Tag: Upsidedown

Posted on

Vision and Provision!

We often assume vision is about seeing something new. A new goal. A new direction. A new future. But in Scripture, vision usually comes after faithfulness—not before it.

In Exodus 25–30, God gives Moses a detailed vision for the tabernacle. It’s not vague or inspirational; it’s specific, measured, and intentional. Every material, every dimension, every function is carefully laid out. But what’s striking isn’t just the detail—it’s the order. God reveals the vision long before He identifies the people who will build it.

That moment comes in Exodus 31, when God names Bezalel and Oholiab and says He has already filled them with skill, wisdom, and creativity. In other words, before God ever shared the vision, He had already prepared the people. The gifts were in place. The ability was formed. The provision existed.

This pattern shows up throughout Scripture. God doesn’t scramble to meet a need once He reveals His will. He works quietly over time, shaping hearts, forming character, and building capacity long before the moment arrives. Vision doesn’t create provision. Provision precedes vision.

That truth is deeply comforting. It means our lives aren’t random collections of experiences. The skills we’ve developed, the lessons we’ve learned, the challenges we’ve faced—God can use all of it. Often, we don’t realize how prepared we are until God reveals what He’s been preparing us for.

Deuteronomy 2:7 captures this beautifully when Moses reminds God’s people that the Lord has blessed the work of their hands, has been with them, and has allowed them to lack nothing. This isn’t a denial of hardship—it’s a declaration of faithfulness. God was present in every season, even when the purpose wasn’t yet clear.

That’s why Proverbs 29:18 matters so much. Without God’s revealed truth, people drift. But when God speaks and His people listen, there is blessing and life. Vision isn’t about ambition. It’s about alignment—ordering our lives around what God has already made known.

For many of us, the invitation isn’t to chase something new. It’s to pause long enough to recognize where God has already been at work. To trust that the preparation we’ve experienced wasn’t wasted. And to respond faithfully when God invites us to take the next step.

Vision doesn’t begin with buildings or plans or strategies. It begins when God’s people say yes—yes to listening, yes to obedience, yes to trusting that He has already gone before us.

And when we respond that way, we discover what has always been true: God is faithful, His purposes are good, and He is never late.

Posted on

When the Noise Fades, God Speaks

Have you ever been driving in your car when the music is so loud you can’t think? You don’t turn it down because the song is bad—you turn it down because you need to hear something else. Maybe it’s a child asking a question from the back seat, directions you don’t want to miss, or a warning sound coming from the engine.

Christmas can feel the same way.

There is so much music this time of year—songs, traditions, schedules, expectations—that the most important truth of the season can get drowned out. All month long, we talk about the songs surrounding Jesus’ birth. Mary sang. Zechariah sang. The angels sang. Simeon sang. But before any of them lifted their voices, God did something even more profound.

He spoke.

That’s where the Gospel of John begins the Christmas story—not with a manger, shepherds, or angels, but with a sentence that turns the volume down: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God” (John 1:1, ESV). Before there were Christmas songs, before there were Christmas trees, before the world even existed, Jesus was already there.

John’s opening words intentionally echo Genesis. Before brokenness, heartache, sin, and grief entered the story, there was Jesus. Christmas is not a detour in the Bible—it’s the restart button. It’s God stepping into a broken world with a promise of peace, purpose, love, hope, and joy.

And when God finally came, He didn’t come loudly. There were no fireworks, no palace, no parade. He came as a baby, in a small town, on a quiet night. John tells us, “He was in the world… yet the world did not know him” (John 1:10). That still feels painfully relevant. Christmas gets loud—shopping lists, busy calendars, family stress, and unmet expectations—and sometimes we miss Jesus not because He is distant, but because He comes gently.

Then John gives us one of the most beautiful and challenging lines in Scripture: “And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us” (John 1:14). When John says “flesh,” he uses the word sarx—a word that points to weakness, hunger, fatigue, and mortality. He could have said Jesus became human, but he chose a word that reminds us just how fragile humanity is. God didn’t wear humanity like a costume. He embraced it fully. Jesus knew hunger, thirst, exhaustion, and sleep. If Jesus got tired, then your exhaustion isn’t a spiritual failure—it’s human.

Jesus also entered the human timeline. He didn’t arrive fully grown. He learned to walk, speak, read Scripture, and obey. The God who holds eternity submitted Himself to process. Growth matters. Waiting isn’t wasted. Spiritual formation takes time.

John also tells us that the Word “dwelt” among us—a word that literally means “to pitch a tent.” It’s tabernacle language. In the Old Testament, if you wanted to meet with God, you went to the tent, followed the rules, brought a sacrifice, and kept your distance. But at Christmas, God does something shocking. He doesn’t wait for us to come to Him. He comes to us. The Word becomes flesh and pitches His tent in our world. God didn’t come to be visited; He came to be known.

And John reminds us that the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. Just like a single candle can push back a dark room, Jesus brings light when we’re afraid, guilty, hurting, or uncertain about what’s next. Christmas Eve reminds us that the darkness didn’t stop Him then—and it can’t stop Him now.

The invitation of Christmas is simple. Receiving Jesus doesn’t mean having everything figured out. It means opening your heart and saying, “Jesus, I need You. Come close to me.” And the good news is this: He already has.

Posted on

God Didn’t Send Hope—God Became Hope

Christmas is often filled with expectations. We hope the gatherings go well, the relationships feel lighter, the joy feels real, and the weight we’ve been carrying somehow eases. Ironically, the season built around hope can feel heavier than the rest of the year.

Luke 2 introduces us to Simeon, a man who understood weight—and release.

When Simeon takes the infant Jesus into his arms, his response is striking. He doesn’t celebrate loudly or ask for more time. He simply says, “Lord, now you are letting your servant depart in peace.” That word now tells the story. Something has shifted. Something has been lifted.

Simeon had been carrying the weight of expectation, longing, and promise for years. He had waited for God’s consolation, trusting that redemption would come. But in this moment, waiting gives way to peace. Hope hasn’t increased his burden—it has removed it.

This is what biblical hope does. It doesn’t pile pressure onto our lives; it releases us from carrying what we were never meant to hold alone.

Then Simeon says something even more profound: “My eyes have seen your salvation.” Salvation, for Simeon, is not an idea or a plan. It’s not a future outcome. Salvation is a person. God didn’t send hope as a message from heaven—God became hope and stepped into the world.

That distinction matters. If hope were a feeling, it would fade. If hope were an outcome, it could disappoint. But because hope is a person—Jesus—it remains steady even when life is not.

Simeon also understands the scope of this hope. Jesus is “a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to Israel.” This hope crosses boundaries. It reaches outsiders. It includes people who feel forgotten, distant, or unworthy. No one is beyond its reach.

That truth reshapes how we see others—and ourselves. If Jesus is hope for all people, then no story is finished yet. No person is too far gone. No failure is final.

Christmas often tempts us to trust the season itself. We expect the decorations, traditions, and emotions to do what only Jesus can do. When the day doesn’t live up to expectations, disappointment sets in. But Christmas was never meant to carry the weight of our hope. Jesus already has.

Simeon shows us a better way. He receives what God has already prepared. He doesn’t strive. He doesn’t perform. He rests.

This Christmas, we’re invited into the same response. To stop chasing hope in outcomes. To stop striving to earn peace. To stop assuming people are beyond God’s work. And to trust the Savior—not the season.

When we do, we can leave like Simeon did—not carrying more, but carrying peace.

Because hope has come near.

And His name is Jesus.

Posted on

The Treasure Test: Where Your Heart Really Lives

It sounds ridiculous now, but in the 1990s grown adults were convinced little stuffed animals could make them rich. Beanie Babies—tiny, bean-filled toys—were selling for hundreds, even thousands of dollars. People lined up outside toy stores before dawn, hoarded rare editions, and even insured them as “investments.” Parents told themselves, “This will pay for my child’s college!” But when the bubble burst, those treasures turned into yard-sale leftovers worth a couple of bucks.

What felt valuable in the moment turned out to be worthless in the end.

Jesus makes the same point in Matthew 6:19–24 when He says, “Don’t store up treasures on earth.” His warning isn’t anti-saving or anti-planning; it’s about the illusion that our possessions can give us peace, security, or identity. When we treasure the wrong things, we invest in what cannot hold its value. Our hearts follow our wallets, which is why Jesus connects treasure and trust so tightly: “Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”

In Jesus’ day, wealth was stored in clothing, grain, and metal—items easily ruined by moths, rust, or thieves. Today, our “rust” looks like upgrades, obsolescence, and depreciation. The phone that wowed you two years ago now feels old. The house that excited you last spring suddenly needs a bigger closet. The car you couldn’t wait to drive now seems ordinary. Earthly treasure always decays faster than we expect.

Jesus then shifts from storage to sight. “The eye is the lamp of the body,” He says, pointing out that what we focus on fills us. In Jewish culture, a “good eye” meant generosity; a “bad eye” meant greed. If our attention is consumed by comparison, envy, or the constant scroll of what everyone else has, our whole inner life grows dim. But when our eyes are fixed on the kingdom—on compassion, people, and purpose—our lives are full of light.

The issue isn’t just money. It’s mastery. Jesus ends with a blunt reality check: “You cannot serve both God and money.” Mammon—wealth personified—whispers promises it can’t keep: “I’ll make you safe. I’ll make you significant. I’ll give you security.” But the more we serve it, the more it owns us. Only one Master gives freedom, joy, and peace that last.

So how do we break the illusion of control and reclaim our hearts?

First, audit your storage units. We all have them—literal ones like garages and basements, and digital or emotional ones like Amazon wish lists or closets full of unworn clothes. Ask: What am I holding onto that no longer has eternal value?

Second, write a heavenly budget. Budgets always reveal beliefs. Start your month with generosity, not leftovers. Create a “blessings” line for spontaneous giving. Think of eternity like compound interest—invest in souls, not stuff.

Third, replace “mine” with “His.” Every dollar is borrowed breath from God. Swap ownership language for stewardship language: “This is His money… His time… His resources.” When the vocabulary changes, the heart follows.

Jesus is not after your wallet; He’s after your worship. If He sat across from you at your kitchen table and said, “Show Me your treasures,” what would He find? Your receipts reveal your reality.

Here’s the Treasure Test:
If heaven never rewarded your generosity, would you still give?
If you lost everything but kept Christ, would you still call yourself rich?

Posted on

The Helmet of Salvation: More Than a Metaphor

When I was a kid, we lived outside. We rode bikes, jumped ramps, and crashed into each other for fun. Helmets? Not a chance. Back then, I thought helmets were for people who didn’t know how to ride.

Fast forward a few years. One of my childhood friends grew up, bought a Harley, and still hated helmets. But he promised his mom he’d wear one.

One early morning, cruising through the countryside at 55 mph, the sun rising and fog lifting off the cornfields, it happened. Out of nowhere, a deer leapt straight into him. The bike slid out from under him, and he tumbled over and over into oncoming traffic, stopping just short of a car.

Adrenaline pumping, he jumped up, looked at the driver, and shouted, “Did you see that? I was attacked by a deer!”

When he took off his helmet, it was cracked and totaled. The bike was totaled too. But he walked away with just a few bruises. Today, as a husband and father, he still thanks God for that helmet.

That helmet wasn’t just a promise kept—it was the difference between life and death.

The Helmet Protects What Controls Everything Else

Whether it’s a bike, skateboard, or football field, a helmet protects the part of you that controls everything else—your head. That’s exactly what Paul is getting at when he says in Ephesians 6:17:

“Take the helmet of salvation.” (Ephesians 6:17, CSB)

Notice the word take. Earlier in the passage, Paul says to put on the belt, breastplate, and shoes. Putting on is about a continual lifestyle. But taking up is different. It’s about moment-to-moment readiness, especially in battle.

Think about how you check your essentials before you leave the house: phone, wallet, keys. You don’t wear them—you take them. Paul’s saying, “Don’t step into the world without your spiritual essentials.”

The Battle for Your Mind Is Real

Roman helmets protected the head because a soldier couldn’t survive without it. Spiritually, the “helmet of salvation” protects your mind—the place where your thoughts, beliefs, and hopes dwell.

Why does that matter? Because what you think shapes what you believe. What you believe shapes how you live. And your enemy knows that if he can win the battle in your mind, he can influence everything else.

That’s why Paul urges us to take salvation with us into every thought and every situation. Salvation isn’t just a past decision or a future destination. It’s a present defense. It’s not only about being saved; it’s about living saved.

How to Guard Your Mind Daily

  1. Curate What You Consume
    What you feed your mind shapes how you think. Social media, Netflix, music—it all forms patterns in your brain. Choose content that strengthens your faith and points you to hope.
  2. Talk Back to Toxic Thoughts
    Not every thought deserves your agreement. Catch the lies (“I’m a failure. God’s not with me.”) and replace them with truth (“I am a child of God. The Lord will never leave me.”).
  3. Rehearse Gospel Truths
    Put God’s promises on repeat. Write verses on sticky notes, set phone reminders, or memorize Scripture with friends. A renewed mind doesn’t just know the truth—it rehearses it until it becomes reflex.
  4. Practice Stillness
    A racing life fuels a racing mind. Build moments of Sabbath-level stillness into your week. Sit in quiet prayer, journal, or meditate on one verse.
  5. Redirect Comparison into Celebration
    When you catch yourself comparing your life to someone else’s, thank God for what He’s doing in theirs—and then list one thing He’s doing in yours.
  6. Surround Yourself with the Right People
    Who you talk to shapes how you think. Join a small group, create a prayer thread, or regularly connect with people who speak faith and truth into your life.

Salvation Is a Gift You Take With You

The battle of the Christian life isn’t just “out there.” It’s in our minds. That’s why Paul says, “Take the helmet of salvation.” Salvation isn’t something you earn or make—it’s something you receive.

When Jesus went to the cross, He didn’t wear a helmet of glory. He wore a crown of thorns. Why? So you could take the helmet of salvation and live with a mind set free from guilt, fear, and lies.

Don’t leave your house without it. Consciously, intentionally, take salvation with you every day. It’s not just about going to heaven someday. It’s about being guarded right now.

You’re not just saved—you’re secure. You’re not just forgiven—you’re protected. You’re not just rescued—you’re being renewed.

So here’s the question: Are you living like someone who belongs to Jesus?

Because when you put on that helmet, you don’t fight for victory—you fight from victory.

Posted on

Leaving a Legacy of Hope

  I have been thinking a lot about legacy lately. My wife and I have been married for 20 years and have two amazing daughters. Our oldest just turned 15 and the reality of her impending adulthood hit me hard a few months ago. I remember when she was born, people would tell me over and over again, “It will go by fast!” At first, I though they were delusional. All those sleepless nights as an infant and then those restless days of chasing a toddler certainly seemed to drag on. But somewhere between losing her first tooth and getting her driver’s permit the world skipped a decade!

            Over the summer I had a chance to take her to Germany with our church. It dawned on me as we walked the streets of Heidelberg that my ancestors walked those very same steps along the Reine River over 200 years ago. My ancestors experienced religious and political oppression as they pastored the villages up and down the river. The persecution was so harsh that it forced my ancestors to immigrate to the United States where they settled in Pennsylvania, Indiana, and the Cumberland Gap in Kentucky. Generation after generation, the men in our family would pastor churches and farm. Even my great grandparents were founding supporters of Grace College in Winona Lake, IN in 1948.

            All of this reminiscing reminded me of the words found in Deuteronomy 6.5-7, “Love the LORD your God with all your heart, with all your should, and with all your strength. These words that I am giving you today are to be in your heart. Repeat them to your children. Talk about them when you sit in your house and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up.”

            I cannot help but be grateful for the faithfulness of my family over the centuries as they have loved the LORD with all their hearts. As we returned home from Germany, it was impressed on mine that as a father, a husband, and as a Christian, I am also responsible to leave a legacy for the next generation. God has called all believers to be people of faith and hope. To live in way that brings glory to Him, in all things. To let our words proclaim life and our actions to align with the truth we profess.

            As you consider your own family and community, what are the ways you can instill a legacy of hope for the next generation? Does that look like being committed to your local church on a weekly basis? Does that sound like joyful and hope-filled conversations with your kids, grandkids, nieces, and nephews? How can you Love the LORD with all your heart?  How can you live for Jesus in such a way that impacts your family generations from now?

Posted on

Compelled to Thanksgiving

“Thank you.” “I appreciate you.” “You’re great.” “You’re the best.”

These are all ways that we often share our gratitude toward people. There is a moment in Paul’s letter to the people of Philippi where he says, Every time I think of you, I give thanks to my God. – Philippians 1.3 (NLT)

In this proclamation, he raises the standard of expectation and thankfulness. He tells the people of Philippi, not only is he grateful for them, but that the actually tells God about how much they mean to him whenever he thinks about them!

A few months ago, I received a phone call from a mother. It turns out that my oldest daughter, Brooklyn, and her daughter share some of the same classes together. This mother called to tell me how grateful she was for Brooklyn’s impact in the life of her own daughter. Apparently, Brooklyn stood up to a bully and then acted in a moment of compassion that this other girl desperately needed.

Then about a month ago, my wife and I received a series of emails and messages from different teachers who felt compelled to share similar stories about Brooklyn’s joy and the impact she was making for Christ in the lives of students and teachers.

I know it sounds like I’m bragging a little on my daughter…because I am! And that’s the point! That is what Paul was doing every time he approached God in prayer. When he was thinking of the people who blessed him, encouraged him, and served him…Paul found it necessary to tell God about it! He was compelled to brag on another one of God’s children because of the impact they made in his own life. 

I have two questions for us as we go into this season of thanksgiving. 

My first question is simple: Who are the people in your life that you value enough to thank God for? Husband? Wife? Daughter? Son? Brother? Sister? Friend? Co-worker? Who are they and when was the last time you genuinely thanked God for them?

The second question is a little more difficult: Am I treating other people in such a way that they are compelled to thank God for me? 

Jesus said, “By this all will know that you are My disciples, if you have love for one another.” – John 13.35 (NKJV)

As we move into a week and a season of thankfulness, may our hearts be open and grateful for the relationships that God has given us. Let us pursue a life of love in both word and deed. May we treat each other with the kindness, compassion, mercy, and grace that Christ has shown to us all.  

Happy Thanksgiving!