The Importance of Feedback in My Life

The Importance of Feedback in My Life

If you've been reading my writings for a while, you know I like to mix in a story, a little vulnerability, and, more often than not, a nudge of biblical truth woven in along the way. Today is no different, except this one hits a little closer to home—because it's about feedback. Now, I know feedback can be one of those tricky things. It's right up there with patience, humility, and trying to assemble IKEA furniture without losing your Christianity altogether. It sounds good in theory, but when you're standing there on the receiving end of feedback, heart wide open, it suddenly becomes clear this isn't for the faint of heart.

But over the years—and trust me, it’s been years—I've come to realize how important feedback actually is in my life. Not just any feedback, though. I’ve learned (sometimes the hard way) that there are a few critical questions that need to be answered before feedback should ever be welcomed into my world, let alone integrated into my life. If you rush this process or let just anyone speak into your life, well, let's just say the enemy loves to twist a good thing into self-doubt, insecurity, or worse.

The Heart and Mind Alignment

First and foremost, what I've learned—and what I’m still learning—is that feedback requires alignment. Not alignment of circumstances or achievements, but alignment of the heart and mind. You need to be in a place where you can actually hear what is being said, not what your insecurities think is being said. That alignment? It comes from Christ. From a heart that is, even on the rough days, leaning toward Jesus.

In Proverbs 4:23, we're reminded:
"Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it."

That includes how we process feedback. If our hearts are not guarded, we let bitterness, insecurity, pride, or even misplaced shame dictate how feedback lands in our lives. That’s when feedback can become dangerous instead of helpful. So, for me, feedback only holds value if my heart is steady—rooted in Christ, and my mind is focused—not racing with comparison or fear.

The Environment of Safety and Love

Following closely behind that is the importance of the environment where feedback is given. You could have the most well-crafted words, but if they are thrown into a space filled with judgment, ego, or hidden agendas, those words won’t bear fruit—they'll bear scars.

That's why I’ve become so cautious (and intentional) about who I let speak into my life. My mentors, my closest friends, my church leadership—they've earned that space. And they protect it. One of the greatest blessings God gives us, after salvation, is community. But not all community is safe community.

The Apostle Paul understood this dynamic when he wrote in Ephesians 4:15:
"Instead, speaking the truth in love, we will grow to become in every respect the mature body of him who is the head, that is, Christ."

Truth and love—it’s not one or the other; it’s both. And that's exactly the environment I’ve come to cherish, especially in my church and within the men's leadership team I’ve been walking alongside.

The God-Anointed Truth

And finally, the question I ask before receiving feedback is this: Is this God-anointed? Does this feedback carry the fingerprints of the Holy Spirit? Is it seasoned with love, anchored in Scripture, and delivered with humility? If the answer is yes, then I lean in, even if it's hard to hear. But if it feels like it's marinated in pride or insecurity—even if it's packaged nicely—I pray for discernment to set it down.

John 16:13 tells us:
"But when he, the Spirit of truth, comes, he will guide you into all the truth."

Feedback, at its best, is guided by the Holy Spirit. It doesn't condemn; it convicts. It doesn't shame; it sharpens. And that's exactly the kind of feedback that has shaped me, refined me, and helped me become a little more like the man God created me to be.

A Story of Feedback, Faith, and the Force Multiplier

Now, if you've read my writings, you know I don't get through reflections like this without a story. So buckle in, because this one, well, this one changed me.

About a year ago, I started actively working with the men’s leadership team at my church. It was the start of a new season for me—a season of stepping up and stepping out in ways I hadn’t before. One of the themes God kept pressing on my heart was this idea of being a force multiplier for the Kingdom. What could I do—me, just one flawed guy—to amplify the reach of God’s Kingdom here on earth?

As the church began getting to know me, naturally, the topic of my salvation story came up. You may have read about it already—the God moment I had in Belize. If you haven’t, I’ll tell you now, go find it. It'll give you goosebumps. Not because of me, but because of how good God is when He shows up in undeniable ways.

The Seed of Testimony

After sharing bits of that story with some of the leaders, one of the senior pastors came to me. He didn’t press, but he planted a seed. He said, “Craig, you should share your testimony with the church.” Now, if you’ve ever walked with the Holy Spirit long enough, you know how He works. Seeds get planted, and sure enough, someone else waters them.

A few months went by. Our men's group began preparing for an upcoming retreat—a weekend meant for men from all walks of life to grow together, be challenged, and ultimately, draw nearer to Christ. As planning unfolded, a tradition came up: someone would share their testimony—how they were saved and how they now serve Christ.

It was at that moment that I realized the Holy Spirit had given me the most gentle, yet undeniable, nudge. It wasn’t audible, but it was as clear as day. A wink, a nonverbal push that said, “This is your moment.” So, with more nerves than confidence, I offered to share.

Kiel's Feedback

In the weeks leading up to the retreat, I worked on my testimony. I wrote down my thoughts, trying to find that balance of vulnerability and structure. I thought it was decent. Then, I sat down with Kiel—a mentor, friend, and brother in Christ.

He read it over, then leaned back and asked, “Craig, this is good. But… do you think there could be more?”

At first, I didn’t get it. I thought, “More? What more? I shared the big moment—the Belize story—the encounter with God. What else is there?”

And that’s when Kiel, in true Christ-like fashion, challenged me deeper.

He said, “What about you? What about the details? What about your struggles—the raw, vulnerable parts of the journey? You gave a great account of the moment, but what about how Jesus made you feel? People need that. They need your story—the full story.”

Suddenly, I understood. Kiel wasn’t after theatrics. He was after authenticity. And more importantly, he was following the model of Jesus. Because Jesus doesn’t just love our polished testimonies—He loves all the messy, unfinished details in between. And He wastes nothing, even our lowest points.

The Breaking Point and Breakthrough

I remember the first time I shared anything remotely personal publicly. It was 2015, my first blog post. I didn't think it was that good, nor did I share deep personal details. But I’ll never forget the moment I hit "send." I was sitting in my old office, the sun pouring in, and tears welling up in my eyes.

The flood of emotions came crashing over me—fear, rejection, that old enemy of “you’re not good enough.” But I pushed send anyway. That moment cracked open a door that, years later, God would swing wide open.

So, fast forward to that September evening—Friday night, 120 men staring back at me. I was ready… ish. I’d worked on my testimony, revised it with Kiel’s feedback, but truthfully, I still knew I was holding back.

Moments before stepping up, I confessed to Kiel, “I’m nervous. I’ve written blogs, shared my heart on paper—but this… live… raw… vulnerable… I’ve never done that.”

Kiel prayed over me. A simple, heartfelt prayer for strength.

And then, I shared.

The Enemy’s Distraction

The most raw, emotional moment came as I shared not just my salvation, but the aftermath. How, as a rookie Christian, I got distracted. The enemy dangled a beautiful, worldly woman in front of me. And like many before me, I took the bait.

I told the room how I could literally feel the Holy Spirit’s presence diminish during that season. It became a dark, lonely time. And yet, in that darkness, God’s grace never left me. He didn’t scold. He didn’t abandon me. He simply waited—with love, patience, and that unending grace only Jesus offers.

As I shared, the tears came. Not performative tears—but the gut-level, I-can’t-hold-this-back kind of tears. And as I paused, scanning the room, I saw compassion. I saw understanding. I saw community.

The very feedback that challenged me to go deeper—to share the hard parts—became the doorway to freedom and connection.

Biblical References on Feedback and Testimony

Let me share a few biblical anchors that frame everything I’ve learned about feedback:

1. Proverbs 27:17 –
   "As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another."
   True feedback is meant to sharpen, not to wound.
2. Hebrews 12:11 –
   "No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it."
   Feedback, even when hard to hear, produces righteousness and peace when received in the right spirit.
3. Revelation 12:11 –
   "They triumphed over him by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony; they did not love their lives so much as to shrink from death."
   Your testimony is a weapon. It overcomes darkness. Feedback helps sharpen that testimony.

Three Ways to Gain Strength to Share Your Story

1. Root Yourself in Scripture
   Before you share, before you listen to feedback, spend time in God’s Word. His truth provides the filter to discern good feedback from harmful noise.
2. Surround Yourself with the Right People
   Feedback is only as valuable as the source it comes from. Find mentors, friends, and leaders who love Jesus more than they love your comfort zone. They’ll push you, but they’ll do it in love.
3. Pray for Courage and Humility
   Before every moment of sharing—whether it's a testimony, a conversation, or a public speaking opportunity—pray. Ask the Holy Spirit for courage to be bold, and humility to be real.

The Journey Continues

In closing, let me say this. My role within the men’s leadership team, my role within the Kingdom—it’s far from over. This journey is just beginning. But now, with every step forward, I carry the lessons of feedback, the strength of testimony, and the reminder that our stories—messy, beautiful, redeemed—are meant to be shared.

The enemy would love nothing more than for us to stay silent. But Jesus? He’s in the business of turning broken stories into Kingdom victories.

So, take that first step. Lean into the feedback. Let your testimony ring out. The Kingdom is waiting.

Gentle Parenting Reflection

Gentle Parenting Reflection

Have you ever heard of this newer method of parenting called "gentle parenting"? I hadn’t really heard much about it until recently, when my daughter began teaching me about it. Funny how life does that—how we think we are here to teach our kids, but often they end up teaching us. Gentle parenting, as my daughter described it, is about allowing space for the child to process emotions and learn through those experiences, rather than being hurried along or disciplined harshly. It’s about patience, about connection, about truly seeing the child and letting them work through their feelings.

When she first told me about it, I genuinely thought it sounded beautiful. I also realized that I had not parented this way when I was raising my children. I was a single dad, trying to manage two young kids with the help of my parents, balancing the demands of corporate life, and all the other pressures that life throws at a single parent. Patience? Well, I had some, but probably not enough. There were always tasks to complete, deadlines to meet, food to get on the table, bills to pay, laundry to fold, and somewhere in the middle of all that, I had to figure out how to love well.

In kindness, my daughter pointed out that, in my rush to handle everything, I didn’t always give her the time she needed to process her emotions. For the record, she never received a spanking (although I’ll admit there were moments when I’m sure she could have driven even Christ Himself to drink a little extra wine). But still, she’s right. I was often in a hurry—trying to make ends meet, trying to juggle everything—and that meant I sometimes missed those crucial moments of connection where I could have simply paused, listened, and allowed her to feel.

Looking back now, I realize that some of my choices and parenting style were more about survival than about flourishing. I have acknowledged this to her, apologized, and to her credit, she responded with so much grace. She told me she knew I was doing the best I could at the time. That meant the world to me. But if I’m honest, I still carry the wish that I could get a do-over. I wish I could have parented with the wisdom I have now. I know we all do our best with what we have, but I would have loved to have given my kids more space to be, to process, to grow without the rush.

But life doesn’t hand out do-overs. What it does offer is opportunities to grow, to love better today, and to reflect on how we can become more Christ-like in the future. Fast forward many years later, and now I sometimes find myself in situations where my daughter offers her feedback about my current personal life—whether I ask for it or not. She is quick to use her words to broadcast her opinions to others within our small family circle. And as I thought about it, something struck me: wouldn’t it be nice if she used those same gentle parenting skills on me? It feels a little ironic that the thing she longed for as a child—to be given time to process, to be heard without immediate correction—is something she now seems to offer me with very little patience.

Don’t get me wrong. I know her heart is in the right place. Like me, I believe she isn’t intending to hurt or overstep. She likely wants what she believes is best for me. But the irony is thick: she is doing the very thing she felt I did to her—offering opinions without an invitation, sharing thoughts with others before I had the chance to process for myself. The beautiful, humbling lesson here is that life has a way of turning the tables, giving us a chance to walk in the shoes we once put on our children.

As I sat with this realization, I recognized that boundaries were probably crossed in both directions over the years. Perhaps I wasn’t always clear about the space I needed back then. Perhaps I haven’t always been clear now. Maybe, in both experiences, the communication wasn’t as open or as direct as it needed to be. And maybe that’s the quiet thread that runs through all of this—a reminder that what we leave unsaid can sometimes echo the loudest.

I wrestled with whether or not I should bring this up to her—to gently explain how I feel, to ask for the same grace she teaches, to request that sometimes, it would be nice to process without unsolicited advice. But the more I prayed and reflected, the more I came to a different conclusion: some things are better left unsaid.

Not because they don’t matter, but because sometimes, saying them would cause more harm than good. Sometimes, real growth comes not from defending ourselves but from letting things go for the sake of the relationship. I’ve written before that, in our attempts to heal ourselves, we can sometimes cause pain to others. And I think that’s what I was about to do—to try to heal an old wound by opening one in someone else.

So this time, I choose silence. I choose love. I choose to turn the other cheek.

Jesus taught us this very thing in Matthew 5:39: "But I tell you, do not resist an evil person. If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also." While this scripture is often misapplied, it is fundamentally about choosing love over retaliation, grace over ego.

In this moment, I realized that by choosing not to address this with my daughter, I am practicing the very grace I wish I had offered more of when she was young. I am giving her the space to process, even if her processing sometimes spills into my life in a way that feels uncomfortable. I am learning to love without needing to be right.

And so I share this with you, because maybe you are facing something similar. Maybe someone in your life is offering you advice or correction that feels unfair, or maybe you are tempted to reopen old conversations that may not bring healing but only more division. It’s a delicate balance, but I hope this helps you to pause and consider whether silence, in some cases, can be the louder, more loving answer.

Here are three ways we can become better at turning the other cheek, with the goal of increasing the love of the Kingdom:

1. Pray for Perspective (Matthew 5:44)

"But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you."

Prayer changes everything. When someone frustrates or hurts us, our natural instinct is to push back, to correct, to defend. But when we pray for them—really pray for their heart, their journey, their healing—our perspective shifts. We stop seeing them as adversaries and start seeing them as fellow children of God, as people who, like us, are doing the best they can.

In my story, praying for my daughter didn’t just soften my heart toward her—it gave me the patience to recognize that she was likely acting out of love, even if it didn’t land perfectly. It gave me the ability to see that perhaps God is using her to continue teaching me even now.

2. Choose Silence Over Self (Proverbs 17:28)

"Even fools are thought wise if they keep silent, and discerning if they hold their tongues."

There is a holy wisdom in knowing when to speak and when to remain silent. Turning the other cheek is not about becoming a doormat—it is about discerning when words will build and when they will break. In my situation, sharing my frustration would have served me, but potentially at the cost of our closeness. Choosing silence here was not passive—it was active love.

There is power in trusting that God sees what is unspoken, that He understands our hearts even when we don’t verbalize them. Sometimes silence is not avoidance; sometimes silence is sacred.

3. Anchor to Love, Not Ego (1 Corinthians 13:5)

"[Love] is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs."

Love is not about keeping score. Love is about laying down our ego, about choosing connection over correction. It’s about recognizing that not every opinion needs to be addressed, not every slight needs to be defended, not every moment needs to be seized.

When we are anchored in love, we can absorb those moments that rub us the wrong way because our security is not in being right—our security is in Christ. And Christ’s love never falters, never keeps a tally of our mistakes, never waits to pounce when we misstep.

I think about how God parents us—not with a constant need to correct every misstep immediately, but with patience, with time, with opportunities to come back to Him again and again. And that is how I want to love my daughter. That is how I want to love everyone.

So maybe I didn’t always parent gently. Maybe I missed moments along the way. But today, I can choose gentleness. Today, I can turn the other cheek. Today, I can love better.

And maybe that’s enough.

I hope this reflection helps you in your own walk. May you choose Christ-like decisions, may you lean into love, and may your silence sometimes speak volumes in the Kingdom.

And as I sat with all of this — the memories of those fast, frantic single dad years, the gentle parenting conversations with my daughter, and now this present season where the roles have shifted ever so slightly — I realized something I probably should have seen all along. Life, at its very core, is a constant exchange of lessons. Sometimes we’re the teacher, sometimes the student, and more often than not, we’re both, stumbling around the same messy classroom, trying to figure out love, grace, and how to not lose each other in the process.

I won’t lie to you — there’s a part of me that still wrestles with pride when unsolicited opinions get offered up about my life. Especially from someone I raised. The little voice inside that says, “You wouldn’t even be here if I hadn’t sacrificed what I did” — yeah, that voice shows up sometimes. But here’s where God’s been working on me: that voice is pride talking, not love. And pride, if we let it, builds walls where God intended bridges.

It hit me the other day — maybe turning the other cheek isn’t just about letting offenses slide. Maybe it’s an invitation to see beyond them. To lean into humility so deeply that we stop tallying the wrongs altogether. Isn’t that what 1 Corinthians 13 promises? Love keeps no record of wrongs. Zero. Zilch. It doesn’t say love keeps a running tab, but only brings it up on special occasions. It says love lets it go completely.

Easier said than done, right? Especially when the words feel sharp, the assumptions sting, or you’re left standing there thinking, “I didn’t even ask for your advice.” But here’s what the Holy Spirit keeps whispering to me in these moments — love looks past the offense and sees the heart.

And when I quiet my pride long enough, I do see her heart. I see a young woman trying to navigate adulthood, relationships, and life with her own set of uncertainties and fears. I see her trying to use the tools she’s gathered — including gentle parenting — to make sense of a world that feels unstable at times. And in that, I see a reflection of myself — that young dad, tired, overwhelmed, doing the best he could with the tools he had, fumbling along the way but never lacking love.

Funny how it comes full circle, isn’t it?

There’s another layer God’s been peeling back for me, too. Boundaries. Healthy, biblical, grace-filled boundaries. For the longest time, I thought turning the other cheek meant becoming a doormat. Smile. Nod. Let people walk all over you. But that’s not what Jesus modelled. Turning the other cheek wasn’t about surrendering self-respect — it was about surrendering retaliation. It was choosing peace over pride. But even Jesus had boundaries. He walked away from crowds when needed. He retreated to quiet places. He didn’t feel the need to explain Himself to everyone who misunderstood Him. That’s been freeing for me to remember.

And so, in my situation with my daughter — and maybe this applies to your life too — I’ve realized I can turn the other cheek and still set a boundary. I can quietly decide not to engage in certain conversations that aren’t invited or helpful, while still loving her unconditionally. I can guard my peace without wounding hers. It’s a delicate dance, but with the Holy Spirit’s help, it’s possible.

And here’s the thing I want to say, especially to the men reading this — dads, grandpas, uncles, spiritual fathers — this whole idea of gentleness, patience, and humility? It’s not weakness. Don’t let the world convince you otherwise. It takes far more strength to hold your tongue, to pray instead of react, to let love lead when your pride wants to drive. Gentle parenting, gentle relationships, gentle living — these are acts of bold, Spirit-filled courage.

Proverbs 15:1 says, “A gentle answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger.” That applies whether you’re talking to a toddler, a teenager, or your grown adult child who suddenly has opinions about your personal life. Gentleness de-escalates. Gentleness opens doors pride keeps locked. Gentleness reflects Jesus.

I’ve often thought about how Jesus handled His most difficult relationships — with His family, with His disciples, with those who misunderstood Him. He had every right to correct, to defend, to set the record straight. And sometimes He did, but so often, He chose silence, grace, or a question that revealed more than a lecture ever could. His power wasn’t diminished by His gentleness — it was magnified.

So, what does all this mean for you and me as we walk through complicated family moments, unsolicited advice, and the echoes of past parenting decisions? For me, it means three more practical things I’m committing to, maybe they’ll help you too:

1.     I will lead with curiosity, not assumption.
When feedback comes — even when it stings — I’ll ask, “What’s behind this?” rather than assume the worst. Maybe there’s fear. Maybe there’s love. Maybe there’s misunderstanding. But I can’t know unless I’m curious.

2.     I will protect my peace, not my pride.
That means setting boundaries where needed. Walking away from unhelpful conversations. Choosing silence over sarcasm. Guarding my heart — not out of anger, but out of wisdom.

3.     I will remember my identity isn’t found in anyone’s opinion but God’s.
Whether praised or criticized, my worth is unshaken. Ephesians 2:10 reminds me I am God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works. That truth anchors me when emotions rise.

And maybe, just maybe, the greatest legacy I leave for my daughter, and for others watching my life, isn’t about how perfectly I parented — spoiler alert, I didn’t — but about how I’ve let God reshape me as I grow. It’s about showing that even old dogs, or tired single dads, can learn new ways to love, forgive, and live with grace.

I’m not perfect at this. I still wrestle. I still catch myself wanting to fire back when words feel sharp or unfair. But I’m learning. And as I often remind myself — and maybe you need this reminder today too — spiritual maturity isn’t measured by how quickly we get it right, but by how consistently we let God make it right within us.

To anyone walking a similar road — maybe your kids are young, maybe they’re grown, maybe the dynamics feel complicated or strained — I want to encourage you: it’s not too late. It’s never too late to parent with gentleness. It’s never too late to respond with grace. It’s never too late to model Christ in your family, no matter how tangled the history.

The Kingdom of God advances not just through big sermons or grand missions, but through small, ordinary moments of choosing love over offense, peace over pride, humility over control. It happens when a dad listens instead of defends. When a daughter speaks, and her father sees her heart, not just her words. When both choose to lay down their assumptions and pick up the cross — together.

So today, I won’t share my quiet frustrations with my daughter. Not because I’m suppressing them, but because I’m surrendering them. To the One who sees both our hearts. To the God who’s still writing redemption stories in families like mine — and yours. And I take comfort in that.

I hope this share encourages you to do the same. To process gently. To love fiercely. And to remember that with every decision to turn the other cheek, you’re not just avoiding conflict — you’re building the kind of love the Kingdom is made of.

And that, my friend, is worth every quiet surrender along the way.

Reading the Room and Feeling the Energy

First, let’s take a moment and pray.

Lord, we come before You heavy-hearted yet full of hope. We lift up all those impacted this weekend by man’s relentless thirst for conflict, the pride that fuels division, and the wounds of a world not yet healed. We ask for Your peace to fall like rain on the battlefields of this earth—both physical and spiritual. May the suffering of so many find its end in Your mercy. We pray for healing, for restoration, and for the speedy return of You, our Lord and God. Come quickly, Jesus. We are ready. In Your name, Amen.

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Reading the Room and Feeling the Energy

Today I want to talk about something I know many of you feel, but maybe haven’t named before. It’s the ability to read energy—not just the physical presence of people, but the atmosphere of the room, the tension in the air, the unspoken truth hanging like fog. If you have this gift, you know exactly what I mean.

It’s not something you learn. It’s something you live with. Like breathing. Like blinking. You just walk into a space—whether it’s a living room full of family or a corporate boardroom full of masks—and you know. You know if they were just talking about you. You know what the topic was. You know the truth without a word being spoken.

I used to think it was just me. I thought maybe I was being paranoid or overly sensitive, or worse—prideful. But it wasn’t any of those things. It was a spiritual gift I hadn’t yet understood how to use. The problem wasn’t the gift itself; the problem was how I internalized it. I took that energy and made it about me. Every vibe, every whisper, every cold shoulder—I owned it. And it dug straight into the wounds of my insecurity.

But over time, especially after I surrendered my life to Jesus, I started to see it differently.

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From Insecurity to Discernment

Scripture tells us in 1 Corinthians 12:7-10 that the Holy Spirit gives different gifts to different people—some wisdom, others knowledge, faith, healing, prophecy, and yes, discernment of spirits. That’s what we’re talking about here.

Discernment is not paranoia. It’s not overthinking. It’s a Holy Spirit–given gift to sense what’s going on beyond the surface.

Now, instead of making it about me, I pause and ask, “Lord, what are You trying to show me? Is this my battle, or am I just here to notice and pray?” That shift—from insecurity to discernment—has made all the difference.

And let me be clear: if you don’t have this gift, that’s okay. But be aware—others do. And if you’re trying to hide something, manipulate, or posture… they will see right through it. You might not feel the shift in the room, but they do. You can’t lie to the Spirit of God.

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A Season of Awakening

I remember just after I became separated—a season that almost undid me—it was also the beginning of one of the most profound awakenings I’ve ever experienced. I was broken, raw, and wide open. And when you’re cracked wide open, that’s often when the Holy Spirit breathes fresh wind into the space.

That’s when I began to explore the depths of my gift. I realized I wasn’t just reading energy—I was reading people’s thoughts. I could sense the inner dialogue of others, like reading the pages of their private journals. No words spoken, no visible cues—just a knowing that settled in my spirit.

And to be honest, it scared me.

Because it felt like a breach of privacy, and in a way, it was. I wasn’t asking for permission. I wasn’t trying to be nosy. It was just… there. And right then, I realized that even a gift from God can become something dangerous if it’s not submitted back to Him.

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The Line Between Light and Darkness

Even before I became a Christian, I had this awareness that certain abilities—spiritual sensitivities, intuitive insights—could be used for good or evil. There’s a real thin line between discernment and manipulation. And if you’re not grounded in truth, it’s easy to slide into using these gifts for self-gain.

The world calls it “reading the room,” “empath energy,” or “psychic vibes.” But I knew I didn’t want anything to do with black magic or spiritual darkness. I didn’t want to open a door that Jesus hadn’t invited me through. So I stopped trying to develop the gift in that way. Instead, I started asking God to purify it.

Like David prayed in Psalm 139:23–24:
“Search me, God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.”

And that’s exactly what He did.

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Truth Feels Like Peace

Here’s something I’ve come to learn and trust: when someone is speaking truth—real truth from a place of love and alignment with God—it feels like peace.

You don’t have to scramble to fact-check it. You don’t have to perform or explain or prove it. It just settles in your soul, like warm oil poured over a wound. That’s how the Holy Spirit speaks—through peace.

Colossians 3:15 says, “Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts.”
That word rule means to act as an umpire, deciding what’s in and what’s out. Truth is in. Chaos is out. Peace is the signal.

So if you're trying to navigate a relationship, a decision, or a storm—ask yourself: does this feel like peace? If not, back up and pray.

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Honouring the Transition

This morning at church, our senior pastor Dan shared a message as he prepares to transition into semi-retirement. He’s been such a pillar—strong, wise, steady. He talked about becoming more like Christ and the importance of making church attendance a priority.

And as he said it, I felt that same peace. No hype. No manipulation. Just truth. And in that truth, strength. That’s when you know the Holy Spirit is present—when the words don’t need decoration. They land, and you feel it in your bones.

I don’t know what the future of my local church looks like without Dan at the helm, but I do know this: the Church belongs to Jesus. And He’s not going anywhere.

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From Energy to Ministry

One of the most healing realizations I’ve had in the past few years is that this gift—the ability to feel, to sense, to discern—is not a burden. It’s a ministry. When I walk into a room and feel the heaviness, I no longer panic. I no longer shrink. I breathe, I pray, and I ask God, “How do You want to use me right now?”

Some days it’s to encourage someone who’s barely holding on. Other days it’s to intercede quietly, say nothing, and just be present.

But here’s the thing: it’s not about me. It’s about the Kingdom.

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Three Ways to Use Your Gifts to Expand the Kingdom

1. Use Discernment to Speak Life, Not Criticism
   Proverbs 18:21 reminds us, “The tongue has the power of life and death.” If you have the gift of discernment or intuition, you already know what people are wrestling with. Use that knowledge to build them up, not tear them down. Speak prophetically, not pathetically. Speak to the truth of who they are, not the shame of where they’ve been. That’s Kingdom work.
2. Create Safe Spaces for Others to Be Seen and Heard
   Romans 12:15 calls us to “Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn.” When you can read energy, you can tell when someone needs a hug instead of a lecture. When someone needs silence instead of solutions. Use your sensitivity to tune into what people need, not what they say. That’s how Jesus ministered—He saw the unseen. We can too.
3. Surrender the Gift Back to God, Daily
   James 1:17 says, “Every good and perfect gift is from above.” Your gift—whatever it is—is not yours to possess. It’s yours to steward. That means praying daily, “Lord, keep me from using this for selfish gain. Use it for Your glory alone.” Whether your gift is discernment, encouragement, wisdom, or leadership—keep it surrendered. That’s how it multiplies.

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Final Thoughts

We are living in a world that’s full of noise, chaos, and confusion. People don’t need more polished speeches. They don’t need more hype. They need truth. They need peace. They need to know someone sees them, feels them, and still chooses love.

That’s what Jesus did. That’s what we get to do.

So if you feel everything deeply, if the weight of the room sometimes exhausts you, if you sense things others don’t—don’t run from it. Don’t numb it. Don’t hide it. Surrender it.

And if you’re someone who doesn’t feel those things, be aware: others do. Lead with gentleness. You never know what spiritual war someone else is discerning while they smile at you in silence.

May we all—whatever our gifts—grow more into the likeness of Christ.
May we discern with love, speak with truth, and serve with peace.
And may we live every moment expecting the return of our Lord, and yes Lord… make it snappy.
We’re ready.

Come, Lord Jesus.

Amen.

From One in 60,000 to One More Step Forward: The Miracle of Not Giving Up

From One in 60,000 to One More Step Forward: The Miracle of Not Giving Up

Today, I share something with genuine excitement—a milestone that might look small to some but feels monumental to me. This has been in the works for about six months. Half a year of trying, tweaking, wondering, praying, editing, applying, and hearing "no" more than a few times. But today, I didn't give up. Today, I took another step forward in becoming the man I believe God is still shaping me into. The milestone? I finally got my blog qualified for monetization. My writing—a craft I’ve spent years building, a voice I’ve leaned into when life felt quiet—is now part of my business. Not a side project, not a maybe-one-day, but a real part of my future.

For those of you who’ve followed my writing journey, you know how much I love it. Writing isn’t a task for me; it’s how I breathe life back into my soul when the world tries to wear it down. It’s how I make sense of the good, the hard, and the holy. My dream has never just been to write—it’s been to write something that matters. To help at least one person. To feel less alone, to find hope, to laugh when the world feels heavy. And one day, to reach enough hearts that my words make a living. Not for the money itself, but because when your calling meets your provision, that’s God at work. That’s the goal.

But today isn’t just about income or algorithms or ad approval.

It’s about not quitting.

It’s about a seed that stayed underground for a long time but finally broke through the soil.

It’s about remembering the moment when I realized just how much impact one person could have on 60,000 souls in one night.

Let me tell you a story.

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The Garth Brooks Effect

Now, if you know me, you know I grew up in the country. But ironically, I’m not really a country music fan. Never really was. I’ve always been more into lyrics that strike a chord with the soul than fiddles and steel guitars. But a few years ago, someone asked if I’d like to go to a Garth Brooks concert. I figured, why not? I wasn’t expecting much. But that night in Houston, Texas, changed something in me.

It was a warm summer night, probably around 60,000 people in that arena. You could feel the buzz—like static electricity in the air—before the show even started. You know the feeling. A crowd full of strangers becoming a single heartbeat, unified in anticipation. Then Garth came on stage.

Somewhere around halfway through the show, he did something I’ll never forget. He took off his cowboy hat, leaned back, and then forward again. That doesn’t sound like much written down. But in that moment, I swear to you, it felt like the entire energy of the crowd surged toward him when he leaned back—and when he leaned forward, he sent it straight back out. Right into me.

I’m telling you—I felt it in my chest. I felt like I was the only person there.

He did it again. And again—I felt it.

Now I’m not saying it was mystical or magical, but it was definitely miraculous. In a sea of 60,000, I felt like I mattered. Like I was seen. And I’ve never forgotten that. Later, I watched his Netflix documentary, and his brother talked about this very thing. About how Garth has this gift—this ability to make every single person in the crowd feel like they’re the only one in the room.

That stuck with me. Deeply. Because I think that’s what we all want—to be seen. To be heard. To know we matter.

And I realized then that this is my goal too. Not to be Garth Brooks. But to make someone—just one person—feel like they matter. Like they’re the only one in the crowd. Whether through words I write, conversations I have, or prayers I whisper when no one else is looking.

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The Calling to Continue

Today reminded me that progress often looks like persistence. I was rejected many times trying to get my blog approved for monetization. The first few times, it stung. But every “no” sharpened my commitment. Every closed door made me get better—at writing, at structuring content, at understanding what it really means to serve people through words.

Rejection, I’ve come to learn, is often God’s refining fire.

It’s not punishment—it’s preparation.

Psalm 66:10 says, “For you, God, tested us; you refined us like silver.” That’s what this felt like. Not a failure, but a furnace. And today, the silver glints a little more brightly because I didn’t step out of the heat too soon.

Now, no, I’m not standing in front of 60,000 people. Not yet. But I’ve taken a step in that direction. The bigger dream is still alive: to stand in front of a crowd and share truth, hope, and encouragement—to speak in a way that makes people feel known and reminded that God sees them too.

That crowd might look like a blog post today, a speaking event next year, and a stadium someday. But every step matters. Every soul touched counts.

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What Makes a Disciple in a Digital World

Jesus never had a blog.

But He knew about crowds.

He knew what it meant to feed thousands and still see the one.

He knew how to speak to the masses and yet change the life of the woman at the well.

That’s who I want to be like—not just Garth—but Jesus.

I want to be someone who sees the one in the crowd. Who offers truth, compassion, and presence in a world that often offers filters, fame, and noise.

And so today, I reflect not just on what I accomplished—but on how I can become a better disciple through it.

Here are three ways I believe we can help others and become stronger disciples in the process:

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1. Speak Life into the One Right in Front of You

We don’t need a stage to make an impact. Sometimes the greatest discipleship happens in the hallway, over coffee, or through a late-night text. Jesus didn’t chase crowds—He responded to the needs right in front of Him. He didn’t heal everyone, but He healed someone every time He showed up.

“Death and life are in the power of the tongue…” — Proverbs 18:21

Your words matter. Even if they’re written. Even if you’re not sure if anyone is reading. Speak life anyway.

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2. Don’t Despise Small Beginnings

Zechariah 4:10 says, “Do not despise these small beginnings, for the Lord rejoices to see the work begin.”

This blog? It’s a small beginning. But I believe God is rejoicing because I didn’t give up. Because I started. Because I stayed faithful when the results were hidden.

Maybe your dream isn’t public yet. Maybe the thing you’re working on is still underground. But God sees the seed. He waters what we nurture in faith.

Every stadium moment starts with a whisper in private.

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3. Let Your Miracle Become Someone Else’s Momentum

That moment in the stadium changed me—but it wasn’t about the music. It was about feeling chosen in a crowd. Today, I want to take that same gift and multiply it. That’s what discipleship is—replication. Passing on the miracle.

As Paul told Timothy in 2 Timothy 2:2, “The things you have heard me say… entrust to reliable people who will also be qualified to teach others.”

Miracles are meant to be shared. They’re not trophies—they’re torches.

The more we help others feel seen, the more we help them believe in a God who sees them too.

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Closing Thoughts: The Long Game of Obedience

If today’s milestone taught me anything, it’s that the dream is never just about the outcome—it’s about the obedience.

Writing is my offering.

Encouragement is my mission.

And persistence is my praise.

There’s still a long road ahead. But today was a step. A confirmation. A reminder that God honours what we keep placing in His hands. That every “no” was setting up today’s “yes.”

So if you’re reading this and you’re still in the middle of your own version of waiting, trying, and being rejected—don’t give up. The seed is still good. The ground is still holy. And your obedience is still worth it.

And if you’ve ever wondered what your purpose is—maybe it’s not about the size of your audience. Maybe it’s about the size of your heart.

If you can make just one person feel like they’re not invisible—that they matter—then you’re already doing Kingdom work.

Today, I did something that matters to me. I hope it matters to you too.

And if it does, then that’s all the confirmation I need to keep writing.

To God be the glory, in every blog post, in every email, in every silent prayer typed into a screen hoping someone, somewhere, will read it and say:

“I felt like I was the only one in the crowd. And I felt seen.”