I guess I’ve been thinking lately about being so black and white in our thinking and approach to truth. Historically, I’ve kind of thought it seemed like automatically a really good thing when someone was strong, and was a “face value” person when it came to reading verses, etc…it just seemed wise to not think much and take some verse or wise quote at face value…but is it always? Jesus often said things that can sound contradictory if we ignore who He is speaking to. In fact, to a black-and-white thinker, they might even seem unfair or contradictory. But they aren’t, because there is almost always “more to the story” and it doesn’t mean more as in you need to know more background all the time to understand, but don’t you have to understand both the heart of the Changer of hearts and the heart of the one being changed to get the full meaning?

These stories are found in Matthew 19 and Luke 19:
To the rich young ruler: “Sell everything you have.” (He didn’t want to, and Jesus didn’t back down.)
To Zacchaeus: “Today salvation has come to your house.” (In response to Zacchaeus voluntarily giving away half of what he had.)
That probably seems wishy-washy or unequal to a heart that isn’t discerning. But it isn’t. Their hearts were different. One person had a surrendered heart and gave half of what he had and received everything (salvation), the other did neither and received nothing. If it was unequal (it wasn’t), it was in the opposite way a black-and-white thinker that focuses on the giving of material goods may think.

This story is found in Matthew 8:
To the disciples on the sea: “Why are you afraid?” Just a gentle rebuke, wasn’t it?
Then after He calmed the storm: “Where is your faith?” He didn’t ask why they didn’t have much faith during the storm.
Does that mean we don’t need to have faith in storms? The honest heart will not flop over to the ditch of believing that. He meets us where we are, but does He ever intend to leave us where we are? Each person has been given a measure of faith, and we need to utilize that, whatever it is, without sparing the flesh.

These stories are in John 8 and Matthew 12:
To the adulterous woman who remained before Him: “Neither do I condemn you. Go, and sin no more.” That might seem permissive, but He knew where she was.
But to the Pharisees who were trying to justify themselves or trap Him intellectually?: “You brood of vipers... how are you going to escape being sentenced to hell?”
That seems harsh, but He must have said it in love, because He always spoke truth in love. Are those two quotes of Jesus unfair or unequal? I don’t think so.

This is in John 20:
To a loving but doubting Thomas: “Come, see the marks on Me as proof.” (And Thomas did.)
Then after that: “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.”
Was that a condemnation of Thomas for doubting first and then joyfully believing after? I don’t think so. Thomas believed. But He also didn’t make Thomas’s experience the standard for the rest of us, so it seems we shouldn’t jump to the ditch of “doubting is Bible-sanctioned” either. That would probably be an “occasion for the flesh.”

Mathew 23:23:
Here’s another one: Jesus tells the Pharisees, “You tithe mint and dill and cumin, and have neglected the weightier matters of the law: justice and mercy and faithfulness. You should have done the tithing without neglecting the other things.” Mr. (or Mrs.) Black-n-White Thinking might read that and ask, “So I guess we don’t have to give, it’s only in our heart what matters?” No. Wasn’t he saying, Don’t neglect the greater principles while faithfully keeping the smaller ones? That’s not wishy-washy, unfair, or non-black and white. But it’s easy to get twisted if we want to spare our own flesh or crucify someone else’s for them.

We need to believe the Bible and Jesus’ words are always true, because they are. It can be a good thing to take them at “face value.” But saying somewhat “different” things wasn’t unusual for Jesus. Throughout His teaching, He continually moved past outward behavior to the heart beneath it. This isn’t a minimizing of commands, doctrine, or truth-is-truth. But the heart is what gives obedience its meaning.

I’ve seen myself and others use “face value” or “it simply means thus and thus” to make room for the flesh, instead of crucifying it, despite appearing to. It can be used as a cudgel against others to demand honor, or obedience to one’s self, when really is that the whole truth in the matter? If our black and white thinking is sparing our flesh or making room for selfishness, unforgiveness, lack of my own submission first, etc…it is a curse to us, not a benefit.

Maybe that’s why Jesus could say different things to different people without ever contradicting Himself. The truth never changed. The hearts He was speaking to did. Let’s make sure we have an honest, truth-seeking heart of love that is not narrowly reading or listening to God’s word while secretly hoping to spare our own flesh.

And I think it bears repeating: a heart that truly loves the truth won’t use the oft-said “the heart matters” or “follow your heart” or the parts of this or similar writings that talk of the heart-firstness of Christian living as an excuse for less obedience…no, it will cause us to pursue deeper and more obedience.

Truth is truth. But what is the truth? And where is your heart?

Brandon Becker

Yes, I deeply respect our faithful older men and women. Time has a way of teaching lessons we simply can’t, or don’t, learn in our youth. Years of hard work, raising families, enduring hardship (mental, spiritual, physical, etc.), seeing change, and walking through disappointments (and lots of joy) often produce a wisdom attainable hardly any other way. Scripture is clear that we are to honor those who are older, and for good reason, because in many cases age and wisdom do travel together. The wisdom of older folk is often true and timely. We should respect and listen to faithful older people with keen interest.

“Thou shalt rise up before the hoary head, and honor the face of the old man, and fear thy God: I am the LORD.” Lev. 19:32

However, age and wisdom don’t travel together by default. Getting older is not optional, but growing wiser, humbler, and more spiritual requires our continual yielding to the sanctifying work of the Holy Spirit. “…work out your own salvation with fear and trembling. For it is God which worketh in you both to will and to do of his good pleasure.” Philippians 2:12-13

I guess I used to be a bit naive and simply trusted that those who were older were also the most spiritually mature. And they often are. If I had a conversation with someone older who appeared to be living life ok, I just pretty much took what they said “for gospel” and weighted their opinion in the conversation as superior. (and I’m sure it often was) But a conversation with an older brother stayed with me for a minute or two longer than most. It exposed an assumption I didn’t realize I had. I had quietly come to equate age with spiritual maturity. That emotion-based, non-Spirit led conversation forced me to realize that it is most definitely possible to grow older without continuing to grow in Christ.

I’m sure most of you have had similar experiences already. However, I want to switch away from that interaction, because they aren’t really the point. The same danger exists in me. I am they…just earlier in the age journey.

Yes, the same danger exists in me. So what happens? Somewhere along the way, do we stop allowing God to shape us? Instead of becoming softer toward the Spirit, can we become hard in our conclusions? Instead of remaining teachable, do we become convinced we have little to learn? As we get older, do we just kind of assume that we don’t need to know any details and that our view is by default, pretty much accurate?

The devil does not stop working simply because our hair turns gray or our steps grow slow. If anything, one of his greatest victories may be convincing us that we have already arrived or that by default (and no merit) our opinion matters more because we are older.

“Not as though I had already attained... but I follow after...” Phil. 3:12–14

A young believer may be tempted by obvious sins, while an older one may be tempted by something quieter: self-confidence masquerading as wisdom and no longer needing correction.

“Seest thou a man wise in his own conceit? there is more hope of a fool than of him.” Prov. 26:12

At any stage of life, older being no exception, experience can become either a good servant or a dangerous master. Experience is valuable, but should it ever replace those gentle promptings of the Holy Spirit? Yesterday’s victories should give us joy in God’s leading and confidence in His anticipated faithfulness, but they should never become today’s authority if that means we stop listening to the Spirit.

“Not that we are sufficient of ourselves to think any thing as of ourselves; but our sufficiency is of God.” 2 Cor. 3:5

The heart is usually moving in one of two directions. I either become more dependent on the Spirit or less as I move through life. The Spirit continually reminds us of our dependence on God. He humbles us, corrects us, exposes blind spots we didn’t know we had, asks us to revisit long-held assumptions…even after decades of being a Christian.

As the years add up, we should hope people don’t simply say we became older. I hope they can say we became
gentler,
more patient,
quicker to repent,
slower to speak,
more understanding,
and more yielded to Christ than we were before.
And in that, becoming ever more what God wanted us to be through His sanctifying Spirit.

The more we get what we now call 'ourselves' out of the way and let Him take us over, the more truly ourselves we become. -CS Lewis

Gray hair, wrinkled skin, and slow steps are inevitable if God grants us enough years. A humble, teachable spirit is not. One is accomplished simply by living long enough. The other requires dying daily.

“The meek will he guide in judgment: and the meek will he teach his way.” Psalm 25:9

B.B.

Years ago, a cousin and her husband were expecting a baby after many years of waiting, hoping, and praying. The news felt like a miracle. God had heard their cries. Month after month, the expected moment came closer.

Then came the day no one expected. The baby was born full-term without a heartbeat.

Suddenly, joy gave way to shock. Hope wrestled with fear. Doctors worked. Family prayed. Friends prayed. Prayer requests flew on chats and statuses, and churches prayed. A request spread throughout the conference asking believers to stop at a specific time and pray for healing.

That afternoon, I was at my normal station several hundred miles away, teaching school. The appointed healing prayer time arrived just as my students were dismissed for music class. After they filed out of the room, I found myself alone for a moment. I knelt beside my desk and joined hundreds of others in prayer.

When I finished, I stood and walked down the hall toward the music room.
The children had already begun singing.

Of all the songs that could have been chosen from that songbook, hundreds of songs, selected casually and randomly from day to day and on many topics (children sure do like a variety), I stepped through the doorway and heard these words floating on the air:

“He sees the sparrow fall to the ground,
And His eyes grow misty as He reaches down.
Gently He lifts it from somewhere below,
He touches and heals it,
And then lets it go.”

I stopped. The children knew nothing about the prayer request. They knew nothing about the crisis unfolding miles away. They had no idea that at that very moment, many people were asking God to heal a baby fighting for life. Most of the time, they would’ve been singing songs like “This Land Is Your Land” and “Poor Boy.” Yet there they stood, singing. Singing about a sparrow. Singing about a Father who sees. Singing about a God whose eyes grow misty. Singing about a God who touches and heals…and sometimes lets go.

I do not remember much else from that day. But I remember standing there, listening. And I remember feeling that God was reminding me of something.

Not that He had forgotten the baby. Not that He was unaware of the family’s pain. Not that He was absent from the situation.

Rather, He was saying, “I see.”

“How much more does my Father on high
Care when I’m burdened, care when I cry?”

The healing we prayed for did not come in the way we hoped. The baby went to be with Jesus, yet I have never forgotten that song. Because the miracle in my life that day was not in a dramatic answer. It was in the random, yet very specific timing of a song.

The God who numbers the hairs on our heads. The God who notices sparrows. The God who sees every tear. He orchestrated a moment that no human could have planned.

I suspect heaven is full of moments like that.

Perhaps every day God is arranging countless reminders of His love…through conversations, songs, Scripture verses, unexpected encouragement, quiet mercies, and perfectly timed providences. Most of them probably pass unnoticed. But occasionally He opens our eyes and allows us to see one. And when we do, we are reminded that He is nearer than we think.

The older I get, the less I believe in coincidences and the more I believe in a Father who is actively involved in the details of His children’s lives. Sometimes He lets us glimpse His hand at work. And sometimes, if only for a moment, a whole school sings for His glory without even knowing it.

And it all makes me wonder: when we sing a song or pray a prayer or think a thought that seems like it randomly came to us, is it really random at all? Could it be that hundreds of believers are singing those same words around the globe, and that God is using them to encourage someone none of us knows? That thought makes me happy! It sounds exactly like the way our Father works “all things together for those that love Him.” He gathers the pieces of song from around the world together into something beautiful, a musical mosaic, and His children become part of a grand picture without even realizing it. We become partakers of a most wonderful mystery, with no strength or power of our own, just a song on our lips from our Maker.

Someone once said there is not a "maverick molecule" (random molecule) in God's entire universe. I believe that is true, and perhaps there are no “maverick moments” either. No random songs, no accidental timings, no unnoticed intersections between a prayer in one room and a hymn in another, possibly thousands of miles apart.

Aren’t we privileged to be a part of this grand heavenly scheme?

Sing that song!

Brandon Becker

I’m no psychiatrist (which is obvious if you’ve read these posts for long) so these are entirely my opinions, but this kind of bond is often called “negative bonding” and unfortunately it has at times been a part of my life. It can happen anywhere: friendships, marriages, social groups, etc. Two (or more) people dissatisfied with life or carrying hurts find common ground in complaints or cynicism. And that common ground can feel like friendship.

Negative social bonding is built on what’s not liked rather than what is. Researchers have observed this in studies on social bonding: studies show that sharing negative attitudes, especially dislikes about a third person or situation, can create a surprisingly quick sense of closeness and trust between people, often faster than sharing positive ones. It’s sometimes called “negative social bonding” or “common enemy intimacy,” where that mutual “you too?” moment around complaints feels validating and builds an “us vs. them” alignment quickly. Of course, this is just one piece of the puzzle (I’m no expert here, remember?), and the deeper, more lasting connections still tend to come from shared positives, values, and encouragement.

Sometimes a family or a circle of friends gather together and it’s like a “feeding frenzy at Vinny Vulture’s.” Topics and people are tossed into the middle one after another, and everyone seems to peck at it like it’s a fresh kill, each one criticizing or mocking in turn. It is negativity disguised as entertainment. Now, I realize when it’s put that grotesquely, it’s easy to say “I don’t think I do that.” Another example that may sound less grotesque but more relatable: You start by mentioning someone almost offhand, maybe a small mistake they made, or something slightly embarrassing. It’s meant as a light joke… a chuckle, nothing serious. But then someone else adds a comment about them or someone else, and it’s a little sharper, maybe with more history or personal opinion behind it. The laughs shift tone a bit. What was once a “harmless” remark starts to carry a sting. Others join in, each one building on the previous comment. Soon, the circle has spiraled into a full-blown frenzy. Everyone’s “pecking” at the topic and feeding off each other’s negativity. That’s a “feeding frenzy at Vinny Vulture’s house.”

This bond seems so shallow. How can a bond that reinforces bitterness, confirms unhappiness, and fixates on flaws be a positive force in the world? James 3:10 reminds us, “Out of the same mouth come blessing and cursing. My brothers and sisters, this should not be.”

On the flip side is positive bonding. This connection builds people and the world around them up rather than tearing down. It’s based on shared values, encouragement, joy, and purpose that doesn’t come at someone else’s expense. Positive bonding may involve grief or brief venting, yes, but not to perpetuate bitterness or endless misgivings. Romans 12:10 encourages, “Be devoted to one another in love. Honor one another above yourselves.”

This feels like a “real” relationship: one that encourages trust, growth, and service in a world full of negativity. Positive bonding leaves people feeling genuinely better… not just a “shared experience” better, but a shared positive experience better.

So how do we know what kind of bond we have with someone? Some questions we can ask ourselves:

1. Would this connection / conversation even exist if we could only talk positively? (be honest)

2. Do I feel lighter and encouraged about humble and service-oriented Christian living when I reflect on our conversations?

3. Am I growing into a better version of myself because of this relationship?

Shifting from negative to positive bonding isn’t easy, especially if the negativity has been entrenched for years. Intentionality is required, but repentance (if needed) or sanctification gives us a head start in many cases. Don’t think big change: small changes matter and are often the impetus for bigger change. How it grows over time is up to us following the Spirit and modeling Christ in our interactions with others. Here are some ideas and you can add more:

• End with one truly positive comment: When a conversation starts to drift into complaints or gossip, close it by saying something encouraging about a person or situation. Even a single positive note can interrupt the negativity cycle.

• Highlight shared victories or joys: Celebrate small wins together like a personal achievement, or a shared enjoyment. This trains the bond to focus on growth.

• Ask uplifting questions: Instead of defaulting to venting, ask things like, “What’s going well for you today?” or “What’s one thing you’re grateful for this week?” This subtly shifts the tone and invites positivity.

• Model gratitude or encouragement: Lead by example. Point out good qualities in others or express appreciation for someone’s effort. People often mirror the emotional cues they see in you.

Philippians 4:8 can guide us here: “Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable…if anything is excellent or praiseworthy…think (speak?) about such things.”

Even small, intentional steps like these can transform a relationship. When you first try these ideas (or other Spirit-led ones) from a renewed heart, it may feel weird or uncomfortable, but as long as it’s genuine, it’s a good thing that you’re feeling that way. Oh, and the person that has shared the negative bond? They might be taken aback or think something has changed. Spoiler alert: something has changed! Someone has chosen to be a better person! As Proverbs 27:17 reminds us, “As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another.” Maybe it will be contagious?

In the end, positive bonding is what we all need. It lifts us and ripples outward to those around us. That’s the kind of connection this world and our souls could use more of. May our connections uplift and encourage…not tear down.

It’s really just about being a true Christian from the heart, isn’t it?

Brandon Becker

Some of us are wired more strongly toward justice than others. Personality can shape how that instinct expresses itself. Some react outwardly, others inwardly; some feel it intensely, others quietly. Yet regardless of temperament, the deeper issue is not personality but obedience. Every one of us must bring our instincts under the lordship of Christ.

In Luke 15, we read the familiar account of the prodigal son. When the younger son returned in repentance, the father forgave him freely and celebrated his return. The older brother, however, was offended. He had been steady and outwardly faithful. Why should the one who failed receive such grace?

It is easy to see ourselves in that older brother. We may think of ourselves as faithful, yet resist the Father’s direction regarding forgiveness. We want justice. We want wrongs acknowledged and corrected. We want consequences to be visible and proportionate. If someone overreaches or causes harm, we want repentance to be clear and public. Our instincts lean toward balance and fairness as we define them.

But forgiveness does not originate in our sense of fairness; it originates in God’s mercy.

True forgiveness is distinct. It is one of the few realities that is deeply personal and yet not selfish. It concerns my heart, my obedience, and my freedom before God.

Forgiveness is giving up hope of a better past.
It is refusing to carry resentment or injury another step.
It is reclaiming responsibility for my own heart and thoughts.

It is not weakness.
It is not surrendering conviction.
It is not calling evil good.
It is not denying that a wrong occurred.

It is laying down a burden that God has not asked me to carry.

Unforgiveness can disguise itself as strength or principle. It can appear to defend righteousness. Yet in Matthew 18, Jesus tells of a servant forgiven an immeasurable debt who then refuses to forgive a small one. The contrast is meant to humble us. Our debt before God was beyond calculation; the debts owed to us, by comparison, are small.

Unforgiveness, then, becomes a contradiction for a Christian. We who have received mercy with open hands must not close those hands to others.

Forgiven people forgive.

Of course, this does not mean trust is instantly restored. It does not remove the need for wisdom, church discernment, or appropriate boundaries. It does not eliminate consequences where they are necessary and Biblical. But it does mean that I release my claim to personal vengeance and entrust “justice” to God.

When I withhold forgiveness, I may imagine I am holding someone else accountable. In reality, I am holding myself captive. Forgiveness is not primarily about the offender; it is about obedience to Christ and freedom of heart.

“Holding onto resentment is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die.” - unknown

To forgive is to step out of the role of judge. It is to align myself with the mercy that saved me. It is to enter the joy of the Father rather than stand outside in quiet resentment.

So, let go.
Step away.
Come into the celebration.

Be free.

-Brandon Becker

There have been times in my life when I felt stuck between what was and what’s next.
Not broken, not really thriving…just still. Seemingly in neutral.
It’s that strange middle ground that we probably all have experienced where prayers feel unanswered, and where forward motion seems to have paused. Or maybe we feel like the last several years have been a waste in terms of positive growth in our relationship with God or others. There are a lot of ways we can feel in neutral.

Hagar found herself in a place like that.. a wilderness, both outside and within. She had done what was asked of her. She had obeyed the voice of others, even when it led her into pain. And when that pain became too much to bear, she ran. Away from her place, away from her people, away from the hurt that seemed to define her story.

Alone and without direction, she stopped by a spring in the desert.. tired, used, and unseen. Yet right there, in the middle of nowhere, God came to find her.

He didn’t send a distant comfort or a vague sign from heaven.
No, He came personally, with questions that pierced through her pain:
“Hagar, where have you come from, and where are you going?”

She didn’t even know how to answer. But God already knew.

He met her right there, not after she got her life sorted out, not after she found her way back, but right there, in her wandering. And in that sacred moment, something awakened inside her.

She recognized Him, and gave Him a personal title.
El Roi — “The God who sees me.”

That’s not the cry of someone pitied.
It’s the declaration of someone found.

The story of Hagar isn’t about a woman lost in the desert; it’s about a God who refuses to lose sight of His people.
And the story of your life isn’t about you trying to claw your way out of the silence; it’s about a God who refuses to lose sight of you.

The same God who saw her, sees you.
He sees the quiet faithfulness when no one notices.
He sees the weary obedience that feels like it’s going nowhere.
He sees the heart that keeps trusting when the results still haven’t come.

You may think you’re in neutral, but God is still moving.
You may feel unseen, but God is still watching.
You may feel forgotten, but all of Heaven still knows your name.

And one day, when the pieces begin to make sense, (and for every believer, they will, either in this life or the next) you’ll look back and realize: the desert wasn’t a detour.
It was the meeting place of God and your soul.

Because the same God who found Hagar by a spring in the wilderness still finds His children today, right where they are, and whispers,
“I see you. I love you. I’ve been here all along.”

And when we see Him as He is, bedecked with unimaginable glory and reaching down to us with a love unfathomable and a mercy undeserved, we with humbled hearts will echo her words of awe in a tearful whisper, or maybe a joyful shout:
“El Roi!”

The God who sees me.

The same hand that made the world sustains it.

He upholds all things by the word of His power (Hebrews 1:3); He changes times and seasons, removing and raising kings (Daniel 2:21); He directs our steps though we plan our own way (Proverbs 16:9).

Yet the fact that God is sovereign does not silence prayer… it summons it.
Because the God who has ordained the end also ordains the means.
He calls us to pray… not to change His mind, but to align ours with His.
Prayer isn’t some sort of persuasion… it’s participation.
It’s allowing our soul to breathe and be part of the rhythm of Heaven.

And yes, God does answer prayer sometimes because we ask.
He moves in mercy toward the cries of His children.
But His answers aren’t always what we imagined,
for sometimes the thing He changes most is the heart that’s praying.

Prayer is no shortcut through life’s hard lessons.
It isn’t a way around the laws of sowing and reaping… it’s the grace that helps us walk through them.
God’s mercy doesn’t always remove the consequence; sometimes it redeems it.
Prayer isn’t a way to escape the plan of God, but to endure within it…
to find peace beneath His hand, even when the road stays rough.

Sovereignty and prayer are two hands of the same mystery.
One declares that God reigns…the other delights that we may speak to this reigning King.
Though He doesn’t need our counsel, He welcomes our cry.
The eyes of the Lord are toward the righteous and his ears toward their cry. Psalm 34:15

And so we rest. Not in our control, but in His care.
We live, plant, plow, and persevere, knowing it is He who gives the increase.
We are not adrift in some sort of chaos.

You can be sure that He who called the stars by name has not forgotten ours.
He writes our story still,

And when all is said and done, we will look back with celestial eyes that aren’t dimmed and see that every thread of our life’s story was held by His hand…and we shall say, “Surely goodness and mercy have followed me all the days of my life.”

Brandon Becker

They recognized that the governments and movements of men, however zealous or well-meaning, belong to a realm that is quickly passing away.

The roots of this world are in the sword, in compulsion, and in self-preservation,
while Christ’s kingdom is one of peace, mercy, and love.

Yet in every generation, the temptation remains for believers to give their hearts and minds over to the affairs of this age.

The danger is twofold.

First, it distracts from the simplicity of devotion to Christ.
Instead of meditating on His Word and walking in His Spirit, the heart becomes entangled with the anxieties of nations and the debates of men.

Our flesh and intellect love information and knowledge.
They love when someone with power, influence, or “reach” can articulate “our” views in a rousing and well-spoken way.

Second, it subtly shifts one’s allegiance.
When I rejoice at my side’s success or despair at its defeat, my true citizenship is revealed.

Christ said plainly: “My kingdom is not of this world” (John 18:36).
To give loyalty to any earthly cause is dangerous because it shifts our hope from Christ to men.

To me, this is the biggest danger: we begin by finding someone influential “online”, part of a movement that aligns with our big picture of Christianity. They seem to hit all the main points and we love that. But then, once we become entrenched and down the road inevitably see things that do not align with our beliefs, are we going to shift to align with them, or stay true to our conviction and become unaligned with the political sword we love? The temptation to shift, at least inwardly, is real!

Technology deepens this snare.

Social media platforms and news outlets thrive on our attention.
They are driven by algorithms designed to reinforce what we already want to see.

They are called “news feeds” and “social feeds” for a reason…
they feed us what we crave, caring nothing for whether it is healthy.

And when we ‘google’ things or type in searches?
Sometimes it’s not even the search engine’s fault.
Confirmation bias begins by how we word our question or request, because our wording reflects our assumptions.

Feeds do not seek to serve up objective truth.
They serve up what will keep our attention, stir our emotions, or earn another “click” so ads can be shown and revenue generated.

In this way, they easily feed the same desires that Scripture warns against—giving us ears that itch for what pleases us rather than what is true (2 Timothy 4:3–4).

Instead of shaping our hearts toward wisdom and discernment, they often shape us to love the noise of the world more than the quiet guidance of the Spirit.

Even our best efforts to seek comprehensive or unbiased information are often shaped by algorithms designed to reinforce what we already want to see.
This fuels confirmation bias, lulling us into the illusion of truth while simply reinforcing our own preferences.

Instead of seeking wisdom from above, we consume endless streams of noise below, strengthening the pull of worldly kingdoms instead of pointing us to the eternal one.

Political movements and compromise.

Political movements, often built on power and division, seem always to demand compromise.
They rally men to resist enemies, “the machine,” and the spiritual decay of a nation, politically.

When this means fighting to personally live the truth,
to serve our fellow man,
to resist the devil’s schemes and worldly influences…
it is a noble and good aim.

But when we step into the world’s arena and “fight” for political ends,
we trade the cross for the sword.

Scripture gives us a different vision:
“They shall beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks”…
first spoken in Isaiah and echoed by Micah.

In plain words, this is turning weapons of war into tools of peace and productivity.

“But I don’t carry a sword, nor do I serve in an earthly army,” I may say.
Yet I think the principle still applies in the New Dispensation,
focusing not on outward actions but on the heart.

Just as Christ taught that one may commit adultery in the heart without acting on it,
so I think we may harbor swords and spears inwardly.

The danger of inward swords.

If our daily intake of news, social media, and conversations is soaked in conflict, strife, and resistance,
we may unknowingly sharpen inward swords.

We may begin to love struggle more than stillness,
to thirst for “victory” more than peace.

But the way of Christ is different.
His call is to take up the cross, deny ourselves, and follow Him in meekness and love.

To lay down our imagined weapons is no less necessary than laying down actual ones.

If our hearts are armed, then our peace witness will always be disarmed.

Practical applications.

In daily life, this looks like:

• Beating swords and spears into tools of love and peace.

• Turning sharp words into gentle encouragement.

• Trading arguments for patient listening.

• Transforming time spent on partisan debates into prayer and service.

In our families: yielding instead of insisting on our own way, showing patience in conflict, teaching our children to forgive quickly.

In the church: refusing to let offenses fester, letting go of grudges, and working for unity even when it costs us our pride. And it will often cost us that.

In the public square: not retaliating when wronged, meeting hostility with kindness, being honest in our dealings with government (laws, taxes, etc).

Are nonresistance and meekness a weakness?
No. They are the active strength of Christ’s love lived out faithfully in daily life.

It is easy to seek revenge, to retaliate, to wield a battle-axe of opinion.

Christian meekness is the hard one.
And forgiveness? Oh, my…

An experience remembered.

Years ago, we visited a presidential library museum.
(Was this entangling ourselves in a worldly kingdom?)

On the way home, my wife was reading an article about this president.
From a distance, he seemed godly.
If true, glory to God; we will see him again.
That would be amazing.

The article included a remark from his first wife.
It revealed the cost of worldly focus:

“He was so concerned with the affairs of the world
that he wasn’t concerned for the affairs of his own world.”

She meant his family.
And according to her, this ultimately led to separation.

Now, I do not mean that all involved in political movements lack godliness,
or that they neglect their families.
But that statement struck me.

I realized why:
I had been that person,
and I could be again if careless.

I can look around, solve problems, discuss causes,
even align with Christian movements in the world around me.
Yet if I fail to lay down my life at the feet of Jesus,
and to lead my home (my world) in a godly way,
I am forsaking my first and most important duty.

That is the true work of the Kingdom.

Let’s make sure we’re breathing God’s oxygen
in a world where souls are poisoned by distractions.

Thus, by God’s grace,
we can use plowshares and pruning hooks for the “greater good.”

A call to caution.

So, do we need to be cautious?
Yes.

It may seem harmless to follow political news closely,
to scroll through some social media,
to voice agreement with a worldly movement in casual conversation.

Yet these things gradually shape the heart,
bending it toward earthly loyalties.

We may rightly appreciate public figures
who seem to uphold godly morals
or defend a God-honoring life.

But even here, we must take care.
Admiration must not become allegiance.
Respect must not become reliance.

Our hope is not in those who speak well for good causes,
or in the governments in which these voices reside
or fight for.

Our hope is only in Him who reigns forever.

The faithful testimony.

May our speech, our concerns, and our hopes remain fixed on Christ.

In this way, we will bear a faithful testimony
that we are not upheld by worldly kingdoms,
but by the Spirit of God.

Brandon Becker
09/13/2025

In light of recent political events, I’ll restate what I hope is obvious: these are my personal reflections, offered only as food for thought. My hope is that they encourage seeking God and His Peaceful Kingdom through attentive listening to the Holy Spirit. While inspired by recent events, I am not judging anyone involved in the actual events or questioning anyone’s faith.

This freedom means loving Christ so much that I don’t want to do anything that I will regret a million years from now.

The paradox is this: freedom in Christ looks like slavery to the carnal man. Paul says “But now having been set free from sin, and having become slaves of God, you have your fruit to holiness, and the end, everlasting life.” (Romans 6:22) Like a train on railroad tracks, my soul is only free and destination-bound when it runs on the will of God. Take a fish out of water and it dies. Call it ‘freedom’ if you want, but it’s not life. Likewise, when I step out of God’s path, I don’t find freedom. I find soul suffocation.

Here’s something else that the world gets all wrong. The more I follow Christ, the more like myself I become, because He made me. Like an instrument only makes music in the hands of someone to give it life, my life only makes sense in the hands of God. The more I give in to Jesus and His perfect will for me, the more I become what I was created to be!

So,

Why would I ever seek validation from a world that crucified a perfect man? Why would I seek applause from a crowd that would nail Jesus up again in a heartbeat?

Jesus said, “For whoever desires to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake will find it” (Matthew 16:25)

The world chants “find yourself and live.” But Jesus invites “Find me and live.”

It’s not freedom to live without boundaries. It’s freedom to finally live within the love that can’t be broken. Within a love that can’t be bought. Within a love that is divinely immeasurable. Within Love Himself.

“Stand fast therefore in the liberty by which Christ has made us free, and do not be entangled again with a yoke of bondage” (Galatians 5:1)

That’s freedom.

Sources:

Bible, NKJV

This book has transformed the way I think about pride, about ego, about measuring up (and measuring down). The objective truths therein, gleaned directly from God’s Word from the story of Paul, are brilliantly outlined in an easy-to-read, short form layout by Mr. Keller, who is a masterful teacher.

Let’s begin…

Chapter 1 - The Natural Condition of the Human Ego

Summarized version of this chapter:

We live in a world of puffed-up souls.
Paul saw it in Corinth — the church splitting into camps:
“I follow Paul!”
“I follow Apollos!”
“I follow Cephas!”
(See 1 Corinthians 3:21–23: “So let no one boast in men. For all things are yours… and you are Christ’s, and Christ is God’s.”)

Keller says the ego in its natural state is:

Empty.
It stretches to fill with worth, but it’s hollow….sucking in praise, position, possessions…yet never satisfied.
Painful.
It’s easily bruised, sore to the touch, because it’s always under review.
Busy.
Constantly comparing, boasting, defending. “Am I winning? Am I losing?”
Fragile.
Like an overinflated balloon…one insult, one failure, one “snub” from someone or group we look up to, and it pops.

Some thoughts to go along with this:

In the Bible, the ego is already there in the garden,
Eve hearing, “You will be like God” (Genesis 3:5)
and in Babel, where men stacked bricks toward heaven
just to make a name for themselves (Genesis 11:4).

Paul saw it thousands of years later in Corinth,
believers puffed up over which teacher they followed
(1 Corinthians 3:21–23)
forgetting that “you are Christ’s, and Christ is God’s.”

History’s pages bleed with it:
Caesar crossing the Rubicon to prove he was untouchable.
Napoleon crowning himself emperor,
because no one else was worthy in his eyes.

And here we are today:
often measuring our worth in how we’re accepted,
how our efforts are received,
carefully curating a life for an audience
while the soul sometimes can just feel emptier by the day.

But Scripture cuts through:
“It is the Lord who judges me” (1 Corinthians 4:4).
Not the crowd,
not the critic,
not even me.

Chapter 2 - The Transformed View of Self

Summarized version of this chapter:

Paul writes in 1 Corinthians 4:3–4:
“But with me it is a very small thing that I should be judged by you or by any human court.
In fact, I do not even judge myself.”

That’s a different kind of freedom.
Most of us ride the roller coaster of other people’s opinions,
high when we’re praised, low when we’re overlooked.
Or we swing the other way, becoming our own harshest critic,
living under the pressure of self-approval.

But Paul says, “I’m not living in either of those worlds.”
He’s not puffed up by applause.
He’s not crushed by disapproval.
He’s not obsessing over his own self-assessment.

The gospel gives him a new center,
a place where the self isn’t always in the spotlight.
Where the ego isn’t inflated or deflated,
but simply… quiet.

In this transformed view,
life stops being a constant comparison,
Am I better? Am I worse?
Did I win? Did I lose?
Was my thing accepted? Rejected?
Am I wanted and appreciated on this committee?

Instead, you’re free to step out of the endless measuring game.
Free to see people without stacking yourself against them.
Free to work, create, and serve
without every action being a mirror to check your worth.

It’s not thinking more of yourself.
It’s not thinking less of yourself.
It’s learning to think of yourself less,
so you can finally pay attention to what matters.
and to who’s right in front of you.

Some thoughts on this chapter:

We live in a world obsessed with the mirror.
Some polish it every day,
adding a new shine of self-esteem,
trying to see someone they can admire.
Others scowl at it,
reminding themselves they’re nothing,
thinking that’s humility.

But it’s all the same.
The mirror still holds the gaze.

Superiority and inferiority are essentially the same.
Both are the result of an overinflated, puffed up, swollen ego.
One is still that way and in danger of being burst, and one has been
pricked and burst already.

Paul says, “It is a very small thing that I should be judged by you…
In fact, I do not even judge myself.”
(1 Corinthians 4:3)

That’s strange to our modern ears.
The culture around us says, “Believe in yourself!”
Or, “Be true to yourself!”
“Follow your arrow!”
But the kingdom of God says,
“Stop staring at yourself altogether.”

Our faithful forefathers understood this.
They didn’t seek the seat of honor.
They didn’t need their story to be center stage.
They lived quietly,
worked with their hands,
and let their lives speak louder than their egos.

Pride wants to be noticed.
Humility doesn’t mind being forgotten…
as long as Christ is remembered.

The gospel invites us to turn the mirror around.
To stop counting our virtues and comparing our worth.
To do the work, love the neighbor,
and walk away without checking who saw.

It’s not thinking more of ourselves.
It’s not thinking less of ourselves.

When the self becomes quiet,
Christ becomes clear.

”Well that sounds fantastic,” you may say,
”but how do I forget myself?”

Chapter 3 - How to Get That Transformed View of Self

Summarized version of this chapter:

Paul’s startling statement in 1 Corinthians 4:3–4 is the key:
“But with me it is a very small thing that I should be judged by you or by any human court.
In fact, I do not even judge myself.
For I am not aware of anything against myself, but I am not thereby acquitted.
It is the Lord who judges me.”

Paul’s identity isn’t tied to human opinion.
It’s not swayed by criticism or inflated by praise.
It’s not even built on his own self-evaluation.
Why?
Because in the gospel, the verdict comes before the performance.

Every other system says: perform, then be judged.
Work hard, then you’ll get the verdict.
But the Christian gospel reverses it:
God’s verdict through Christ comes first.
Paul already knows the outcome: he’s justified, accepted, loved.
He’s free to live and serve without proving himself.

This changes the ego completely.
When the ultimate Judge has declared you righteous in Christ,
you no longer have to keep score,
win the argument,
or defend your record.
Your identity is secure,
not in what you’ve done,
but in what Christ has done for you.

That is how you get the transformed view of self:
resting in the finished work of Jesus,
letting His verdict shape your identity
instead of the world’s applause or your own self-opinion.

Some thoughts on this chapter:

Sometimes we spend so much energy trying to look good.
Some of us have lived for the approval of others,
bosses, parents, the crowd,
even strangers!

Others of us may go the opposite way,
“I don’t care what anybody thinks.”
But if we’re honest,
that’s still about me.
It’s still about winning in my own court of opinion.

Paul says something shocking in 1 Corinthians 4:3–4:
“It’s a very small thing to be judged by you…
I don’t even judge myself.”

That’s freedom.
Not arrogance.
Not indifference.
But a settled peace because of the most important verdict:
God’s.
God’s verdict has already been given in Christ.

See, every other story says:
Perform well, and then you’re approved.
Do enough, and you get the stamp.
But the gospel flips it:
God approves you in Christ before you even step on the stage.
The verdict comes first.

And once that sinks in,
you can breathe.
You can stop defending yourself in every conversation.
You can serve without needing applause.
You can admit when you’re wrong…
because your identity isn’t hanging on being right.

That’s not just good for you,
it’s good for God’s people.
Some folks hear this and think,
“Oh, so I don’t need anyone? I can just be a spiritual lone wolf.”
Not at all.
When you’re secure in Christ’s verdict,
you’re finally free to be part of the Biblical body without fear.
You can forgive,
because you’re not protecting your pride.
You can stay,
even when you’re hurt,
because your worth isn’t tied to whether everyone treats you perfectly.

Yes, the church has cracked pots, and we’re all carrying water in them.
But the gospel lets us walk in imperfect coexistence
without the ego constantly saying,
“Do they like me? Do they see me? Did they respect me?”
You can join in God’s work together
because you already know where you stand with Him.

That’s the real freedom:
not isolation,
but being able to walk arm-in-arm with other imperfect saints,
secure enough to love,
secure enough to stay,
secure enough to build.

That’s the Freedom of Self-forgetfulness.

Have a good day!

These are only my thoughts and opinions and exerpts from “The Freedom of Self-Forgetfulness.” Again, the book is interesting, short and punchy, you can get it from Gospel Publishers here or read it for free here.

I came to the throne with a trembling heart;
the day was done.
“Have you a new day for me, dear Master?
I’ve spoiled this one.”

He took my day, all soiled and blotted
and gave me a new one all unspotted.
And into my tired heart he cried,
“Do better now, my child.”

-anonymous

The earliest found sources credit the poem simply as an “elementary school teacher’s poem”, repeating the image of a teacher forgiving a student’s soiled worksheet and then relating that to God granting us a fresh day when we ask forgiveness.

The sun set over a beautiful Kentucky evening tonight like a gentle whisper of grace, a reminder that even a soiled day can end in mercy. He takes what’s blotted and offers what’s new. “Do better now, My child.”

There’s deep value in the wisdom of older folks. We need that. But maybe hearing from someone still in the trenches (It will be 8 years of trench work next week) and more freshly aware of how unprepared they were, might hit a little closer to home for those just starting to feel the cracks in their perfect plans.

I once saw a great tidbit of wisdom advertised at $0.75. That’s the price listed on the Goodwill sticker on the front of the child’s book “The Tower of Babel” by Martha Jander. It was lying open randomly on our couch one day, and I spotted these words at the bottom:

PRIDEFUL AMBITION AND DISOBEDIENCE LEAD TO SEPARATION FROM GOD AND FROM ONE ANOTHER.

Not bad for $0.75. As we work through the next few things, I want those words and the Tower of Babel story to be the foundation underneath.

Some of us husbands came into marriage with high ideals. Others had no ideals. Others brought a suitcase (or five) of baggage, shaped by what we saw growing up and promising we’d never repeat. And let’s be honest, a few of us majored in selective reading, focusing on lines like “wives, submit…” and passages like Proverbs 31 while conveniently skipping over all the parts that say things like, “Husbands, love your wives, as Christ loved the church and gave himself for it.” Could it be that some of us also didn’t really have any ideals or any dreams, and just kind of wandered into marriage “hoping for the best”? It’s easy to convince ourselves that we’re happy when we’re actually only seeing our own perspective of ‘I’m happy.’ But marriage calls for a shared happiness, a ‘we’re happy.’ Without that mutual joy and service, the foundation weakens, even if outwardly everything seems fine.

Whatever the case may be, are you happy and content in your marriage today? More importantly, are BOTH of you happy and content in your marriage today? Do you know that? Are you sure? When did you last check? And did you check without pressure and without leading the response to be what you wanted it to be? Just some questions!

Like the folks who set out to build the Tower of Babel, a couple usually begins marriage with shared vision: let’s build a meaningful, stable, loving, and beautiful life together! In fact, it sounds a bit like Babel Building Company’s vision: “Come, let us build ourselves a city, with a tower that reaches to the heavens…” (Genesis 11:4)

Just like the Babel Building Co., sometimes one or both partners get sidetracked with wanting to make a name for themselves. Or, maybe a desire to protect their status or image that they’ve carefully carved thus far. It might look like several things:

• Wanting to be in control

• Pursuing achievement for validation

• Losing sight of why you’re building (God’s glory, not your own)

• Running the marriage as if you don’t need God’s help

…and I’m sure there are many more. Maybe you can add a few? (Or your spouse could add them for you? Let them!)

The Babel Building Co. lost their shared vision, and thus, God confused their language. They could no longer understand each other. We sometimes get there too, or maybe we don’t ever get to the understanding part in the first place. Like the construction of Babel, our marriage progress halts. Misunderstandings multiply. We’ve stopped speaking the same language, not literally of course, but emotionally, spiritually, relationally.

Before this, the builders at Babel seemed unified. But their unity wasn’t automatically good. It wasn’t built on the right desire. “They said, ‘Come, let us build ourselves a city…a tower…and let us make a name for ourselves…’” (Genesis 11:4) They may have been united, but it was in pride, not purpose. They were functional, not faithful. Their unity was built on control, ambition, and selfishness instead of obedience, humble service, and worship. How does this manifest in marriage?

This is where I feel I’m taking the semester test after failing it through the year, because although I have other’s experiences and stories to glean from, I have to also blend in some experience, to my shame…

A couple may seem united…they’re sharing a roof, a bank account, etc. They may have children (btw, children reveal a marriage, not repair it, but that’s another topic), chase goals, and from the outside, they look like a pretty happy couple, polished and in sync. But without Christ as the cornerstone, their unity is only a silhouette or show, a fragile imitation of the real thing. A husband may lead with confidence and a take-charge outlook, but if his heart is not bowed before God, his demanding leadership is hollow. I mentioned a child’s book earlier, so let me try to channel this in the style of Dr. Seuss to describe the demanding husband in a lighter way (before it gets heavy…..uh oh):

You say you’re the head, but you act like a king,
You bark orders, claim headship, of ‘service’ you sing;
But YOU aren’t a servant, you just TAKE and DEMAND,
You’re not a great husband, and barely a man!

….and others fail to lead at all, becoming passive or disengaged:

”I won’t take the lead,” he says with a grin,
”I don’t know of marriage, or where to begin.”
But THAT’S not a leader to be hardly involved,
Avoiding the mess he’s been called to resolve.

Both extremes damage the marriage; true leadership is neither harsh control nor absent direction, but loving guidance rooted in humility and service. For true unity in marriage begins not with shared ambition, but with shared submission…first his, then hers…both under Christ. How dare a husband demand (or even expect) submission when the most important submission, his, is not in place?

You can’t lead a wife from under your own authority.
You’re not the king, CHRIST IS. And if you’re not submitted to your King, you’ve forfeited the right to lead His daughter.

Yes, "Wives, submit to your own husbands, as to the Lord" (Ephesians 5:22), but husbands, that means your leadership is meant to represent Christ. So if you don’t look like Christ…not sacrificial, loving, or servant-hearted…then demanding submission is not Biblical. It’s tyranny dressed up as headship.

You’re called to lay down your life, not throw around your weight.
You’re called to wash feet, not point fingers.
You’re called to lead her closer to Jesus, not closer to fear.

That all is pretty strong, isn’t it!? (I said it was going to get heavy!)

A husband who demands submission without himself submitting to Christ is not a leader, he’s a dictator in disguise. If the fruits of the Spirit are absent in his home leadership role, what does that mean? Husbands, may that cause us to pause! If we’ve forgotten, here’s a remember what the fruits are:

• Love, Joy, Peace

• Kindness, Goodness, Faithfulness

• Gentleness, Meekness, Self-control

If you think leading the home means your way or the highway, or taking charge and being a boss, or really laying it down and lining it out, consider the Biblical blueprint:
"Whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wants to be first must be your slave—just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.” Matthew 20:26-28 Jesus never led with force. He led with sacrifice, service, and love. This is the kind of leadership we’re called to in our homes. We must be ready and willing to serve, and ready to lay down our lives for our spouse!

God caused the Babel Building Co. to go bankrupt. Not out of cruelty or revenge, but to prevent deeper ruin. Sometimes, in our marriage, He sees where it’s headed and lovingly calls a halt. Husbands, if something is broken in your marriage or you’re back at square one, put away fault-finding and selfish fact-checking and realize this: God might be inviting you to rebuild, this time with Him at the center.

Will you? It’s not too late! Today is the first day of the rest of your life…

Remember,

PRIDEFUL AMBITION AND DISOBEDIENCE LEAD TO SEPARATION FROM GOD AND FROM ONE ANOTHER.

(And yes, wives have their part in this all too, but this one’s for the men. If the Spirit’s pressing, don’t dodge it. Step up.)

“Headship is not a right to control or to abuse or to neglect. It is the responsibility to love like Christ, to lay down your life for your wife in servant leadership.”

— John Piper

“Before honor comes humility.”

This little phrase wraps up Proverbs 15, a chapter packed with wisdom. (Although let’s be honest, aren’t they all?) I’ve found myself coming back to this verse several times. Especially when navigating something most of us deal with every day: relationships. Whether in families, friendships, our church environment, or some type committee meetings.

Here’s the full ending of the chapter:

“Whoever heeds life-giving correction will be at home among the wise.
Those who disregard discipline despise themselves,
but the one who heeds correction gains understanding.
The fear of the Lord is instruction in wisdom,
and before honor comes humility.” (Proverbs 15:31–33)

There’s so much wrapped into those words. A lot about listening, correction, understanding, wisdom, and reverence. But what’s struck me years ago and more recently is that final line: “Before honor comes humility.”

Now, I’m not a Bible scholar. I won’t pretend to unravel all the layers here. I feel like I know little about this. But I do know what it’s like to sit around a table with others…whether it’s a family meeting, a volunteer committee, a school board meeting, or some other group of people trying to make a plan. To sit there and have something to say, but not sure about it. Wanting your words to carry weight. Wanting to matter in the room.

Not in a prideful “I want control” way. Not at all. But in a “I want to contribute something meaningful” kind of way. I think most of us aren’t chasing personal glory. We just want to feel like we belong…like our presence and input matter a little. So when we hear the word honor in this verse, let’s not picture it as being elevated above others. True honor isn’t about status - it’s about being known as someone others can trust. It's not about recognition for ourselves, but about a quiet strength of character that others naturally respect.

And that’s where this verse hits home.
Because we can’t shortcut our way to honor.
We can’t force others to respect us, trust us, or give weight to our words.

Sometimes we try to. We try by being loud, or controlling, or steamrolling our own vision through. Sometimes we even get short-term results. But over time, that approach erodes trust. People remember the outbursts. The cold responses. The unwillingness to listen or adjust. The thinly veiled retorts or comments years later that reveal the heart. (or maybe, reveal the hurt?) And when we do this, we tend to get less and less heard.

In contrast, humility builds something real. Not overnight. Not always publicly. But over time, humility lays a foundation of respect. It doesn’t demand the floor, of course not. But when it speaks, others tend to listen. Not because it pushed its way in, but because it proved itself trustworthy over time.

I’ve started thinking about how that word “honor” might land a little differently for us today. Not all of us walk around thinking about “honor” in the King James sense. But we do want things like:

• Respect – before respect comes humility.

• Trust – before trust comes humility.

• A voice – before having a voice that matters, comes humility.

• Credibility – before credibility comes humility.

• Dignity – before being treated with dignity, comes humility.

But here’s the catch: humility isn’t a strategy to get those things. It’s not a clever disguise we put on so we can rise to power. It’s not “I’ll act humble now so I can win the vote later.” That’s manipulation. Some advanced users try this method, but it still reveals true intent over time.

No. True humility forgets itself. It serves others, listens well, receives correction, and doesn’t demand credit. And yet, paradoxically, it’s exactly the kind of character that earns real respect over time. That earns a voice over time. That ends up being heard over time. It’s the long-term vision of a servant life that is happy, and that others want to be around. Proverbs seems to have lots to say on this way of living, the way of accepting correction, being humble, and therefore, in God, being wise.

“Before honor comes humility.”

That’s not just a principle. It’s a promise.
Not of instant reward, but of lasting fruit.

The way it seems to me, the “honor” Proverbs speaks of isn’t a spotlight. No, it’s rather a quiet confirmation of character. It’s the kind of honor that comes from being a trustworthy, grounded, humble person. Not flashy. Not self-promoting. Just real. No matter where we find ourselves, a real person’s presence is needed and carries weight.

So let’s humble ourselves. Even when it’s quiet. Even when it feels like no one notices. Because in God’s timing, it always comes before the kind of “honor” that matters.

Brandon Becker

This world will eat you alive.
Unless you walk through it with the heart of a child and the eyes of a warrior.

I think children are mirrors of Heaven’s design.
I love them,
those small humans among us
who trust quickly, love freely,
laugh loudly, cry loudly,
and believe what you say,
because they haven’t yet learned to doubt.

They are open. Dependent on others.
And those children in safe spaces are beautifully unaware of how broken the world can be.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful if the world really were as
it is through their eyes, with real monsters only in storybooks
and hugs fixing everything?

Jesus told us to humble ourselves like children.
Only in His peaceful kingdom could such a thing be possible.

So here’s the question:
How do we live like children
with the hearts of lambs,
while walking among wolves?

We need a child’s heart.

A heart with tenderness…soft toward people, quick to forgive.
With trust…unashamed dependence on the Father.
With humility…doesn’t pretend to know it all.
With joy and wonder…laughing at small things, staring at stars on summer nights.
With teachability…able to listen when corrected, even when it stings.
With simplicity…not naïve, just uncluttered.

But we also need a grown-up’s head.

A mind with discernment…able to tell truth from subtle lies.
Steadiness…not thrown off course by every feeling, emotion, or trend.
Self-control…not driven by impulse or selfish habit.
An awareness of evil…not surprised by the battle we’re in.
Responsibility…willing to plan, lead, and sacrifice.

We need both. At the same time.

Because a child’s heart without a grown-up’s head is easily tricked.
It’s tender, but unguarded.
It trusts anyone, follows anything.
It gets hurt. Lost. Misled.

But a grown-up’s head without a child’s heart?
That’s a cold, calculating place.
Clever, but closed.
Sharp, but brittle.
Prideful. Cynical. Exhausted.

The goal isn’t to choose one or the other.
The goal is to hold both.
To be soft and sharp.
Innocent and wise.
Gentle and strong.
Unarmed and unafraid.

How else can we grow in both but by following Christ’s example?
Keep coming back to the character of Jesus as portrayed in the Bible.
Keep letting Him lead us day by day.

Because He is both.

He is the Lion…and the Lamb.
He touched lepers…and flipped tables.
He wept at a grave…and called the dead to life.
He humbly washed feet…and stood, silent, strong, and unshaken before Pilate.

So maybe as a start, we should let true worship crack the hard places.
Let simple faith shatter intellectual facades.
Let confession unclench our fists.
Laugh with a child, with anyone, or by ourselves.
Ask simple questions again, even if we think we know the answers.

Let wonder return.
Let joy live on our faces.

That’s being “harmless as a dove.”

But we need to stay sharp.

Read the Word like it’s our vital breath,
because it is.
Let truth pierce, even when it hurts,
because truth is the antidote to selfish wanderings.
Let the Holy Spirit be our guide,
because direct, Heaven-to-soul guidance is essential.
Stay awake.
Stay ready.
Stay vigilant.

That’s being “wise as a serpent.”

This isn’t something we can muster on our own, but is something
that Christ forms in us as we walk with Him day by day in grace.

So I don’t know about you,
but maybe today I will ask the Father:

“Lord,
Today, give me a child’s heart, and a grown-up’s head.
I want a heart soft enough to kneel prayerfully in the dirt.
I want legs strong enough to stand ready and steady in the storm.
Help me love without fear,
and fight life’s battles without hate.
Let me be harmless as a dove: gentle, open, humble.
Let me be wise as a serpent: discerning, alert, unshaken by evil.
In Your strength alone,

Amen.”

“I don’t need church… I have Christ within.”
That whisper of truth,
lost in a crowd of one.

But what about the personal relationship that is vital to the Christian?
In the quiet of daily life,
in the chaos or monotony of work,
in the ache of waiting,
we must commune with God first.

This is not a private pride.
This is essential soul survival.

Without rewriting “The Myth of the Lone Believer”, let me just add this:

118 times.
That’s how many times the Greek word ekklesia (church, called-out assembly)
appears in the New Testament. Through baptism and communion, the Church nurtures personal faith and, through mutual accountability, guards the purity and witness of Christ’s body.

59 times.
That’s how many “one another” commands
are in the New Testament. These “one another” commands are difficult to practice in isolation or with irregular fellowship.

Scripture rarely, if ever, promotes purposeful, ongoing withdrawal. Temporary solitude for prayer and seeking (like Jesus and Paul) is Biblical and healthy but always leads back to fellowship. Verses about personal faith and God’s grace call for individual response, never implying isolation from the community of believers. Gathering together is not about proving our righteousness or feeling superior, but about humbly supporting one another in grace and truth.

Let’s get back to the personal lifeline of faith…

We must be in the Word, not just near it.
We must commune with God in secret,
not only with others.

With humble obedience.
Through surrender.
In alone time with the Shepherd.

“Alone with God” is
strength for trials,
daily bread for nourishment,
and soul rest for the weary.

So yes, salvation is personal, even in our daily walk with family and others around us. But here’s another aspect: what about when we are truly alone?

Not because we chose to be…
but because life turned out that way?

The sick.
The scattered.
The persecuted.
The imprisoned.
The remote.

What then?

Even Jesus withdrew.
“He often withdrew to lonely places and prayed.” Luke 5:16
So did Moses. David. Elijah.

He is near to the brokenhearted (Psalm 34:18).
Not distant from the crushed—He lifts them.

When Paul stood alone, abandoned by all,
he said the Lord stood with him and gave him strength (2 Timothy 4:16–17).

Even Jesus, left alone, said, “I’m not alone. The Father is with Me” (John 16:32).

There’s a quiet strength in trusting Him (Isaiah 30:15),
and a promise that still holds:
“I will never leave you nor forsake you” (Hebrews 13:5).

There is a holy aloneness
where God meets us tenderly.

“Whom have I in heaven but Thee?” (Psalm 73:25)

When true fellowship isn’t possible,
and isolation isn’t prideful,
when solitude is borne with humility and submission, not arrogance or rebellion,
you’re not a sheep wandering the mountainside,
you’re a lion walking the plain.
Walking in quiet, humble confidence, knowing whose gentle strength you carry,
the strength of the Master Lion.
Judah’s Lion.

Because,
Non est solus qui cum Deo est.
He is not alone who is with God.

That was the testimony of faithful saints long ago.
Young Algerius, a martyr who was burned at the stake in 1557, testified (as recorded in Martyrs Mirror): “In a lonely corner I have had most glorious company…He for whom I longed now offers me His hand…He comforts me; He fills me with joy.”

Even in the midst of “normal” life, or circumstantially “alone” life, or in midst of difficulties, isn’t that still the testimony of true saints today?

So let us walk humbly.
Let’s meet God alone first,
for stillness,
for strength,
for renewal.

And let us walk with the Church,
for accountability,
for encouragement,
for the beautiful burden bearing of one another.

Because remember the 118 ekklesia’s?
(Not to mention the 57+ sunago’s [verb, to gather together] the 20+ koinonia’s [fellowship, communion], etc)
Oh, and the 59 one-another’s? Those seem important to me.
Repetition in the Bible doesn’t make a truth greater. God doesn’t need to repeat a phrase to prove it. But repetition signals importance.

I don’t believe that “a personal faith is essential” and “the Church and gathering together are vital” are mutually exclusive…both are necessary and deeply connected.

We’d love to see you at church this Sunday.
But if, in humility, you simply cannot come,
if you're held back by suffering, sickness, or truly difficult circumstance,

Non est solus qui cum Deo est.
He is not alone who is with God.

Sources:

1. Strong’s Concordance
- Lists all occurrences of ekklesia and other Latin/Greek words.
- Gives definition for ekklesia: “a calling out,” used for Christian assemblies.
- Link to view this source: BlueLetterBible

2. Bible
- You can view and word-search the Bible online many places, like here: Bible Gateway

3. Martyr’s Mirror link

4. Online editing and grammar helps

“I don’t need church…
I have Christ within.”

It sounds deep.
Maybe even freeing.

No squeaky pews.
No forced conversation.
No one to challenge how you live,
Or what you really believe.

Just you and Jesus.
Unbothered.
Untethered.

A lone warrior on the battlefield, fighting with the strength of the Most High within you.

“I don’t need need church…I have Christ within.”

And yes—
Christ must live within.
No building or system can contain His glory.
No empty ritual can summon His grace.

That’s a whisper of truth.

But hear this:
The Christ who lives in you
Will lead you to the Christ
Who lives among His people.

Because He’s never been a solo act.

From the Upper Room
To the breaking of bread,
From the desert saints
To the martyrs' footsteps,

From Pentecost’s fire
To Paul’s letters homeward,
From the gathering crowds
To the hidden catacombs,

From early house churches
To the Reformation’s call,
From faithful elders’ wisdom
To the joyful saints today,

He builds a body,
Not a brand.
A people,
Not a preference.
A flock,
Not just feelings.

You say,
“The Church hurt me.”
Maybe. (or was it perceived hurt or personal hurt from someONE?)

You say,
“It’s full of hypocrites.”
Yes, I would say that having some is a real possibility…
But there’s one in every mirror, if we’re honest.

Sometimes the real struggle isn’t with the Church.

It’s with the part of us
That doesn’t want to be taught,
Doesn’t want to be questioned,
Doesn’t want to be small—

The part that craves spirituality
Without submission.

But Christ calls us into the light—
Into fellowship,
Into correction,
Into communion.

Not isolated perfection,
But imperfect participation.

You say,
“Christ is in me, and He is all I really need to be saved.”

Yes,
But the same God who dwells in your heart
Also wrote letters to congregations.

Not to “whoever feels spiritual,”
But to churches with names—Corinth, Galatia, Ephesus.
(See Ephesians 1:1, 1 Corinthians 1:2, Galatians 1:2—“To the church in...”)

Not to “whoever feels close to God,”
But to saints who gathered, broke bread, and bore one another’s burdens.
(Acts 2:42–47—they devoted themselves to teaching, fellowship, and prayer; Galatians 6:2—bear one another’s burdens.)

Not to “lone disciples on a mountaintop,”
But to bodies joined in worship, correction, and communion.
(1 Corinthians 11:18–20—when you come together as a church...; Hebrews 10:25—do not neglect meeting together.)

Not to “whoever vibes with Jesus,”
But to communities marked by discipline, love, and order.
(1 Corinthians 5—remove the immoral person from among you; Colossians 3—let love bind everything together; Titus 1:5—appoint elders to set things in order.)

He addressed elders, deacons, sisters, brothers—
“...to all the saints in Christ Jesus in Philippi, with the bishops and deacons.” (Philippians 1:1)

Didn’t He expect a body with shared doctrine, discipline, and unity?
“I appeal to you... be in agreement, with no divisions... united in the same mind and purpose.” (1 Corinthians 1:10)

Is someone in a “heathen” land shut out from the gospel because of the lack of fellow believers? Certainly not.

But if you have access to and reject the body He died to create,
I believe you’re missing much of what He intended for this life’s walk.

Even Paul had Barnabas.

A sheep who wanders alone doesn’t pop up somewhere on a distant hillside, finding a new-found flock of random sheep and coming into a deep communion with each other. It gets eaten.

It’s not always easy. You might be misunderstood, stretched, or even wounded. But isolation won’t heal you either. But Christ called you to communion. And in the tension, in the occasional awkwardness, in the ordinary grace of other believers, He forms a people who grow, stumble, fall, forgive, and become more like Him so they can serve each other in imperfect communion.

So, in closing, here’s a thought that may be worth sitting with:

When you say “Christ is within me,”
is it really Christ’s church you carry…
or just the echoes of a kingdom
where YOU still sit on the throne?

“Those who say, ‘I’m spiritual but not religious’ usually mean ‘I want all the comforts of God without the inconvenience of people.” -CS Lewis* attributed, not certain, see note below

Credits:

Bible, NRSV

Online helps like AI for history research, editing, etc

(I feel like this is more of a compiling then a writing - I researched, compiled ideas, grabbed quotes, and added some of my own bits and pieces. Hope you enjoyed)

*Quote was gathered and added for its objective truth, not because author believes (or does not believe) in the sincerity of the *supposed author’s faith—that is irrelative to the objectiveness of the quote’s content.

Yet, I couldn’t help but think about how we do this very thing in Christian life sometimes, and with much bigger things hanging in the balance than just a few more seconds of mowing.

We try to blend two paths, two convictions, two ways. Sometimes we do it in the name of “being open-minded” or “not being ‘thingy’” or “preserving relationships” or some other short-sighted reason. We try to split the difference—to hold to God's Word while also avoiding offense. To follow Christ and still fit into the world. To avoid sin but not appear judgmental. To speak truth but soften it until it’s barely truth at all. We downplay holiness so we don’t seem legalistic, and we redefine love so we don’t have to confront sin. We celebrate grace while quietly silencing repentance. We keep our faith private so we won’t seem pushy, and we excuse compromise as “wisdom” or “balance.” All the while, the edge of our witness dulls, and the clarity of the gospel fades into something palatable for everyone but powerless in anyone.

It’s tempting to think that compromise is kindness. That half-truths are peacemaking. We think that by going down the middle, we can keep a clear conscience and still keep everyone around us happy. But often, we end up leaving two skips—failing to stand clearly for God, and failing to win the world (or fellow believer) we were trying not to offend.

Obviously, standing firm in truth and refusing compromise is not a license to be harsh or unloving. True obedience calls us to speak the truth, but in love—not with a cold hardness that wounds for its own sake, but with a gentle firmness that seeks restoration and grace.

The Apostle Paul did not preach compromise, but “We proclaim Christ crucified” (1 Corinthians 1:23). And James writes: “Friendship with the world is enmity with God” (James 4:4). The gospel is a narrow road, not a middle path. As Menno Simons wrote, “True evangelical faith...cannot lie dormant, but manifests itself in all righteousness and works of love.” There’s no middle-mow in the kingdom of God.

Truth requires full passes. Courage, clarity, and yes—sometimes loss. But better to go over it twice than to leave two strips undone for the sake of efficiency which turns out to not be efficient, or truthful.

This matters not just for our own walk, but for how we raise our families. When children see us split the difference in the name of peace or convenience, they learn that truth is negotiable. But when they see consistency between the Word of God and the life of a parent, they learn that truth is worth the cost. “…the heart that fails to cultivate truth will be choked with lies.” A.W. Tozer

The world doesn’t need us to soften the gospel—it needs us to live it. Not to split the difference with them on what’s Godliness, but to cling to God’s truth inasmuch as we can by His strength. Not with self-righteous brashness, but with humble, visible obedience. And we must walk that path without being paralyzed by the fear of being misunderstood. Our careful obedience may be mistaken for self-righteousness or “stuffiness”—but that misunderstanding reflects the heart of the observer, not the one obeying.

We know it’s not by our own strength or cleverness that we stay true—it’s by leaning into God’s grace and the steady guide of His truth. Without that, even the best intentions fall short. It’s a daily reliance, not a one-time decision. A constant leaning on the truths of God’s Word, not a pick-and-choose-your-truth-for-today situation.

Does compromise exist, and can it sometimes be beneficial? Absolutely—countless projects and governments and committees have advanced only because opposing sides found common ground. But compromise stops being virtuous the moment it sacrifices Biblical truth or cheapens sound doctrine. One day the field we leave behind will expose whether we chose faithfulness or shortcuts. Will it be a humble, well-kept plot, or a patchwork of skipped rows left untended? Let’s inspect our acreage now: listen to those we influence, welcome both reproof and encouragement, and hold everything up to the light and truth of God’s Word. Is my field clean—or full of skips?

And yet, this same loving God is wrathful?
Yes. His Word doesn’t just whisper it — it thunders it.
It speaks of His judgements on sin and the doers of it.
Shiver.

But wait—
Isn’t He love?
Aren’t wrath and love opposites?
Not even close.

The wrath of God is the love of God —
refusing to tolerate what destroys you, His beloved.

You see, God is the gentlest Shepherd
and also the consuming fire.
He encourages like a Father
but refines like a Holy Flame,
never content with leaving us half-free or half-alive.

God is easy to please,
but hard to satisfy.

“Those are opposites again,” you may say.

I don’t think so.

It’s like when a toddler takes their first step—
we clap, we cheer, we celebrate.
But if, by fifteen, if they’re still only wobbling,
we’re not content. (Assuming they have no physical or mental handicaps)
Not because we’re harsh—
but because we know there’s more.

So it is with God.
His refining fire isn't revenge or spite.
It’s not fury unhinged.
It’s His holy, jealous love
burning away every chain and vice that keeps us from Him.

He rejoices in your smallest act of trust,
your halting “yes,”
your imperfect obedience—
but because He loves you,
He will never stop calling you deeper.

More trust.
More freedom.
More life.

So is He love?
Yes.
Is He wrathful?
Also yes.

But His wrath isn’t the opposite of His love.
It’s what love looks like
when it confronts evil,
when it refuses to let death and sin have the final word.

God’s wrath is not like ours.
It’s not impulsive, selfish rage.
It’s not the outburst of a wounded ego.
His wrath is holy—measured, just, and pure.
It flows not from hatred of people,
but from fierce love that cannot ignore evil.
It is the fire of a Father
who will not let sin destroy His children.

So fear Him—
yes.
But also trust Him.
Because His fire,
if you surrender to it,
won’t consume you—
it will transform you.

Into the image of His Son.
Blameless.
Radiant.
Free.

Not just pardoned—purified.
Not just rescued—renewed.

Set apart.
Made alive.
All praise to His glorious grace.

Brandon Becker

She doesn’t believe in punishments—only “emotional redirection.”
She doesn’t say no—just offers “two calming alternatives.”
Her kids don’t throw tantrums, they “process unmet needs through spontaneous and energetic movement.”

Also, her house is 100% plastic-free.

Her toddler drinks homemade oat milk from a glass bottle because plastic “disrupts their hormonal clarity,” according to the book she read during her herbal tea and journaling hour.

Their baby spoons are made of ethically harvested wood.
All toys are neutral-toned, sustainably sourced, and not allowed to light up, make noise, or bring joy.

She’s determined to break the cycle of generational trauma passed down by her mom, who once yelled at her in the Walmart parking lot, and her husband’s dad, who owned a leaf blower and believed in consequences.

There are no sippy cups, only “drinking vessels.”
No diapers, just “early potty awareness with floor-friendly accidents.”
The floor cleaner is vinegar, lemon, and a drop of frankincense. The toddler hates it.

Taryn’s Whatsapp bio says:
“Raising emotionally aware, organic-fed humans 🌱”

But last Thursday…

Her 2-year-old bit her arm, slapped his baby brother with a silicone teether, and screamed “HIBBITY GIBBITY GOO” while throwing a compostable plate of organic lentils across the kitchen.

Taryn took a deep breath and calmly offered,
“Do you want to stomp it out or snuggle your worry pillow?”

He decided that licking the dog and running was a better option.

By bedtime, he was shirtless, furious, and hiding under the recycled milk jug rug yelling “I WANNA EAT A PLASTIC HOT DOG.”

Taryn stood in the hallway, clutching a cocktail of the finest essential oils, whispering to herself,
“I am the calm. I am the boundary. I am the……….oh my word is that poo on the wall?”

Then she texted her husband:

“If you walk through that door with McDonald’s chicken nuggets and something that plays ‘Baby Shark’ incessantly, I will consider it a love offering.”

Moral of the story:

Intentional parenting and clean living are beautiful goals.

But sometimes (or more than sometimes??) your child doesn’t need another sweet little affirmation—they need cheap protein (that may have traces of Glyphosate), Peppa Pig, and a parent who didn’t just mop up oat milk with a bath towel.

You’re not losing if this happens occasionally. You’re just surviving.

One ethically sourced meltdown at a time.

Not sick. Just... vaguely unwell.
Like her spleen was suspicious. Or maybe her stomach flora were holding a grudge.

Then one day, her cousin Rhoda added her to a WhatsApp group called “The Inner Cleanse Collective 💧🌿🧘‍♀️.”
The messages came fast:

“You’re not tired, you’re TOXIC.”
“If your joints hurt, it’s probably ancient trauma stuck in your kneecaps.”
“My cousin’s neighbor drank MoonWater™ for 11 days and reversed scoliosis.”

By the end of the week, Linda had bought a $349 Gut Harmony Kit that included:

A 1oz bottle of “liquid light”,
A tongue scraper made of Himalayan zinc,
And a hand-pressed flaxseed affirmation scroll.

She began the regimen immediately, pairing it with the recommended salt bath prayers and daily cup of mushroom dust tea.

After day three, she declared:

“I felt my colon sigh in relief. It was like… inner exfoliation.”

and

“No longer do I say ‘you too’ when the barista tells me to enjoy my oat milk latte.”

Meanwhile, her husband decided to just drink water and start walking after supper.
He lost 12 pounds, stopped snoring, and said he felt "pretty good, honestly."

But Linda knew he was still clogged with emotional yeast.

Eventually, Linda’s $349 kit ran out, and the WhatsApp group disbanded after Rhoda started promoting “quantum deodorant.”

Left alone, Linda tried something radical.

She drank a glass of water.
Took a plain multivitamin from aisle 9.
Walked briskly to the end of the lane and back.

By evening, she felt… better.

Not “chakra-aligned” or “gut-awakened.”
Just hydrated, mildly energized, and no longer convinced her gallbladder was haunted.

Moral:

If your “healing journey” costs more than your electric bill and involves powder you can’t pronounce, maybe try the revolutionary trifecta:

Water. Exercise. A healthy-ish diet and possibly some random vitamins.

Sometimes wellness isn’t expensive or trendy.
It’s just boring and takes discipline.

Written by Dr. Brandon Becker
(I’m a doctor because it says “Dr.” in front of my name. Don’t question my qualifications or my propensity to disagree with 99% of real doctors—after all, don’t you know that in year nine of their residency, they get pulled behind a curtain and told, “Dr. Broski, sign this pledge to never heal anyone and push Big Pharma forever and ever, amen.”)