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Morning watch 7/18/25 - 5:30 amScripture Reflection:&nbsp;1 Peter 2:17 — “Show proper respect to everyone, love the family of believers, fear God, honor the emperor.”Yesterday, I shared something sacred—a milestone, a labor of love, a book born of prayer, sweat, and presence. I posted it in a group I belong to, hoping perhaps it might resonate or encourage. Instead, a woman—who knows nothing of my story, my ministry, or the weight I carry—chose to speak not from curiosity, but from contempt. Her question wasn’t a question. It was an accusation: “How much did you write, and how much was AI?”It wasn’t just about authorship. It was about worth. About whether my voice was real. About whether my offering deserved to be honored.I know her history. She’s been removed from leadership for similar behavior. But today, I’m not journaling about her—I’m journaling about what it means to keep showing up with dignity when dignity is denied.I’m reminded that disrespect often reveals more about the speaker than the spoken-to. And I’m reminded that my work is not for applause, nor is it fragile enough to be undone by a careless tongue.So I ask myself:What does it mean to honor my own voice when others won’t? How do I respond—not with retaliation, but with rootedness? Can I bless even those who mock, knowing that my offering is unto God? I choose not to let her words define the worth of my work. I choose to keep writing, keep posting, keep showing up. Not because I’m unbothered—but because I’m anchored.

When Honor Is Denied

This morning, I mourn the loss of a dear friend. Grief does not knock—it enters. Quietly, or suddenly. And today it arrived with a familiar ache. I carry memories like stones in my pocket—gentle reminders of those sacred moments I was allowed to witness. Like the day when I was young, I saw the face of a loved one turn to us—not the body, but something deeper. A shadow that smiled. Not toward eternity, but toward us. As if to say, "I remember you." Or the car accident, where confusion hung like thick fog. The eyes, not quite closed. Fear lingering in the air. And then, a moment of truth whispered into the silence: "We are caring for your family. They are safe." That simple promise lifted something heavy. The fear dissolved. Peace settled. Grace moved, unannounced. In these moments, I am not just observing death. I am participating in the mystery. Scripture gives language when my own falters: &nbsp; “Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints.” — Psalm 116:15 “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me.” — Psalm 23:4 &nbsp; There is a sacred weight in holding space for someone’s last breath. I do not speak of heaven or hell. That is not mine to decide. What I carry is presence. The kind that sees souls off gently, and anchors the living with assurance. So today, I light a candle. Not just for the one who passed, but for all who need to be reminded: There is peace, There is grace, And there is always room for love to pass through.

Chaplain Services

Fresh Manna: Reflections at First light

When Honor Is Denied

Peace Passed Through