This, my dear friends, is life.

"Just wait, Sunday's coming." With good intent, many people will say this phrase. They say it with the full hope in the resurrection for reconciliation with the Father. I respect these people immensely, and they are always the ones that remind me of the goodness of the Father. However, I think we as the Church, the body of Christ, have found ourselves struggling with what comes before Easter/resurrection Sunday. We tend to do pretty well with Palm Sunday. We may even have the Good Friday services. However, what happens during the time in between? Do you know? Have you taken the time this week to acknowledge what "Holy Week" encompasses? We have conditioned ourselves to become numb to this week. We have become numb to suffering. As a Western society, especially, we are brought up with the idea that anything can be fixed and that nothing will hurt for too long, so just block it out for a bit. Church, this is hurting the unbelievers. We are to follow the e...

It's as if I had climbed a mountain with pure motives and strong intentions Once I arrived at the top, I admired the beauty This beauty that could only be described by the word "awe" Slowly but surely, some of my own struggles began to build up on this mountainside These things began to create some barriers It grew, and grew, and grew. Until one day, the Lord said "Do you still know me? Or do you know me through the lense of yourself?" At which point, we set ablaze everything that was of me to burn and purify. This burning on the mountainside has been painful. How could this ever be anything that reflects the image of God? Well, I'm at ground zero, and the beauty here is magnificent.

Imagine with me, if you will. Imagine walking through the desert in which the land is barren. You have sacrificed everything as an act of faithfulness, and you find yourself questioning if faithfulness was the right choice. Before, you had everything, life could have even been considered as "extravagant." However, this sacrifice put you in a place in which your life is emptied of everything you once held dear to. This sounds rather unpleasant. There are two reactions that people will have in this situation. They will either tap God on the shoulder, asking "Are we there yet?" OR They will embrace this journey that is laced with pain and confusion, and will fully recognize the glory and wholeness that lies ahead as they are emptied of themselves and filled with God. Who will you be in the desert?

Decisions to be made that would alter the course of my future entered my life in rapid fire fashion. Life was rushing by me, and I couldn't get out of bed. I needed only to rest in His presence, but I wanted only to rest in my own. In triage mode in the day-to-day, thinking "survive. Simply, survive." Surviving moved to thriving as I boldly walked out of this metaphorical triage unit, proclaiming victory. I sat at His feet and drank from the cup in His hand. I was no longer bound by the bed as I was embracing every aspect of life that presented itself. The decisions that are made are Spirit-Driven. In the midst of suffering, our phrase of "I hope this gets better" is not a passive act. Rather, hope is expectant of days of greater glory.

As a student chaplain, I've been privileged to be able to have conversations with people that I wouldn't have otherwise. A common thread between all of these conversations is that of "I just don't trust people. It's easier that way." Every time I would hear this phrase or one that is similar, my heart ached. You see, whenever we accept the invitation to live within the reality of the Kingdom, we are now citizens of the Kingdom. As citizens of the Kingdom, we are now a part of the body of Christ. We are family. Your Kingdom family, perhaps unlike your earthly family, must be laced with trust. However, we live within terms of deep distrust because we claim that it's easier and it hurts less. I beg to differ. Whenever we dwell within distrust, we are intentionally separating ourselves from the love of the Father. Even greater harm is that this is what the enemy desires. He desires us to be as separate from love as can possibly be. Love is risky and m...

I'm laying in my bed after a day that was long. When I say long, I mean this day started at 5AM with a phone call from a member of my flock, in which I immediately went over to this person's place to pray over them. As I was heading back to get ready for class, I pulled over at a park and sat in my car, and I cried. Hard. It was a combination of complete exhaustion and overwhelmed by the joy of having the opportunity to do this. I'm finding that the very thing that I love (ministry) has some of the greatest rewards, but also has some of the most trying times a person can face. I can't tell you how many nights in the past month I've stayed up until 4AM praying for one of my flock, only to fall asleep for 3 hours before waking up to go to breakfast with someone that needed to talk and process. I can't tell you how many times in the past month I've found myself in my office, critically analyzing how I'm performing in the different areas of ministry, ...

I'll never forget sitting in the chair that was light brown in color, and cold. So, so cold. I'll never forget the cheesy music that was playing in the office that day. I'll never forget the intense pain in my lungs, as if someone was pulling them out of my chest and setting a brick on them, every. Single. Day. I'll never forget the paranoia I faced in the mornings as I would wake up with absolutely no recollection of the past few months of my life, and would have to read through old journal entries to be able to remember what had happened and where I was at. My senses were heightened in immense ways. I'll never forget the Doctor's posture as he sat in his chair and let out a huge sigh. I'll never forget the tone of the Doctor's voice whenever he said "I don't know how you're still alive right now. Usually someone that has digressed as quickly as you would be on their deathbed. We're considering sending you out of state for treatm...