Authentically leading and empowering others to flourishing life in Christ
Sometimes growth doesn’t stall because it’s neglected—but because it’s contained. Scripture reminds us that formation is not produced by striving harder, but by sinking roots deeper. The invitation is not to do more, but to release what limits growth and trust God with the slow, faithful work of transformation.
Sometimes growth stalls not because it’s neglected, but because it’s contained. Through the quiet wisdom of Leona Martin, I learned that healthy plants can still outgrow their containers—and that protection, when held too long, can become restriction. Scripture reminds us that God doesn’t describe His people as houseplants, but as oaks of righteousness, planted for lasting impact.
Sometimes clarity about our gifts doesn’t come because someone names them for us—it comes because we see them come alive in action. In Luke 2, Jesus is found in the temple, fully engaged in the place where His gifts naturally surface. Often, faithful participation reveals what prolonged analysis cannot. God meets us in motion and invites us to keep showing up with humility and trust.
One of the ways we begin to recognize the gifts God has placed in us is when someone else sees it before we do. Scripture shows us that God often uses shepherds, mentors, and trusted voices to name what we can’t yet articulate in ourselves. Gift discovery doesn’t always begin with certainty—it often begins with trust.
We don’t always recognize the full value of a gift at the moment we receive it. Often, what feels ordinary at first reveals itself over time to be far better than we expected. In Ephesians 3, Paul reminds believers that the issue isn’t access to God’s work—it’s our capacity to recognize it. God may be doing more in you than you currently have the depth to see.
As the weekend nears it’s end, it is worth remembering that not everything needs to be solved, answered, or finalized right now. Some things matter—but they can wait until Monday. Setting a few things down creates space for rest, joy, and presence, which are not distractions from faithfulness, but often expressions of it.
As the new year begins, I’m not drawn to bold resolutions or declarations about what I’m going to accomplish—because boldness doesn’t guarantee reality. Instead, I’m committing myself to a posture of process: identifying what matters, trusting God’s work over time, and staying open-handed to the formation He is doing. Growth doesn’t come from chasing outcomes, but from faithful presence within the process God is shaping.
As the year ends, reflection matters—but how we reflect matters just as much. While honesty and responsibility are necessary, harsh self-criticism often leads to paralysis, not growth. Scripture reminds us that God is still at work, faithfully bringing to completion what He began in us. As this year closes, be kind to yourself and allow God the space to continue shaping what comes next.
A night at a basketball game with my parents turned into a reminder I didn’t know I needed. Doing things with people often carries more meaning than providing things for them. Time spent, shared moments, and presence have a way of multiplying the value of whatever else we bring.
Not every failure needs to be fixed. Not every success needs to be repeated. Reflection gives leaders language for what the year actually produced in them—not just what it produced through them.
High school sports are meant to form character, not erode it. What we model from the stands matters more than we realize. This reflection names how yelling at officials is quietly damaging education-based athletics—and why the responsibility to change doesn’t start with rulebooks, but with us.
Christmas Day arrives quietly, after the noise and expectations begin to fade. At the center of the story is a simple truth: God chose nearness. God did not wait for ideal conditions. He came near anyway. Emmanuel is not something to be explained or achieved, but a presence to be received—right where we are.
Sometimes at Christmas, our best intentions are unattainable and our expectations feel just out of reach. Instead of peace, we find ourselves flooded by emotions that make it difficult to locate the Prince of Peace in the middle of the season. This reflection is for those carrying unmet hopes, quiet disappointment, or unanswered prayers. Christmas reminds us that God draws near even when things remain unresolved.
We’re only a few days away from Christmas, and Advent invites us to pause long enough to let the season sink in. Peace doesn’t come from everything being finished or decorated—it comes when we make room in our hearts for the nearness of Christ. Sometimes the most faithful thing we can do is stop and let the season catch up to us.
Some Sundays carry a different kind of weight. Baptism days never get old because they remind us what all of this is actually about. Every person who steps into the water carries a story of faith, obedience, and quiet pursuit. These moments re-center us on the One who is still changing lives. Baptism doesn’t start the story—it reveals what God has already been doing.
By the time Friday arrives, most of us are carrying more than we realize. Leadership has a way of quietly adding weight we don’t notice until we slow down. Rest is not a sign of disengagement, but a practice of trust—remembering that God continues His work even when we step away. Rest reminds us that the Kingdom isn’t built on our constant effort, but on God’s faithfulness. Carrying less is sometimes the most faithful thing we can do.
If what you do matters, then raising up others to do it matters too. Ministry was never meant to end with us—it was meant to be shared, stewarded, and handed forward. Over time, God forms leaders not only through what they build, but through who they invest in. Multiplication is rarely neat or predictable, but it is always worth the work, because the Kingdom advances when leaders make room for the next harvesters God is already preparing.
Celebration plays a critical role in student development and ministry culture. It creates shared memory, lowers walls, and reinforces belonging. And just as importantly, celebration fuels leaders—reminding us where God is moving and why we stepped into this calling in the first place.
Every day, something is competing for our attention, quietly shaping how we see the world and respond to pressure. As I prepare to teach, I’m reminded that message preparation often requires heart preparation—clarity of words usually follows clarity of attention. In a world that constantly demands reaction, faithfulness begins by choosing what deserves to shape us.
Advent joy is not the same as happiness. Happiness shifts with circumstances, but joy is something we choose to practice. That choice requires honesty. If we want to choose joy consistently, we also have to own the things that get in the way—unresolved grief, comparison, control, disappointment, and busyness that crowds out reflection. Advent doesn’t ask us to manufacture cheer; it invites us to anchor our joy in the nearness of Christ, even when life feels complicated.
