In my various Christian Facebook groups, I’ve noticed a heartbreaking pattern: meaningful conversations quickly turn into harsh criticism of fellow believers. Someone shares a perspective, and others immediately label them as heretical, shallow, or theologically misguided. The comment sections have become so consistently mean-spirited that I avoid reading them entirely.

Many Christians seem to find satisfaction in playing the role of theological watchdog, feeling morally obligated to correct every perceived error. But what if we chose a different path?

Imagine the transformation that could occur if we intentionally chose encouragement over criticism, joy over judgment, and support over suspicion. What if we looked for the good in others rather than hunting for their flaws?

Here’s my challenge: For the next seven days, commit to seeing the best in your fellow Christians. When someone shares something you might normally critique, pause and look for the heart behind their words. Ask yourself how God might be working through that person rather than how they might be wrong.

The truth is no one has ever criticized me into being a better follower of Jesus. But countless believers have encouraged me toward growth through their kindness and grace.

Let’s be Christians who build up rather than tear down, who extend grace rather than judgment.

This past Sunday, I had an experience that, unfortunately, happens about once a year: I was sick and still needed to preach. This time, it started with my sinus’ draining, then moved into my throat, and finally into my chest. By Saturday night, I had started coughing and was having a hard time stopping. At this point, especially in a Church the size of the one I lead, there is no backup plan or other option. I need to speak if we are going to have a sermon.

I woke up on Sunday and took three different medicines. I figured it would handle all my issues and keep me going for a few hours. I also had cough drops in my pocket and used one of them immediately before our first program. Still, when I stood up to preach, I was only about ten minutes in when the coughing began. For about five minutes (what seemed like an eternity to me), I stood on stage and coughed when I was trying to preach. The irony wasn’t lost on me: here I was, trying to speak about divine power while my own human frailty was on full, embarrassing display.

There are several points to consider regarding this situation as a preacher. One, I tried everything possible to prevent it. Two, I HATE that it happened. We had a couple of guest families, and I feel terrible that this was their first experience at our Church. I apologize to anyone who had to listen to it. Finally, I had no issues during the second worship program. My voice was a little strained and deeper than usual, but there was no coughing fit to interrupt the sermon.

Paul tells the Church in Corinth that his preaching was not with wise or persuasive words but a demonstration of the Spirit’s power (1 Cor. 2:4). Well, I am not Paul, and I do not use wise words either, but I do occasionally add a lot of coughing. If anyone received something meaningful from that first sermon, it stands as testimony to God’s ability to work through even the most compromised vessels.

Perhaps these moments of physical weakness serve a greater purpose than I initially realized. They strip away any illusion that effective ministry depends on my performance, my preparation, or my pulpit presence. Instead, they point to a more profound truth: every week, regardless of my health, it’s the Holy Spirit who transforms simple words into life-changing encounters with the divine. Sometimes, it just takes a coughing fit to remind me of that reality.

Recently, my daily Bible reading plan has led me to passages that contain long lists of names. Let me be totally honest: when I’m reading through Scripture and hit one of those, my eyes tend to glaze over.

But lately, I’ve been struck by something profound hidden in those seemingly endless lists of names. Each one represents a person God knew intimately. Each name carried a story, dreams, struggles, hopes, doubts, and moments of both faithfulness and failure. And God remembered them all.

Think about it: these weren’t just the famous characters we know well. Mixed in with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob are names like Mahalalel, Jared, and Methuselah. These are people whose individual stories we’ll never know this side of heaven. Yet their names are preserved in Scripture, recorded for all time as part of God’s unfolding plan.

There’s something deeply comforting about this. In a world where we can feel anonymous, where our struggles seem invisible, where we wonder if anyone truly sees us, these lists whisper a different truth: God knows your name. He knows the names of your great-great-grandparents you’ve never heard of. He knows the name of the person whose legacy seems forgotten.

Your name matters to Him. You’re not lost in the crowd or forgotten in the shuffle. You’re known, you’re seen, and you’re loved with a love that remembers names across generations.

The next time you encounter one of those passages, try reading it differently. Let it remind you that in God’s economy, every name counts, including yours.

There’s a pain that cuts deeper than any external circumstance could ever reach. It’s the ache that comes from looking in the mirror and realizing that your most significant obstacle isn’t the world around you; instead, it’s the person staring back at you.

I’m talking about self-sabotage.

At the heart of every act of self-sabotage is a disconnect between what God declares about us and what we choose to believe about ourselves. When we don’t truly grasp his truth about us, we start making decisions based on lies.

Perhaps it’s the opportunity you walked away from because that voice in your head whispered, “You’re not qualified for this.” Or maybe it’s the way you keep returning to destructive habits, even though you know they’re stealing your joy.

The enemy doesn’t always need to attack us directly. Sometimes, he needs to whisper subtle doubts about our identity in Christ, and we’ll do the rest of the damage ourselves. “You’re not really forgiven.” “God couldn’t possibly use someone like you.” “You don’t deserve good things.”

When we agree with these lies, we begin to live in ways that make them seem true.

Breaking free from self-sabotage requires more than positive thinking. It demands a fundamental shift in how we see ourselves. We cannot look through the lens of our failures, but we need to see ourselves through Christ’s finished work.

This means learning to take our thoughts captive, as Paul instructs in 2 Corinthians 10:5. When that familiar voice of condemnation starts whispering, we need to ask: “Is this thought consistent with what God says about me in His Word?”

The beautiful reality is that even our self-inflicted wounds are covered by the blood of Jesus. No pattern is so entrenched, no mistake so big that it places us beyond the reach of God’s redemptive love.

Stop fighting against the very grace that wants to set you free. Your healing begins the moment you decide to trust God’s heart toward you more than your own assessment of your worthiness.

Your children will be about one step further away from Jesus than you are while raising them.

Let that sink in.

If you go to Church twice a month, then your children will probably be attending once every couple of months. If you serve others in the name of Jesus once a month, they will probably serve a couple of times a year. If you do not read your Bible except on Sunday, they will not read it at all. If you are only generous to the people who give to you, your children will be selfish.

The best way to help your children be fully devoted followers of Jesus is to be one yourself. Their life will be a slightly distorted reflection of yours.

Last week, I went to my mother’s house and helped her celebrate her 90^th birthday. I was able to spend about three days with her, visiting and helping out around the house. She and I were able to clean up her yard, get her flower gardens planted and ready for the year, along with me getting her shower fixed up for her.

Why did I take my vacation to do all that? There are three reasons. One, I love my mother, and I want to bless her life as much as she has blessed mine through the years. Two, I want to obey the word of the Lord and honor my mother. Three, I want to leave a legacy for my boys.

Based on family history, there is a good chance that I am going to meet Jesus sometime before my wife. I want my four boys to all have a model to show them how to honor their mother. It is more than just throwing money at issues. It is about spending time with her, celebrating with her, and connecting on a personal level.

I may not have been the best son when I was young, but I am working hard to finish strong. And I want my boys to follow my lead when their mother is forced to face life without me. Usually, example is the best teacher, and I want my boys to see a son who cares for his mother when they look at me.

There’s a certain magic in retrospection. That moment when you pause amid life’s rush and glance over your shoulder at the winding path that brought you here.

One day, you will look back on these ordinary days and realize they weren’t ordinary at all. The morning coffee you barely tasted, the commute you wished away, the routine conversations with loved ones, and all these seemingly mundane moments are quietly weaving themselves into the tapestry of your life story.

Someday, you will look back on your struggles with a gentle smile of recognition. Not because the pain wasn’t real but because you’ll see how each challenge shaped you, strengthened you, and ultimately led you to new horizons you couldn’t have imagined.

Those decisions that keep you awake at night will one day appear as crucial turning points or necessary detours in a journey that somehow brought you exactly where you needed to be. Even the wrong turns will reveal their purpose.

Perhaps you’ll look back on the people who walked beside you, the conversations you rushed through, the hugs you gave without fully sinking into them, and the relationships you took for granted. And you will see the missed opportunities to connect and share during those ordinary moments.

So today, knowing that one day you will look back, perhaps you might pause. Notice the quality of the light through your window. Feel the full weight of a loved one’s hand in yours. Listen closely to the stories that are shared. Because this moment might be a memory worth treasuring.

This year, I spoke to the seniors at our Ministerial Alliance baccalaureate service.

My sermon was based on Luke 15:8-10 and the parable of the woman who had ten coins and lost one. As a parable, it reveals a truth about the kingdom of God. The picture he paints reveals a more profound truth about our walk of faith.

I pointed out two lessons from Jesus’ teaching for them to learn. First, Jesus spoke to the Pharisees about the value of every person, even tax collectors and sinners. Every person, including these seniors, needs to understand that all people have value and worth to God. Therefore, we should treat all people with dignity, respect, and love.

Second, Jesus spoke to the tax collectors and sinners who had gathered there. He was emphasizing that their lives had value and worth to God. Their mistakes and careers did not define them; their worth came from God, and nothing could take that away. Whenever we make mistakes in life, we need to understand that our value is not diminished in God’s sight.

I hope these seniors will carry these lessons into life as they succeed and fail in their chosen paths after graduation. I also hope they will shape the lives of every believer—even you.

In our most vulnerable moments of temptation, we rarely find ourselves actively engaged with Scripture. These pivotal moments often arise precisely when we’ve set aside our Bibles or closed our study apps.

This reality illuminates the profound wisdom in Psalm 119:11: “I have hidden your word in my heart that I might not sin against you.”

The psalmist understood a timeless truth: internalizing Scripture provides spiritual protection that transcends physical access to the text. When we commit God’s word to memory and allow it to shape our hearts, we carry its wisdom and strength wherever we go.

For believers, reading, memorizing, and meditating on Scripture isn’t merely academic; it’s spiritual preparation. By hiding God’s word in our hearts, we ensure that divine truth remains with us in moments of weakness, providing the spiritual clarity and strength needed to overcome temptation and resist evil’s influence in our lives.

It is graduation season, and my youngest son walked across the stage for the third and probably final time. As he waited to receive the hood that came with a master’s degree, around ninety other students crossed the stage ahead of him. Almost without exception, when the graduate’s name was called, a small group of two to twelve people cheered in the crowd. They would shout, take pictures, and savor the moment.

My family was no exception. I applauded, and one of the boys shouted while my wife took pictures. It was an exciting moment as years of study reached their culmination. But with each of the diplomas handed out, these little celebrations captured my attention.

Sure, they are expressions of pride, but it is more than family passively observing another’s success. There is a sense of togetherness. The graduate’s accomplishments are not their own. They belong to the family. Behind the student was a support network that helped make it happen. Success is something that is never achieved alone.

Whatever you produce with your life, always be keenly aware of the people who support you. Those people are the ones who celebrate for you and with you. Be sure to recognize their contribution and value their help. Anything is possible when you surround yourself with the right people. Graduation is just the beginning.