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Morning watch - 6.7.25 -4:13 amAs I was reading this morning something about Acts 5:31 and 11:18 - the idea that repentance and forgiveness aren't things I can manufacture on my own, but are actually gifts from Jesus Christ himself.As I was reading , I saw this beautiful picture of Christ being lifted up as both our Leader and Savior. It's in this exalted position that He has the authority and power to give us what we desperately need but could never produce ourselves.I have to be honest - if I really examine my heart, I know I wouldn't have turned away from my sin if God hadn't somehow drawn me to Himself first. The very fact that I even want to repent, that I feel conviction about my wrongdoing, that's not something that originated from me. It's a gift. Christ, in His role as our Leader, creates that turning in our hearts. He's the one who opens our eyes to see our need.And then there's forgiveness - the incredible relief and freedom that comes after repentance. That's not something I could earn or deserve. It flows from Christ's work as our Savior, from what He accomplished through His sacrifice. The forgiveness I experience is a direct result of His redemption.What amazes me is that in this entire universe, Jesus is uniquely qualified to offer these gifts. No other person, no other power, no other religion can truly give someone a repentant heart or genuine forgiveness. Only Christ has both the authority and the ability.Sometimes I think about how I've been "caught" by Jesus - and I mean that in the most wonderful way. Like being caught in a net of love and grace. Without that divine capture, I would have just kept going my own way, blind to my need for Him.I'm so grateful tonight for these twin gifts - repentance that turns my heart toward God, and forgiveness that washes away my guilt. Both are treasures I could never have given myself.Thank You, Lord, for being the only One qualified to transform hearts and forgive sins. Thank You for choosing to give these gifts to me.

Caught by Grace: The Gifts I Never Could Have Given Myself

Morning watch 6.5.25 @3:59 am&nbsp; John 1:45-46 &nbsp; This morning I was brought to John where Philip finds Nathanael and tells him about Jesus. It's such a simple story, but there's so much packed into it.&nbsp; Philip was so excited when he met Jesus - he immediately knew this was the One they'd been waiting for. I love that about Philip. When he encountered Jesus, he didn't keep it to himself. He ran straight to his friend Nathanael to share the news. That's what real excitement does - it spills over.&nbsp; But here's the thing that struck me: Philip described Jesus as "the son of Joseph from Nazareth." He wasn't wrong, exactly, but he didn't have the whole picture either. Jesus really did grow up there, and people really did know him as Joseph's son. But Philip didn't know about Bethlehem, didn't know about the virgin birth. He was working with limited information, yet God used his incomplete understanding anyway.&nbsp; That gives me hope. I don't have to wait until I understand everything perfectly before I share what I know about Jesus. Philip shared what he knew, and it was enough.&nbsp; Nathanael's reaction makes me wince a little because I recognize myself in it. "Can anything good come from Nazareth?" He had his preconceptions, his biases about what the Messiah should look like, where He should come from. Nazareth was nobody's idea of an important place. It was small, insignificant, the kind of town you drive through without stopping.&nbsp; I wonder how often I do the same thing - dismiss something or someone because they don't fit my expectations. How many times have I looked at a small church, a quiet person, an unremarkable ministry and thought, "Nothing significant could come from there"?&nbsp; But Philip's response is brilliant. He doesn't argue. He doesn't try to explain why Nathanael is wrong. He just says, "Come and see." Five simple words that changed everything.&nbsp; I need to remember that approach. When people express doubts or skepticism about faith, my instinct is often to argue, to provide evidence, to convince them with words. But maybe sometimes the better response is just to invite them to experience it for themselves. "Come and see."&nbsp;The deeper truth here is about looking beyond appearances. Jesus looked like just another small-town guy. Nothing impressive on the outside. No royal robes, no palace, no obvious signs of greatness. If you judged by external appearances, you'd miss Him completely.&nbsp;Paul talks about this - not knowing people according to the flesh, not judging by outward appearance. It's so easy to get caught up in the externals, especially in church life. Big buildings, fancy programs, eloquent speakers, large crowds. But those things might have nothing to do with where God is actually working.&nbsp;I think about some of the most spiritually mature people I know. They're often not the ones who stand out in a crowd. They're the quiet ones, the ones serving behind the scenes, the ones who've learned to find God in ordinary places.&nbsp;This challenges me to look deeper. When I meet someone new, do I see them with spiritual eyes or just with natural vision? When I visit a church, am I looking for God's presence or just impressive presentation?&nbsp;The beauty of Philip's invitation is that it put the responsibility on Nathanael to discover the truth for himself. Philip couldn't convince him, couldn't make him believe. All he could do was extend the invitation and trust that Jesus would reveal Himself.&nbsp;That takes pressure off me too. I don't have to have all the answers. I don't have to overcome every objection. I just need to be faithful in extending the invitation: "Come and see."&nbsp;Lord, help me to see beyond the surface, to recognize Your work in unexpected places and unlikely people. Give me Philip's heart - excited to share what I know, even if my understanding is incomplete. And give me his wisdom - knowing when to simply invite rather than argue.&nbsp;Help me remember that You often choose the small, the overlooked, the ordinary to display Your glory. Keep me from missing You because You don't look the way I expected. &nbsp;

Come and See

Morning watch 6.3.25 - 4:37 am&nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;Transformed by God’s Compassions&nbsp;Romans 12:1; 6:13 Today, I find myself reflecting on the depth of God’s mercy. Paul’s words in Romans 12:1 feel more urgent than ever—“I beg you therefore, brothers, through the compassions of God.” It’s not just one act of compassion, but many. God has selected me, called me, saved me, and drawn me into His life. His mercies are layered, woven through every part of my journey.&nbsp;&nbsp;I am beginning to see more clearly how surrender is not merely an obligation—it is the natural outcome of recognizing His kindness. Paul pleads for us to present ourselves as living sacrifices, distinct from the lifeless offerings of the Old Testament. And here I am, alive in Christ, filled with His Spirit, called to be a vessel of worship.Being moved by God’s compassions changes everything. It shifts my perspective, reshapes my desires, and brings me closer to His purpose. His mercy invites me to step forward—not as someone weighed down by duty, but as one compelled by love. &nbsp;Lord, help me to fully embrace this offering. Let my life be a reflection of Your many compassions, a living testimony to Your grace.

Transformed by God’s Compassions

Matthew 3:1-2 &nbsp; The word that comes to mind with today is "repent." John the Baptist began his ministry with this call—a call to change. Not just a change in behavior, but a change in mind, purpose, direction. The Greek word for repentance means "to change one's mind," but it's more than that. It's a complete shift in thinking, in philosophy, in logic. &nbsp; Before salvation, I was running—like a young bull, charging forward without realizing whose direction I was following. In my mind, I was in control. But in reality, I was being led by my own fallen thinking, drifting further from God. Then came the call—the urging to turn, to repent, to change. &nbsp; I remember that moment vividly. The gospel reached me, and everything shifted. I wasn’t just feeling regret; I was experiencing a profound reorientation. My back turned to what was, my face set toward God. That turning, that conversion—it wasn’t just a decision. It was a surrender. &nbsp; Repentance isn’t just an event—it’s a way of living. A continual turning toward the light, toward truth, toward Him. Praise the Lord for the call to change!

Morning Watch – June 2, 2025, 4:23 AM

Shame: Recognizing Its Weight, Releasing Its GripShame is not just a fleeting emotion—it shapes identity, relationships, and healing. For survivors, shame often lingers not because they did something wrong, but because they were made to feel small, unheard, or powerless. Distinguishing between shame that serves growth and shame that distorts truth is crucial.Shame That Was Never Ours to CarryThere is a kind of shame imposed upon someone through mistreatment, coercion, or betrayal—shame that does not originate in the survivor but is forced upon them through acts of domination and control.Survivors often encounter this through:Manipulation that distorts self-worth—being made to believe they deserved mistreatment. Violation of bodily autonomy—coercion, restraint, or forced submission. Degradation through clothing, environments, or actions—turning neutral experiences into tools of humiliation. When shame is tied to forced submission, survivors often describe feeling trapped—even long after the abuse ends. Actions that once held no meaning—a particular garment, a specific restraint—can become symbols of lost control.But those symbols can be rewritten. What was once used to demean does not have to hold power forever. Breaking Free: Releasing the Emotional Grip of ShameHealing isn’t just about understanding shame—it’s about letting go of its hold on the body, mind, and heart. The weight of abuse doesn’t disappear simply because someone recognizes it as undeserved; it often lingers, woven into emotions, memories, and even physical sensations.For survivors, freeing themselves from the emotional grip of their experience means addressing how shame, anger, and fear manifest internally:Reclaiming Bodily Autonomy Abuse steals control—through restraint, coercion, or dominance. Intentional movement can be a way to reclaim what was taken: stretching, walking, or even engaging in grounding exercises to remind survivors that their body is their own again. Recognizing that freedom of movement is no longer punished can loosen the emotional hold of those memories. Transforming Emotional Triggers Items, words, or places that once held neutrality may become sources of distress. But symbols can be rewritten. If an item was weaponized to strip away dignity, it can be removed—or reclaimed on new terms. Survivors can choose what they keep and what they discard as an act of empowerment. Channeling Anger into Closure Anger is energy, and directing it intentionally can turn it into a force for healing rather than lingering resentment. Writing unsent letters—expressing everything that was stolen, everything that was unjust—can be cathartic. Engaging in physical release, whether hitting a punching bag, running, or choosing an action that counters helplessness with strength, can help restore a sense of control. Redefining the Self Beyond Survival Survival was necessary, but the next step is flourishing beyond the past. Identifying what brings joy, comfort, and meaning outside of trauma is essential. Through journaling, creative expression, faith, or even simple daily victories, survivors can build a future where their identity is no longer tethered to what happened.

Shame: Recognizing Its Weight, Releasing Its Grip

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Beyond the Sermon: A Hospital for the SoulWhen healing begins not with fixing, but with faithful presenceIn a world obsessed with solutions, I offer something radically different: the gift of simply showing up. After 25 years walking alongside people through their darkest moments—in hospital rooms, family living rooms, and places where hope feels like a foreign language—I've learned something that might surprise you.People don't need perfect theology to find healing.The Ministry of Presence My role isn't to have all the answers. It's to create sacred space where you can bring your authentic self—your doubts, fears, anger, and brokenness—before a God who sees beyond our masks.This isn't the chaplaincy you might imagine from movies or television. There are no grand speeches or miraculous revelations. Instead, it's the profound ministry of presence—sitting with someone in their pain without the compulsion to fix, explain, or sanitize their experience.My journey through home health care, hospice, rehabilitation, head injury recovery, and police auxiliary counseling has taught me that healing rarely looks like what we expect. It doesn't happen in sterile environments with perfect words. It happens in the messy, uncomfortable spaces where authentic human connection meets divine compassion.A Different Kind of Hospital I describe my ministry as "a hospital for the soul"—a place where wounds can be acknowledged, tended, and gradually healed through divine grace and human compassion.The metaphor runs deep in my understanding of this work. In a physical hospital, we don't expect immediate cures. We understand that healing takes time, that some wounds need careful tending, that recovery often involves setbacks. Yet when it comes to spiritual and emotional pain, we somehow expect different rules to apply.My approach acknowledges what we often resist: that the soul, like the body, sometimes needs intensive care. It needs a space where brokenness isn't rushed toward resolution, where questions don't demand immediate answers, where the work of healing can unfold at its own pace.Beyond the Church Walls What strikes many people about my ministry is its reach beyond traditional religious boundaries. My Master's degree in Christian Counseling grounds me in faith-based care, but my work extends into secular spaces where spiritual needs often go unrecognized.In rehabilitation centers, I sit with people rebuilding not just their bodies but their sense of identity. In hospice care, I create space for families grappling with loss that defies easy comfort. Through police auxiliary counseling, I meet people in crisis situations where trauma and grief collide with questions too big for simple answers.This expansive view of chaplaincy reflects what I've come to understand: addressing spiritual needs isn't optional—it's essential to holistic care.The Transformation of Witnessing Throughout these years, I've learned that people don't need perfect theology or sterile environments to find healing—they need someone willing to sit with them in their pain without judgment.There's something revolutionary in this simplicity. In a culture that prizes expertise and quick fixes, I offer something more valuable: the willingness to witness without trying to control the outcome.I've seen the profound transformation that happens when people feel truly heard. Not diagnosed, not advised, not redirected—simply heard. In that hearing, something sacred occurs. The isolation that often accompanies deep pain begins to crack. The shame that whispers "you're alone in this" loses its power.Sacred Space in Ordinary Places Perhaps most remarkably, I've discovered that sacred space isn't confined to sanctuaries. It can emerge in a hospital room where someone faces an uncertain diagnosis. It can unfold in a family's living room where grief has taken up residence. It can appear beside someone in their darkest hour, regardless of the setting.This understanding challenges all of us to expand our definition of ministry and healing. If sacred space can be created anywhere through faithful presence, what does that mean for how we show up for each other? How might our communities change if more of us embraced the ministry of simply being present?The Courage to Not Fix In our fix-it culture, my approach requires tremendous courage. It takes strength to sit with someone's pain without trying to solve it, to offer presence without promises, to create space for healing without controlling its timeline.This isn't passive care—it's profoundly active. It requires deep listening, emotional resilience, and the wisdom to know when not to speak. It demands the humility to acknowledge that sometimes the most powerful thing I can offer isn't my expertise but my willingness to stay.An Invitation to Authentic Faith My ministry extends an invitation that many find both terrifying and liberating: bring your authentic self—all of it—into relationship with the divine. Your doubts belong here. Your anger has a place. Your brokenness isn't disqualifying—it's the very thing that makes healing possible.This isn't the sanitized spirituality that demands we have it all together before approaching the sacred. It's faith that meets us in our mess, that sees beyond our masks, that offers grace not as reward for good behavior but as the ground of being itself.The Long View of Healing After 25 years in this work, I remain convinced that healing begins not with fixing but with faithful presence. It's a conviction born not from theory but from countless encounters with the mystery of transformation—how grace works through human connection, how healing unfolds in its own time, how presence itself can be sacramental.My story reminds us that sometimes the most profound ministry happens not through what we do but through who we choose to be with others in their pain. In a world full of quick fixes and easy answers, I offer something more valuable: the promise that no one has to face their darkest moments alone.In my hospital for the soul, healing begins with the radical act of showing up—and staying present for whatever comes next.

Beyond the Sermon: A Hospital for the Soul

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