 “But what about you?” he asked. “Who do you say I am?” 16 Simon Peter answered, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” 17 Jesus replied, “Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah, for this was not revealed to you by flesh and blood, but by my Father in heaven. 18 And I tell you that you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not overcome it.”
In this exchange between Jesus and his disciples, Jesus not only promises to build his church on a solid foundation, but he goes further and declares that the Gates of Hades will not prevail against his church.
Let me share a little background on that last phrase: In the first century, Caesarea Philippi, where Jesus spoke these words, was known for its pagan temples and shrines, including a notable cave dedicated to the false god Pan. Ancient sources referred to the cave’s chasm as the “Gates of Hades,” symbolizing a doorway to the netherworld. For Jesus’ disciples, his declaration carried distinct imagery that conveyed the message that even in the face of what many viewed as a literal entrance to the underworld, God’s kingdom would stand strong.
For us today, it means that realities such as principalities and powers, evil motives, conspiracy theories, and deceitful or manipulative political systems are no match for the Church as long as the Church stays focused on Jesus and does not co-opt with them.
By the way, you may have heard that since we retired across the mountain in Hokes Bluff, Mike Duncan, Bruce Boozer, Alan Boozer, and I play golf together at the Twin Bridges Golf Course in Gadsden. What a great group of guys!
At Twin Bridges, there is a senior golf group notoriously known as the “Saints and Sinners.” The group is so well known that when Mike went for his doctor’s visit in Birmingham, his doctor asked him where he plays golf in Gadsden. When Mike told him he plays at Twin Bridges, the doctor asked, “Are you a part of the Saints and Sinners?”
A few weeks later, one of the Saints and Sinners invited us to join their group. We were honored to be asked, but we politely declined. Afterward, as we were preparing to tee off, I asked Mike, “If we had joined the group, which would you be… a saint or a sinner?” I’ve known Mike for over 50 years, and that’s the first time I’ve ever seen him speechless. Just kidding! As the conversation continued, we discussed how there is a little bit of saint and sinner in all of us.
Retired pastor and social worker, Bob Lockhart, was a member at the First Baptist Church of Corbin where I served following my tenure here. Bob was sort of the Will Campbell of Kentucky. Will Campbell, who wrote Brother to a Dragonfly was a minister, civil rights activist, and outspoken advocate for the “least of these.”
During one of Bob’s sermons at First Baptist Church of Corbin, Kentucky, where I served after my tenure at Williams, as he was talking about Paul’s description of the “spiritual man” versus “the carnal man,” Bob offered this poignant illustration: I think that inside of me there are at least 10 voices that are voting members on everything I do. I became a Christian when at least 6 of those voting members formed a majority, leading me to commit my life to Jesus. But I’ve never known a person whose inner constituents voted unanimously to follow Jesus at the same time. In the beginning, it’s almost always a simple majority. However, after our baptism, we spend the remainder of our days convincing the other internal voices and motives to align with Jesus. And we backslide and get in trouble when the prodigal voices within compel one or more of the committed voices to vote with them, which is why even Christians are capable of choosing the wrong path again.
I’ve never forgotten that illustration. If Bob is right, then discipleship is all about getting inner voices and motives in line and in tune with what Jesus teaches. And the work of the church is about inviting people to follow Jesus, and loving them through all the seasons of life as they continue to be transformed into the Jesus way of life..
As we think about the work of First Baptist Church of Williams, let us treasure the memories of the past.
For me and Amanda, some of our best memories are from this church and this community. When I think about the Williams community, I can’t help but smile at the memories that have shaped me, encouraged me, and that continue to inspire me.
I remember Aunt Johnnie’s homemade rolls and her communion bread made from homemade pie crust.
I remember early morning coffee at E.L.’s store with a few grounds still in the bottom of every cup.
I remember Candlelight Christmas Eve services where you could almost hear the baby cry and the angels sing.
I remember a familiar rugged two-tone 1972 Dodge Ram driven by Ralph Green.
I remember Reuben Boozer’s articulate and heartfelt prayers.
I remember Phoebe Birkhimer’s handwritten notes of encouragement, and her sending me a thank-you note for sending her a thank-you note.
I remember outdoor baptisms at Hammonds Farm.
I remember youth mission trips to New Orleans and youth retreats to Gatlinburg.
I remember the Williams Travel Group going to Niagara Falls and the Grand Canyon.
I remember Harold Wallace tickling the keys of the piano with an old gospel classic.
I remember Bob McLeod strumming his guitar as he shared one of his homespun tunes about Green’s Store, missing dentures, or a simple man called Jesus.
I remember Pascal Hamby and Lamar Denkins verbally sparring as they walked around the new track.
I remember the trucks and buses that pulled up to the church cemetery to film an episode of the TV show “Unsolved Mysteries.”
I remember Hubert and Herman telling me for the umpteenth time how they installed these durable ceiling tiles here in the sanctuary.
I remember convincing George McKerley to fill in for us on the organ for a couple of Sundays, and he never departed until his health prohibited him from continuing.
I remember Roy Barker, who Pat still says was the best bass singer to come from the Barker family, defeating almost all the youth and college students in ping pong.
I remember Dean Norton teaching a well-prepared and grammatically correct Sunday School lesson to her professional women’s class.
I remember Ralph Langley’s passionate and personal revival sermons.
I remember Perry Green taking my rough drawings of the proposed new fellowship hall and educational wing, and enlisting one of his students to make a complete architectural design on Auto-Cad.
And I remember Butch Welch, John English, Kevon Green, Ty Green, and so many of you working day in and day out to make that dream a reality.
And the list goes on.
Each memory tells a story — of faith, friendship, laughter, and love. This church has been a place where saints and sinners have gathered side-by-side, learning to follow Jesus and practice his teachings.
We give thanks for those who have gone before us — the faithful men and women who built this church, taught its children, prayed through its challenges, and dreamed of its future. Their faithfulness is the foundation on which we now stand.
As Hebrews 12 reminds us, “Since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us run with perseverance the race set before us.”
On this momentous anniversary, let us embrace the challenges and opportunities of the present. A church is not just an institution but a community of people sharing life as they better learn to follow Jesus. Jesus didn’t say, “Come, join an organization.” He said, “Follow me.”
The Book of Acts gives us a model of this in the early church: “They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching, to fellowship, to the breaking of bread, and to prayer.” They weren’t perfect, but they were learning together what it meant to love God and neighbor.
That’s what this congregation has been for 175 years — a group of disciples who are learning, growing, stumbling, forgiving, and pressing on together. Jesus teaches us to love the Lord with all of our heart, soul, mind, and strength. Here at Williams, we have been taught through the years that intellectual integrity, emotional maturity, physical energy, and biblical fidelity are co-laborers and not adversaries in building God’s kingdom.
Bishop Michael Curry, author of Crazy Christians: A Call to Follow Jesus, wrote, “Let us build a house where love can dwell and all can safely live… built of hopes and dreams and visions, rock of faith and vault of grace. Here the love of Christ shall end divisions: all are welcome, all are welcome, all are welcome in this place.”
Our community needs a church that loves deeply, welcomes broadly, and stands firmly on the teachings of Christ. Our nation needs a church that embodies the grace, truth, and love of Jesus. And our world needs a church that is authentic, compassionate, and proactive.
As we look ahead, let us prepare for a future where God is doing a new thing. Our God does not tend to give repeat performances. Isaiah 43 says, “See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?”
I don’t know what the future of the church looks like — but I know it doesn’t look exactly like the past. God is always doing something new. Our loyalty is not to structures or systems, but to the living Lord.
My friend Reggie McNeal, author of Missional Renaissance, persuasively contends, “The Spirit of God is at work doing a new thing in the world, and it’s the job of the church to get on the same page with the Spirit — not the job of the Spirit to get on the same page with the church.”
For 175 years, this church has been the hands and feet of Jesus in this community. As St. Teresa of Ávila observed, “Christ has no body now but yours, no hands, no feet on earth but yours.”
That means the mission continues — but with new tools, new creativity, and new courage.
Here is the good news: God has sent you a minister with a pastor’s heart and a scholar’s mind named Ryan Linkous, who is just the right person for a time such as this.
Ryan, I want you to know that all of us who have served this community (Floyd, Tad, Lamar, me, Mike, and Chris) have all planted and cultivated this pastoral soil to the best of our ability. Now you have inherited the same fertile soil we have tilled. You not only have our support. You have our respect, our admiration, and our prayers. May you and this congregation continue to enjoy a fruitful partnership. You are already nurturing a healthier family of faith in this great community.
I am passionate about helping churches become healthier. A healthy church in the next century will reflect traits like these:
A healthy church embraces and utilizes the full giftedness of both men and women.
A healthy church leverages diversity as a kingdom asset.
A healthy church teaches all ages to love God with heart, mind, and strength.
A healthy church prays, “Not my will, but yours be done.”
A healthy church employs multiple ways to invite people to follow Jesus, and then teaches them how by example.
A healthy church is faithful to the gospel message while being flexible in method.
And yes — a healthy church treasures the past, embraces the present, and prepares for the future.
God is not nearly finished with this church yet. Your reach goes wider and farther than you’ve ever imagined.
Here is just one example: Many of you remember Mike and K.T. Jack. They moved here in the early 1990s and lived on New Liberty Road. K.T. was a drill sergeant at Fort McClellan, and Mike was a contractor. They had one daughter when they arrived here and soon had another on the way. They joined First Baptist Williams soon after moving, and K.T. was baptized at Hammonds Farm. K.T. ran on the track here at the church regularly. In fact, she was seen running just a few days before the birth of their second daughter, and back on the track just a few days after. She was tough. None of us were surprised when she was selected to be the first woman to lead the 4th Regiment of Cadets at West Point.
Near the end of her first year, tragedy struck. Mike called me early on the Saturday after Labor Day in 1996 to report that K.T. had been involved in a motorcycle accident on the base, and she was killed instantly. We were in shock. Later that morning. Chaplain Sonny Moore from West Point called to ask me if I could speak at K.T.’s memorial service in the Chapel at West Point. He further explained that 3 cadets had died earlier in the year, and the West Point community was experiencing compounded grief. Then he added that most of K.T.’s friends and those in her office had seen the photo of me baptizing K.T., a photo which hung proudly above her desk. It was a story she told frequently and a story about First Baptist Williams that I shared at her service.
And there are more stories of grace, influence, and witness to come as we move forward into the future. But we must move forward.
Back in the 1980s and 90s, Ralph Green served as church custodian. Ralph was loyal, good-hearted, and always on time. One morning, as I arrived and was parking, I noticed Ralph pulling up to the stop sign at the store — backward. He came through the intersection and pulled into the church parking lot going in a forward position with the tailgate first, and he had done so all the way from home. When I said, “What’s going on with the truck, Ralph?” he explained that his transmission had locked up, and reverse was the only gear that worked! Then he added, “And I wasn’t about to miss work.”
To this day, Ralph is the only man I’ve ever seen move forward by going backward. But in over thirty years of ministry, I’ve seen a lot of churches try to do the same thing — trying to move forward while looking backward. It just doesn’t work. And when we try, it ends in calamity.
As a church, your transmission still works, and you have multiple gears, so press on toward the high calling of God in Christ Jesus.
So, as we celebrate this 175th anniversary, the call is clear: Let the church be the church.
When storms arise and fears dismay — let the church be the church. When the fields are white unto harvest and the laborers are few — let the church be the church. When politics divides, and friends deride — let the church be the church. When others ridicule you and say unkind things about you — let the church be the church. When tragedy strikes or death invades — let the church be the church. When life throws you a curveball and the unexpected happens — let the church be the church. When times are tough, let the church be tougher — let the church be the church.
The church is not a building, or a program, or an institution. Always remember, the church is the resilient, determined, courageous people of God, redeemed by Christ, empowered by the Spirit, and sent into the world to share the light and love of the Creator of the universe.
This is my word of blessing for you: “As you move forward in faith, may your resolve be clear and your mission sure: Let the church be the church — for the glory of God, for the good of this community, and for the hope of the world. Amen!
Baseball legend Yogi Berra once said, “Baseball is ninety percent mental and the other half is physical.” His humorous math aside, Yogi was right about one thing—life, like baseball, tests not just your skill but your mindset.
If you’ve ever stood at the plate waiting for a pitch that suddenly veered in a direction you didn’t expect, you know what it’s like to face a curveball. There are fastballs, knuckleballs, curveballs, and sliders. However, a curveball is challenging because it looks like it’s going one way at first, then it breaks, leaving you off balance, uncertain, and struggling to adjust.
Life does that too. One day everything feels steady; the next, something changes—a diagnosis, a loss, a financial setback, or a relationship that takes a painful turn. The pitch looked straight, but it curved.
Psalm 46:1 teachers, “God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.”
Romans 8:37 also reminds us, “In all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us.”
So, what do you do when life throws you a curveball? Here are five timeless lessons that can help you stay grounded and faithful when the unexpected comes your way.
Be still! Take time to get your bearings.
When life takes a sudden turn, our instinct is to panic or overreact. But the psalmist offers better advice: “Be still, and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10).
Stillness doesn’t mean inaction—it means spiritual calm. It’s the posture of trust that says, “God, even when I don’t understand what’s happening, I trust that You are still in control.”
During World War II, British citizens gathered daily in bomb shelters while air raids shook the city. On one of those shelters, someone scribbled a simple phrase: “I believe in the sun even when it isn’t shining. I believe in love even when I don’t feel it. I believe in God even when He is silent.”
That kind of faith is forged in stillness, not in noise.
When life throws you a curve, take a breath. Be still. Listen for God’s whisper. God may not change the situation immediately, but God can shape your mindset and guide your steps as you deal with it.
Be attentive! Adversity can be a wise teacher.
Curves aren’t just interruptions; they can also be instructions.
In baseball, a good hitter studies the pitcher’s habits—his arm angle, his release, his spin—learning how to anticipate the break. Likewise, wise people learn from life’s challenges rather than running from them.
When Thomas Edison was asked how he felt about failing thousands of times while inventing the lightbulb, he replied, “I have not failed. I’ve just found 10,000 ways that won’t work.”
Adversity has a way of teaching us what comfort cannot. It humbles us, sharpens us, and clarifies what truly matters. There is an old African proverb that says, “Smooth seas do not make skillful sailors.”
When facing one of life’s curveballs, ask, “What can I learn from this?” That question doesn’t erase the pain, but it transforms the experience.
Be flexible! God doesn’t work according to our timetable or expectations.
When the curve breaks differently than you expected, rigidity doesn’t help—you have to adjust.
Flexibility in life is a form of faith. It means trusting that even when plans change, God can still accomplish God’s purpose. Romans 8:28 reminds us, “In all things God works for the good of those who love Him.”
When the Apollo 13 mission was launched in 1970, no one expected it to become a near-tragedy. An onboard explosion crippled the spacecraft, forcing NASA engineers to improvise new life-support systems on the fly. Against all odds, the crew returned safely to Earth.
Their mission patch later bore the Latin words Ex Luna, Scientia—“From the Moon, Knowledge.” What could have been a disaster became one of NASA’s finest hours.
God can work that way, too. What begins as disappointment can become discovery. What feels like chaos can become creativity.
There’s a folk beatitude that says, “Blessed are the flexible, for they shall not be bent out of shape.”
Be thankful! Grit, grace, and gratitude equip us to deal with life’s challenges.
Gratitude doesn’t change your circumstances, but it changes how you see them.
Even in the darkest seasons, choosing to be thankful keeps you anchored in God’s goodness. It reminds you that the story isn’t over yet.
After losing both her husband and her sight in a tragic accident, Fanny Crosby could have given up. Instead, she wrote over 8,000 hymns, including “Blessed Assurance” and “To God Be the Glory.” When asked how she could write about joy while living in darkness, she replied, “The first face I’ll ever see will be the face of Jesus.”
That’s gratitude rooted in faith, not circumstance.
When life throws you a curve, thank God for guidance, comfort, courage, and for the people who stand beside you.
Be hopeful! This season will not last forever.
The best hitters don’t walk away after missing a curveball—they step back up to the plate.
In the same way, hope keeps us stepping forward, believing that God calls us to be overcomers even when we face what looks like defeat.
When Abraham Lincoln lost election after election before finally becoming President, a friend once told him, “You’ve failed at everything you’ve tried.” Lincoln replied, “My concern is not whether God is on our side; my greatest concern is to be on God’s side.”
Hope doesn’t deny pain; it declares that pain doesn’t have the final word. The cross was not the end of the Jesus story—resurrection was.
Whatever curve life throws your way, keep your eyes on the One who never misses a pitch.
Curveballs come to everyone—no one gets through life without a few surprises. But as people of faith, we face them with confidence that God is still at work, even when the path bends in unexpected directions.
So when the next curve comes, and it will, remember: the God who guided you through yesterday’s storms will still be with you in tomorrow’s surprises.
When life throws you a curve, step up to the plate and give it your best swing.
(from the sermon “When Life Throws You a Curveball” preached at FBC Pensacola in 2010.)
The mornings are a bit cooler, the days are a little shorter, and the leaves are undergoing a slight change of color. All these indicate we are experiencing a change of seasons.
Arthur Rubenstein observed, “The seasons are what a symphony ought to be: four perfect movements in harmony with each other.”
The writer of Ecclesiastes reminds us that life moves in rhythms and cycles, much like the seasons of the year. “For everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven.” (3:1) There are times of planting and times of harvest, seasons of joy and seasons of grief, moments of building and moments of letting go.
The wisdom of this ancient passage isn’t just poetic; it’s profoundly practical. It reminds us that life is not static. Just when we think we’ve figured out the season we’re in, life shifts again. As the philosopher Heraclitus once said, “The only constant in life is change.”
Learning to navigate these changes with faith and perspective may be one of the most important spiritual disciplines of all.
1. Life has many seasons—and each one has value.
Just as winter, spring, summer, and fall each have their beauty, so do the seasons of life. The joys of youth, the responsibilities of adulthood, and the wisdom of later years all carry purpose.
In the early 20th century, author L.M. Montgomery wrote in Anne of Green Gables,“I’m so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers.” She wasn’t just talking about weather—she was celebrating change itself.
Each season of life, whether vibrant or quiet, gives us new ways to experience grace and growth.
2. Change is inevitable—growth is optional.
We can’t control when the seasons of life change, but we can control how we respond. Some resist every shift; others adapt and grow stronger through it.
When the Boll Weevil infestation devastated cotton crops in Alabama in the early 1900s, farmers could have given up. Instead, they adapted—planting peanuts and diversifying their farms. The town of Enterprise, Alabama even erected a monument to the boll weevil, calling it “the herald of prosperity.”
Change is often uncomfortable, but when we face it with courage and creativity, it becomes the soil for new growth. William Arthur Ward surmised, “The pessimist complains about the wind; the optimist expects it to change; the realist adjusts the sails.”
3. There’s a time to hold on and a time to let go.
Ecclesiastes 3:6 says there is “a time to keep and a time to throw away.” That may be one of life’s most challenging lessons.
Sometimes faith calls us to persevere. Other times, wisdom calls us to release. Letting go of resentment, of unrealistic expectations, of past hurts all create space for new beginnings.
Insightful counselors call this “decluttering the soul.” When we release what weighs us down, we find new freedom to move forward.
4. Every season has the potential to be a blessing or a burden, and sometimes both.
Even the most joyful seasons carry challenges, and even the most painful seasons can reveal hidden blessings.
When Helen Keller lost her sight and hearing at a young age, she faced unimaginable obstacles. Yet through her teacher Anne Sullivan’s perseverance, she learned to communicate and became a global voice for hope. Keller later reflected, “Although the world is full of suffering, it is also full of the overcoming of it.”
Our seasons of struggle can shape us in ways comfort never could.
5. We are not defined by the season we are currently experiencing.
If you’re in a season of loss, don’t assume it will last forever. If you’re in a season of blessing, don’t take it for granted. Seasons pass, but identity rooted in God’s love endures.
The prophet Isaiah spoke of this divine constancy: “The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God will stand forever.” (Isaiah 40:8)
Whatever your current chapter, remember that your circumstances do not define your worth. Your worth is instilled in you by your Creator.
6. God Is present with us always and helps us navigated every season.
The writer of Ecclesiastes does not suggest that God only works in the pleasant seasons. God is present in the times of mourning and in the times of dancing, in the tearing down and in the building up.
Corrie ten Boom, who survived the horrors of a Nazi concentration camp, once said, “There is no pit so deep that God’s love is not deeper still.” Even in seasons of suffering, the presence of God remains our steadying force.
Bengali poet Rabindranath Tagore reminds us, “Faith is the bird that feels the light when the dawn is still dark.”
7. Seasons of waiting are not wasted time.
Waiting seasons can feel like winter—quiet, still, and unproductive. But just as winter prepares the soil for spring, God often uses our waiting to strengthen us for what’s next.
When Nelson Mandela was imprisoned for 27 years, he could have let bitterness consume him. Instead, he used that season of confinement to cultivate wisdom and patience. When he emerged, he led South Africa toward reconciliation rather than revenge.
Seasons of waiting may slow us down, but they also deepen our character.
8. The season you are in will not last forever.
Every chapter has its closing paragraph. If you’re in a difficult season, take heart—it won’t last forever.
Maya Angelou penned, “Every storm runs out of rain.” And when the storm does pass, you’ll often find that your roots grew deeper while the rain fell.
Likewise, when you’re in a joyful season, savor it. Celebrate it. Write it down. Because the seasons are continually changing.
9. Gratitude Is the key to navigating every season.
Gratitude is what turns survival into peace. Whether life feels easy or hard, gratitude grounds us in God’s goodness.
Psychologists have shown that people who practice daily gratitude experience greater joy and lower stress. Long before modern studies proved it, scripture taught us to “Give thanks in all circumstances.” (1 Thessalonians 5:18)
10. Embrace the journey, not just the destination.
In every stage of life, God is shaping us through beginnings and endings, sunshine and rain.
When C.S. Lewis lost his wife, Joy, he wrote, “The pain I feel now is the happiness I had before. That’s the deal.” He had learned that love and loss are part of the same sacred story.
So be careful not to rush through the seasons. Don’t resent the winters or idolize the summers. Embrace the full journey, trusting that God is at work in every one of them.
Life, like nature, moves through cycles—birth and death, gain and loss, laughter and tears. You may not choose the season you’re in, but you can choose how to live in it.
As you navigate your current chapter, remember the message behind the poetry of Ecclesiastes: Every season can clarify meaning, cultivate faith, and convey beauty—if we’ll slow down long enough to notice.
You do not travel this journey alone. God, who governs the seasons of the earth, will guide you through the changing seasons of life.
Most of us learned the bedtime prayer long before we understood its meaning:
“Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.”
As children, we prayed those words without fear. As adults, they sound a little more sobering. That simple prayer confronts a reality we spend much of our lives trying to avoid — the fact that life is fragile, and death is certain.
The anonymous writer of Hebrews put it bluntly: “Just as people are destined to die once, and after that to face judgment” (Hebrews 9:27).
Facing our mortality is not morbid; it’s clarifying. As the philosopher Socrates once said, “The unexamined life is not worth living.” Facing death honestly helps us live more intentionally, more gratefully, and more faithfully.
Here are 10 reflections on mortality to help us live with hope and die with peace.
1. Life is a gift that should never be taken for granted. James 4:14 reminds us that life is “a vapor that appears for a little while and then vanishes.” Every sunrise is a gift, every breath a miracle.
Holocaust survivor Viktor Frankl observed that the difference between those who survived the concentration camps and those who didn’t was often the ability to find meaning, even in suffering. “When we are no longer able to change a situation,” he wrote, “we are challenged to change ourselves.”
Gratitude transforms survival into living. Don’t take the ordinary for granted; it’s where the extraordinary hides.
2. Death Is a certainty we should not fear. Emily Dickinson penned, “Because I could not stop for Death — He kindly stopped for me.” Her calm acceptance captures a truth many of us resist: death is inevitable, but not necessarily tragic.
The older I get, the less I fear death itself, and yet the more I want to avoid a prolonged dying process. While we don’t get to choose the way we depart this world, I often tell my wife, “If I don’t wake up tomorrow morning, I’ve had a good life. And you can say, ‘Thank you, Lord. That’s the way he wanted to go.’”
For followers of Christ, death is not the end of the story. As Paul wrote, “To live is Christ and to die is gain” (Philippians 1:21). Our hope isn’t in escaping death, but in trusting the One who conquered it.
3. The ultimate mortality rate Is 100%. Every generation learns the same lesson: no one gets out of this life alive. But that doesn’t have to sound grim. It can actually sharpen our focus.
Benjamin Franklin once quipped, “In this world nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes.” But even Franklin understood that certainty can bring clarity. Living with the end in mind helps us prioritize what truly matters.
4. You write your own eulogy each day that you live. Every decision, every conversation, every act of kindness or cruelty writes another line in your story. The question is — what will your story say?
The tombstone’s “dash” between birth and death represents your life. What fills that dash? Maya Angelou wrote, “People will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but they will never forget how you made them feel.”
When you reach the end of your days, may people remember that your words healed, your presence mattered, and your faith endured.
5. Focus on things of eternal significance. Buford Green, a wise friend of mine, once said, “I’ve never seen a hearse pulling a U-Haul.” You can’t take it with you. But you can leave something behind—faith, love, integrity, and kindness.
Jesus taught us not to store up treasures on earth, but in heaven. Eternal investments look like compassion for the poor, forgiveness for the wounded, and service for the overlooked. The things that outlive us are usually the things we did for others.
6. The best way to prepare for death is to live every day to the maximum. The Latin phrase carpe diem—“seize the day”—was first written by the poet Horace more than 2,000 years ago. It still holds wisdom.
In our era of constant distraction, we can spend hours scrolling, comparing, and worrying. But as author Annie Dillard observed, “How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.”
Live fully present. Watch a sunrise. Call your mother. Forgive someone. Laugh often. Reggie McNeal once said, “The enemy of your soul whispers fear and worry all the time, and if you listen to that roar, you’ll never hear the Spirit speak.” Tune out the noise and tune in to the sacred.
7. Prepare for death spiritually and logistically. As Jesus said, “Love the Lord with all your heart, mind, and soul, and love your neighbor as your self.” Confess your sins regularly and receive God’s gift of forgiveness. But also make the practical plans. Writing a will, organizing your affairs, or discussing end-of-life wishes with family members isn’t pessimism—it’s love in practical form.
Years ago, a parishioner told me, “I don’t want my kids to have to guess about my funeral. I want them to be free to grieve, not to argue.” Her preparation became one of the greatest gifts she left beh
8. Live with a sense of mission and purpose. In other words, serve God by serving others, especially the disadvantaged and underserved. And live so that there’s no doubt about what you believe or who you follow. Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who faced death in a Nazi prison, said before his execution, “This is the end—for me, the beginning of life.”
Build your life around Christ’s teachings and compassion. The best way to prepare to die is to live each day as a gift to God and to others
9. Wake up before you die. The late preacher Tony Campolo told of a Buddhist monk who once said, “You Christians teach your children to pray all wrong. You teach them to say, ‘If I should die before I wake.’ It would be better if you taught them to pray, ‘If I should wake before I die.’”
Campolo explained that many people go through life half-awake—distracted, numb, and unaware of the sacred all around them. The tragedy isn’t dying before you wake up—it’s never waking up while you’re alive.
Take time to wake up to God’s love, to beauty, to laughter, to grace.
10. Let death catch you from behind, living generously and faithfully. You can’t control the timing of your death, but you can control the quality of your life. Live so that death finds you authentic in faith, generous in spirit, and awake to God’s presence.
Don’t sit around dreading death, or awaiting its arrival drearily. Whatever your limitations, live with a grateful heart and a positive spirit.
When I was a teenager, I once spent the night in a casket. A friend invited me to go camping behind his house. However, a storm rolled in unexpectedly. His stepfather worked in a funeral home and had shipping caskets in the storage barn. So when the rain began, we moved our campout to the barn and converted two of the shipping containers to beds. It was eerie but unforgettable. I agreed to this arrangement under one condition: That we leave the lids open.
There will come a day when the casket lid will close on my life. But until then, I want to make every day count. As the writer of Romans reminds us, “Whether we live or die, we belong to the Lord” (Romans 14:8).
Someone once asked, “How do you know if God’s purpose with your life is complete?” The answer is, “If you have breath, God is not finished with you.”
We prayed the old bedtime prayer as children, but maybe, just maybe, we should also pray this prayer as adults:
“If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. But if I should wake before I die, I pray the Lord to teach me how to live.”
Life is short. Death is certain. As long as we have a pulse, may God give us the grace to be fully alive.
Some days start fine and end hard. Other days seem tough from the first cup of coffee. Whether it’s the loss of a loved one, a financial setback, a work crisis, or just an accumulation of small frustrations, we all have days when our spirits feel heavy and our energy runs low. Those are the moments when we most need perspective, patience, and grace.
Here are 10 things to remember when you’re having a tough day—truths that can anchor your spirit when everything else feels uncertain:
1. This day will not last forever. When life feels like it’s closing in, it helps to remember that tough days don’t last forever. As Psalm 30:5 promises, “Weeping may last through the night, but joy comes with the morning.”
In the middle of a storm, it’s easy to believe the clouds are permanent. But even the longest storm eventually gives way to light. When you’re in a dark season, hold on to hope—it’s the bridge that carries you to the other side.
Albert Camus discovered, “In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.”
2. You are not alone. When we struggle, isolation often follows. But even when you feel alone, God is near. God hasn’t gone silent; God does however invite us to lean in closer.
Sometimes comfort comes from others, such as a text from a friend, a prayer from a pastor, or a quiet reminder that you matter. Don’t hesitate to reach out. Connection can be holy medicine.
During the early months of the recent pandemic, when many people were struggling in solitude, I remember a church member saying, “I can’t fix everything that’s broken, but I can still pick up the phone.” That one call, that one connection, can change someone’s entire outlook.
3. You don’t have to have it all together all the time. There’s a lot of pressure to appear strong, capable, and composed. But pretending you are fine when you are not is exhausting.
As author Brené Brown reminds us, “Vulnerability is not weakness; it’s our greatest measure of courage.” God never asked us to be flawless—however, God does call us to be faithful. Even the Apostle Paul admitted, “When I am weak, then I am strong” (2 Corinthians 12:10).
4. Take one day at a time, one step at a time, and one issue at a time. When life feels overwhelming, break it down. You don’t have to solve everything today—take the next right step.
Think of marathon runners. They don’t conquer 26 miles all at once. They take it stride by stride, breath by breath. The same is true in life: progress comes through small, steady steps.
Lao Tzu surmised, “The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.”
5. Practice the pause. Even Jesus often withdrew to quiet places to pray (Luke 5:16). If he needed moments of rest and renewal, so do we.
A few deep breaths and a simple prayer, like “Lord, give me peace for this moment,” can steady your soul. Step outside, feel the sunlight, listen to the rhythm of creation. Sometimes that pause is not a break from real life; it’s the moment that helps you remember what’s real.
6. Gratitude changes perspective and clarifies our focus. Gratitude doesn’t erase hardship, but it transforms how we see it. When you start naming blessings, even small ones—a sunrise, a child’s laughter, a quiet cup of coffee—you begin to notice that goodness still surrounds you.
A Harvard study found that people who kept gratitude journals were happier and more resilient. Long before that, Scripture reminded us, “Give thanks in all circumstances” (1 Thessalonians 5:18). Gratitude doesn’t ignore pain—it redeems it.
7. It’s okay to ask for help. You’re not designed to carry everything alone. Seeking help from a counselor, a mentor, or a trusted friend is not weakness but wisdom.
During one of my toughest seasons in ministry, a friend reminded me, “Even shepherds need shepherding.” She was right. Asking for help is not a sign of failure; it’s a step toward healing.
There’s an old African proverb that advises, “If you want to go fast, go alone. If you want to go far, go together.”
8. Remind yourself of what is true, and not just how you feel in the moment. Feelings are powerful, but they aren’t always accurate. When the noise of fear or disappointment gets loud, anchor yourself in what you know is true: God loves you, your life has purpose, and this struggle will not define you.
A wise therapist told me, “Your emotions are real, but you have to let them know they’re not the boss.” Let faith be the compass that steadies you when feelings fluctuate
9. Rest Is sacred. Fatigue makes small problems look like giants. God built rest into creation not as a luxury, but as a rhythm of grace. Sometimes the most spiritual thing you can do is take a nap, eat something healthy, or get outside.
Even Jesus took time to sleep in the middle of a storm (Mark 4:38). Rest is not giving up—it’s gearing up.
10. God is at work in seen and unseen ways. When life is chaotic, it’s hard to see God’s hand. But faith reminds us that even when we can’t trace God’s plan, we can trust God’s heart.
Romans 8:28 assures us that God works in all things for good—not that all things are good, but that God can bring good out of even the hardest experiences. Like a tapestry, the threads don’t make sense up close, but step back and you see the design.
Back in his day, Charles Spurgeon famously preached, “God is too wise to be mistaken, and too good to be unkind.”
Bad days happen. But they don’t have the final word. Every tough day offers a chance to rediscover grace, lean into faith, and grow in resilience.
So if today feels heavy, hang tough! Your story is not yet complete. And whether you have been bruised by the unfairness of life, stung by the cruelty of others, or wounded by self-inflicted mistakes, you can write a better chapter tomorrow than the one you are living today.
Cove Creek Reflections 