We all have skills that have become so automatic they feel effortless. Whether it’s driving a familiar route, preparing a favorite recipe, or tying our shoes, these abilities flow from us without conscious thought. We’ve practiced them so many times that they’ve become an integral part of who we are.

I think of the countless fishing knots I’ve tied over the years. My fingers know the movements so well that failing eyesight barely slows me down. The same thing can be seen when I am cleaning and preparing fish. The motions that once required careful attention now happen almost instinctively.

This kind of deep integration is what mature faith looks like. When someone has walked with God for years, Scripture naturally flavors their conversations. Prayer becomes their instinctive response to both crisis and celebration. Acts of service flow from them not as forced obligations, but as genuine expressions of who they’ve become.

Of course, spiritual disciplines don’t typically begin in this way. Early attempts at consistent Bible reading can feel mechanical. Initial prayers might seem awkward or one-sided. Choosing to serve others often requires pushing through our natural self-focus. This struggle is normal as we develop our spiritual reflexes.

However, persistence transforms these efforts. Regular time spent in God’s Word gradually shapes how we think and speak. Consistent prayer develops into an ongoing conversation with our Creator. Repeated acts of service cultivate hearts that naturally notice and respond to others’ needs.

Perhaps the most heartbreaking sight in the Church is a longtime believer who still approaches their faith with hesitation and uncertainty. After years of following Jesus, one would expect a growing naturalness to their spiritual life and an increasing fluency in the language of faith.

The goal isn’t spiritual performance or perfection, but authentic transformation. When faith becomes second nature, it’s not because we’re trying harder, but because we’ve been changed from the inside out over the course of our lives.

Christians don’t often admit this, but we have a list of sins that we find appalling and another that we find, well, acceptable. Some behaviors make us recoil in judgment, while others barely register on our moral radar.

We speak out against sexual immorality, violence, and addiction, and rightly so. But what about gossip, pride, greed, materialism, and unforgiveness? These are often ignored or even excused. A sharp tongue can be passed off as personality. An unforgiving spirit is dismissed as “boundaries.” Envy is rebranded as ambition. We minimize what makes us uncomfortable to acknowledge.

But sin is sin. What God calls unrighteous doesn’t become acceptable simply because it’s socially tolerated. The cross doesn’t just cover the “big” sins; it was necessary for every single one. Jesus’ death covers both the scandals that shock us and the quiet cancer that eats away at our hearts.

The call of Christ is not to be selectively holy, but wholly surrendered. Instead of excusing our “acceptable” sins, maybe it’s time we repent of them.

Because holiness isn’t about looking good, it’s about being made new in every way.

Lately, I have been pondering this speech I heard in a movie.

“In many ways, the work of a critic is easy. We risk very little, yet enjoy a position over those who offer up their work and their selves to our judgment. We thrive on negative criticism, which is fun to write and to read. But the bitter truth we critics must face is that, in the grand scheme of things, the average piece of junk is probably more meaningful than our criticism designating it so. But there are times when a critic truly risks something, and that is in the discovery and defense of the new. The world is often unkind to new talent, new creations. The new needs friends.”

                                                -Anton Ego in Ratatouille

I pulled open the drawer, looking for a pair of scissors. Inside was a collection of miscellaneous items that were no longer in use. As I looked at each one, I could remember a time in the past 11 years when they had been used in our Church.

There were can openers for when the ladies used to make extravagant fellowship dinners. There was a label maker for when people were fighting for cabinet space, and everything needed to have its specific designated area. There were notecards and a marker for labeling everything for a child with nut allergies. One by one, I was reminded of how all these tools were once necessary for a ministry season, but now they are stuffed in a drawer, serving no purpose.

Every Church ministry is seasonal. There are times when things need to be purchased and maintained to maximize outreach and discipleship. If you visit any Church and look through their drawers, cabinets, and closets, you will find a wide variety of items that are relics of past ministries.

The difficulty in ministry is knowing when to let ministries die when they are no longer needed. Then, retiring the tools that are presently worthless. And keep pushing into the future.

A Church building should be a facility used to take Jesus to new people while developing today’s disciples. It is never to be a museum used to house old relics of a once-vibrant church.

In today’s Church, worship music is more accessible and diverse than ever. From traditional hymns to accepted praise songs to cutting-edge new songs, we each have our preferences. At one end of the spectrum is choir music accompanied by an organ, and on the other end is a rock band with a flawless lead vocal. And people like all of it.

But we must ask: do we truly worship, or do we simply enjoy the music?

Liking a particular style of music is a natural inclination. Certain melodies, instruments, or rhythms resonate with each one of us individually. But true worship is about falling before the presence of God and not about our musical preference. It’s about lifting our hearts and minds to God, regardless of whether the song is our “favorite.”

Jesus said in John 4:23 that “true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and truth.” That means worship isn’t about tempo or volume. It is about our heart and soul falling before God in a way that brings him glory. It’s about directing our affections toward God, honoring Him for who He is, and surrendering ourselves completely to His will.

If we only engage when the music fits our taste, we risk turning worship into a performance we consume rather than a gift we offer.

Let’s be people who worship not because the song is catchy, but because God is worthy.

Worship isn’t about liking the music. It’s about loving the Savior.

The longer I live as a Christian, the more open and honest I am becoming. The more willing I am to share my struggles as a believer and a pastor.

Whenever I share my thoughts and feelings of worthlessness, shame, and the issues I face in following Jesus, there is a group of Christians ready to chastise me. “You’re a pastor,” they say, “You should have your life more together than that.” These people want me to speak with the confidence and self-assurance of a person who has faith all figured out.

There is also another group of people. They will read a post I wrote or listen to a sermon I have preached, and they will message me privately or whisper to me in the back corridors of the Church, “I thought I was the only one who struggled with this,” or “I believed I was the only person who thought like that.”

What I have found is that in sharing the truth of the difficulties in my journey of faith, I am better equipped to set people free through the word and work of Jesus. Not only does dragging my own darkness into the light help me, but it also encourages others to face their issues. 

For those people who want a perfect pastor, I am not your guy. I encourage you to find a Church with a leader you can admire. But if you are broken and fighting hard to grow in your faith, then you have found your people and a leader who knows what you are struggling with and is not afraid to admit it.  

Self-loathing is a quiet but heavy burden many people carry. Scratch that. Self-loathing has been a problem I have personally struggled with throughout my life.

The internal voices whisper thoughts of worthlessness, failure, and shame relentlessly. I’m acutely aware of my flaws and shortcomings. The weight of disappointing others, falling short of the Christian example I aspire to be, and wrestling with feelings of inadequacy can feel crushing. I yearn to be better, to be liked, to become the person I know I could be, yet I often feel I’m falling short. Sometimes the weight becomes overwhelming.

As a Christian, I must continually remind myself that my worth doesn’t come from what I do. It comes from God. I am a child of God, made in His image (Genesis 1:27), and redeemed by His grace. That identity is deeper and more accurate than my self-perception.

If you’re walking this same difficult path, please know you’re not alone in this struggle. Turn to prayer in these moments. Immerse yourself in God’s Word. Most importantly, let the truth of Christ’s love drown out the lies echoing in your mind. You are not worthless. You are not too broken. You belong to Him. And that truth has the power to transform everything.

Will it be the most important thing on your to-do list?

Will it be the most urgent thing on your agenda?

Will it be the easiest activity for you to accomplish?

When you stand at the crossroads of choice, what compass guides you? Do you seek meaning that echoes through time, the adrenaline of immediate action, the sanctuary of familiar ground, or perhaps something deeper still?

Your tomorrow unfolds from today’s choices. What North Star will light your way?

Life deals us cards we never asked for. You have no control over where you were born, how wealthy your parents were, or your physical height. Your build, looks, and hair can only be manipulated in minimal ways. You may not be the smartest, have the best memory, or possess a creative gene in your body. You cannot control the opportunities that are presented to you, the way others respond to your sales pitch, or the economic benefits that come with your chosen profession. There truly is an infinite list of things in your life that are beyond your power to control.

Yet this doesn’t render us powerless, far from it.

You can control your attitude, the expression on your face, and the kindness in your voice. You can choose to show grace, mercy, and love over vengeance, revenge, and judgment. You can choose your response to everything the world throws at you. You can accept responsibility for your actions and make different choices as you learn and grow. There is an equally infinite list of things in your life that are well within your power to control.

For those who follow Christ, this power carries special significance. Rather than pointing fingers at the world’s brokenness, we’re called to be agents of transformation who bring hope, healing, and God’s goodness into every situation we encounter.

Being a pastor is a lot like being a parent. It’s not just about teaching on Sundays or organizing church events. It’s about caring deeply and constantly for the people I lead. I want the absolute best for them in every way. I pray for their strength, family, future, and their walk with Jesus. I want every single person under my care to grow not only in knowledge, but also in love, faith, and character. I want their life to be full of purpose, joy, and peace.

I dream of them developing deep, godly relationships. I long to see them walk in freedom and use their gifts to make a difference in the world. I care about the decisions they’re making because I know how important those decisions are for their soul.

Sometimes it might feel like your pastor is pushing too hard or expecting too much. But it’s not about pressure, it’s about love. I pray and hope that people will make choices that align with God’s will, because I’ve seen what happens when they do, and I’ve also seen the pain when they don’t.

The spiritual and emotional investment I have in my congregation runs deeper than most realize. I carry their burdens, celebrate their victories, and sometimes grieve over the decisions they make. This doesn’t come from duty or pastoral obligation; it flows from my heart, as I want to see people experience the love and grace of Jesus as I have.

Seeing people grow, make good choices, and know Jesus personally are the things that matter most to me, more than anyone might ever know.