Christmas has a way of revealing what the rest of the year allows us to avoid. It slows time just enough that the silence gets louder, the memories press closer, and the questions we’ve postponed finally ask to be answered. Christmas is no different, except perhaps that the world
Most people read Ephesians 6 as if it were a metaphor meant to decorate faith rather than prepare it. They picture Roman armor, nod at the imagery, maybe quote a line about the shield of faith or the sword of the Spirit, and then move on. But Ephesians 6 was
I want to talk about a chapter that refuses to stay tame. Ephesians 5 is often quoted softly, selectively, and sometimes defensively, but it was never written to be gentle background music for polite faith. It was written to wake people up. It was written to give love a backbone,
Most people want change without disruption, growth without friction, unity without effort, and maturity without discomfort. We want God to improve us quietly, privately, and preferably without touching the habits, tones, reactions, and inner narratives we’ve spent years protecting. Ephesians 4 refuses to cooperate with that desire. It does
There are chapters in Scripture that explain doctrine, chapters that correct behavior, chapters that comfort the wounded, and chapters that call the church to action. Then there are chapters like Ephesians 3, which quietly do something far more unsettling and far more powerful. They do not merely tell you what
Ephesians 2 is one of the most misquoted, misunderstood, and quietly radical chapters in the New Testament, and that is precisely because it refuses to flatter the human ego. It does not begin with potential, promise, effort, or spiritual ambition. It begins with death. Not metaphorical tiredness. Not moral weakness.
There is a moment that happens every holiday season that rarely gets named out loud. It doesn’t announce itself with raised voices or slammed doors. It shows up quietly, almost politely, as you walk into a familiar room and feel something in you tighten. The furniture hasn’t changed.
There are chapters in Scripture that feel like a calm conversation beside a fire, and then there are chapters that feel like a thunderclap that rearranges how you see yourself forever. Ephesians 1 is not gentle. It does not ease into its claims. It opens with a declaration so bold
Galatians 6 is one of those chapters that doesn’t shout. It doesn’t thunder with controversy the way earlier chapters do, and it doesn’t argue its case like a courtroom drama. Instead, it settles in beside the reader like a trusted companion who has walked a long road
Freedom is one of the most overused words in the modern Christian vocabulary, and at the same time one of the least examined. We speak of it casually, sing about it passionately, defend it politically, and claim it spiritually, yet many believers live as though freedom were a fragile idea
There is a moment in every human life when childhood ends, not because a birthday passes, but because something inside finally wakes up. A moment when you realize you are no longer living under someone else’s rules simply because they are rules. You begin to understand why you do
I’m going to be alone this Christmas. That sentence doesn’t need decoration. It doesn’t need exaggeration. It stands on its own, heavy and honest, because for many people it carries far more than just a calendar date. It carries the weight of expectations that didn’t come