We Bought a Beach House—and Learned What We Really Needed

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Last night, a friend was watching television when a couple of familiar faces appeared on the screen—ours. 

She took a few pictures of the television, posted them on Facebook, and tagged us. There we were, a decade younger, walking around Dauphin Island, Alabama, looking for a beach house on an episode of Island Life.

We bought the house in 2016, but the episode still turns up occasionally. Every few years, somebody will be watching television, recognize us, and send us a picture. It is a little strange to have a decision from your past preserved in reruns.

Seeing those pictures again brought back a flood of memories. It also reminded me of something I learned during that season—something Richard Foster expressed far better than I ever could: “It’s possible to enjoy the beach without owning a piece of it.”

It took buying a beach house for me to discover that.

Let me clear up one misconception before we go any further: Vanessa and I are not wealthy people. We were not wealthy in 2016, either. Owning a beach house is not necessarily proof that someone has a lot of money. Sometimes it simply means they have a good credit score and a complicit banker. We had both.

We loved Dauphin Island. It was quiet, unhurried, and far removed from the pace of ordinary life. We could imagine ourselves escaping there, sitting near the water, watching the sun go down, and enjoying time with family. Somewhere along the way, however, enjoying the island turned into wanting to own a piece of it. Once that desire took hold, we began finding ways to make it happen.

That is one of the things I have learned about desire: once we decide what we want, we can become remarkably creative in justifying it. We run the numbers. We imagine the possibilities. We focus on everything that might go right and minimize everything that could go wrong. If the door opens—even if the door is opened with borrowed money—we take that as confirmation that we are supposed to walk through it.

We found the house. The bank found the money. And television found us. The producers of Island Life told the story of a couple searching for the perfect place on Dauphin Island. We toured houses, talked about what we liked and didn’t like, and eventually chose the one that would become ours. It made for a nice episode of television. But, there is nothing real about reality television.

The story had already been decided before the cameras arrived. Scenes were staged and conversations repeated. We walked through houses we had no intention of buying and acted as though the decision still hung in the balance. Hours of recording were edited into a neat little story about a dream coming true.

That is what television does. It removes the complications, compresses the timeline, adds some music, and gives everything a satisfying ending. Real life is rarely that tidy.

The episode showed the excitement of buying a beach house. It did not show the mortgage payments, insurance, upkeep, repairs, worry, or responsibility that came with it. It did not show what happens when the place you visit to escape becomes one more thing demanding your attention.

Owning a beach house changes the experience of going to the beach. You no longer simply arrive and enjoy it. You notice what needs repairing. You wonder what the weather has done while you were away. You think about what the house is costing when you are not there and what needs to be done while you are. The place that was supposed to provide rest can become another source of work.

There was another complication, too—one that is harder for me to admit. At the time, I was pastoring a church. Not everyone in the congregation celebrated our new adventure. Some assumed that buying a house on Dauphin Island meant we were preparing to leave. Others wondered whether my attention was where it needed to be.

I thought those concerns were unfair. We were not planning to leave, and I was still doing my job. From my perspective, owning a beach house had nothing to do with my commitment to the church. Looking back, however, I wonder whether they saw something I did not. Perhaps my body was still present while some part of my imagination had already moved to the island.

That does not mean pastors should never own beach houses. Nor does it mean the house itself was sinful. The deeper issue was not the property. The deeper issue was desire—and the amount of attention, energy, and imagination I was willing to give it.

I wanted something, and because we could find a way to acquire it, I assumed we should. I confused the ability to purchase something with the wisdom to pursue it.

That is a temptation most of us understand. We live in a culture that is remarkably skilled at turning wants into needs. We are told that fulfillment is always one purchase, one accomplishment, one experience, or one upgrade away. And when we finally get what we wanted, we often discover that it cannot give us what we were really seeking. The beach house was not just a financial decision. It revealed something about my heart.

I am in a different season of life and ministry now. These days, I find myself thinking less about success and more about faithfulness—less about what I can build or acquire and more about who I am becoming. As I reflect on my own discipleship, I am beginning to recognize how easily misplaced desires can shape a life.

Discipleship is not only learning to resist desires that are obviously sinful. Sometimes it means surrendering good desires that have taken an improper place in our hearts.

Rest is good. Time with family is good. Watching a sunset over the Gulf is good. Even owning a beach house can be good. But good things become dangerous when we ask them to give us something only God can provide—or when pursuing them begins to compete with the life to which God has called us.

We do not always abandon Jesus to chase what we want. Sometimes we simply ask Jesus to come along and bless the pursuit.

Richard Foster was right. We did not need to own a piece of the beach to enjoy it. We did not need a mortgage to appreciate the water, the sand, the sunsets, or time together. Those things were already available to us as gifts. We could receive them, enjoy them, and then return home without carrying the burden of ownership with us.

Perhaps that is what we really needed—not possession, but permission to enjoy the gift without having to own it.

The old episode will probably continue appearing on television from time to time. When it does, it will show two people pursuing a dream and finding the house they wanted.

What it cannot show is what took us years to learn: We bought a beach house. But what we really needed was to examine the desire that made us believe we needed one.

Until next time, keep looking up…

Living the Lord’s Prayer

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I’ve prayed the Lord’s Prayer for most of my life.

Like many Christians, I learned it as a child. Over the years I’ve prayed it in worship services, hospital rooms, funeral homes, around dinner tables, and in quiet moments when I didn’t quite know what else to say.

I’ve also preached it more than once. Whenever I preached it, I usually approached it the way many pastors do—taking each petition and showing how it can guide our own prayers. That’s a good approach. In fact, I still believe it’s a biblical one.

But this past week, while preparing to preach from Matthew 6, I noticed something I had never fully appreciated before. Matthew doesn’t place the Lord’s Prayer in a book about prayer. He places it in the middle of the Sermon on the Mount. That matters.

The Sermon on the Mount is Jesus’ description of life in the Kingdom of God. It’s where He teaches what His disciples look like, how they treat others, what they value, where they place their treasure, and how they trust the Father. Right in the middle of that teaching, Jesus says, “This, then, is how you should pray…”

It made me wonder: What if Jesus wasn’t only teaching His disciples what to say when they prayed? What if He was also showing them the kind of life they were to live?

Read through the Lord’s Prayer again with that thought in mind.

It begins in the Father’s presence: “Our Father in heaven…”

Before there are requests, there is relationship.

Then it turns to the Father’s priorities: “Hallowed be Your name. Your kingdom come. Your will be done.” Before Jesus teaches us to pray about our needs, He teaches us to care about what matters to the Father.

Only then do our needs enter the conversation: “Give us this day our daily bread… Forgive us… Lead us not into temptation… Deliver us from evil.”

The entire prayer moves from the Father’s presence to the Father’s priorities, then to the Father’s provision and protection. That’s more than a model for prayer. It’s also a pattern for life.

The more I reflected on it, another realization dawned on me. Jesus didn’t simply teach the Lord’s Prayer. He lived it.

He lived continually in His Father’s presence. He sought His Father’s glory above His own. He proclaimed the Father’s Kingdom. He surrendered to the Father’s will—even in Gethsemane. He trusted the Father for daily provision. He resisted every temptation. And through His death and resurrection, He became the forgiveness and deliverance we could never achieve for ourselves.

Suddenly, the Lord’s Prayer looked less like a script to memorize and more like a portrait of Jesus Himself. And that’s good news.

The goal of the Christian life isn’t merely to pray better prayers. It’s to become more like Christ. By His Spirit, Jesus is forming His own life in us. As He does, the Lord’s Prayer becomes more than words we recite. It becomes a life we live.

The next time you pray the Lord’s Prayer, don’t rush through familiar words. Pause. Listen. Receive it as an invitation—not only to speak with your Father, but to live as His child.

Don’t just pray the Lord’s Prayer.

Live it.

Until next time, keep looking up…

The Danger Behind a Long Prayer

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I grew up believing that long prayers were better prayers.

The person who could pray the longest usually sounded the most spiritual. Sometimes those prayers were sincere. Sometimes they were beautiful. And sometimes, if I’m honest, they became performances. I’ve prayed some of those prayers myself.

As a pastor, I know how easy it is to slip into that trap. Standing in front of a congregation with every eye closed and every ear listening, it’s tempting to begin talking more to the people than to God. Before long, a prayer can become another sermon. Or worse, an opportunity to sound spiritual.

Jesus never condemned long prayers. In fact, He prayed through the night on more than one occasion. The problem isn’t the length of the prayer. The problem is the motive behind it.

In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus warned His disciples:

“When you pray, don’t be like the hypocrites. They love to pray standing in the synagogues and on the street corners to be seen by people…” (Matthew 6:5)

Notice what Jesus doesn’t say. He doesn’t say public prayer is wrong. Jesus prayed publicly. The early church prayed publicly. Christians have gathered for prayer together for two thousand years. Neither does He say long prayers are wrong. Instead, He exposes something much deeper.

The problem wasn’t where they prayed. The problem was why they prayed.

The word “hypocrite” originally described an actor wearing a mask on a stage. These weren’t people who didn’t pray. They prayed. The problem was that they had confused their audience.

I’ve often said it this way:

The audience determines the prayer.

If my audience is the congregation, I’ll be concerned with how my words sound. If my audience is God, I’ll be concerned with speaking honestly.

That raises an uncomfortable question. Who am I trying to impress? That question doesn’t just apply to public prayer. It reaches into every part of our spiritual lives. Why do I serve? Why do I give? Why do I post Bible verses online? Why do I volunteer? Why do I pray?

Jesus isn’t trying to make us suspicious of public expressions of faith. He’s inviting us into something better. Prayer was never meant to be a performance. It was always meant to be a conversation with our Father. That’s why, just a few verses later, Jesus reminds His disciples:

“Your Father knows what you need before you ask him.” (Matthew 6:8)

Think about that for a moment. You don’t have to impress a Father who already knows you. You don’t have to convince a Father who already loves you. You don’t have to perform for a Father who already knows your heart.

The most beautiful prayers are rarely the most polished. They’re simply honest. And that’s the kind of prayer your Father has wanted all along.

Until next time, keep looking up…

Stop Trying to be a Better Evangelist…

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Acts 2:42-47

A Problem

A few weeks ago, a Facebook post caught my eye. A church was offering a one-day discipleship class — 9:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. A full day dedicated to making disciples.

Before I say another word, let me be clear: I’m grateful for any church trying to make disciples. I’m not throwing stones at that particular congregation. If I’m honest, this word is for all of us. That post simply exposed something we’ve quietly come to accept.

We’ve begun to believe discipleship can be primarily taught in a classroom. That with enough curriculum, enough seminars, enough programs, and enough information, we’ll produce mature followers of Jesus.

But following Jesus has never been mastered in a classroom. It’s learned in kitchens and living rooms, hospital rooms and workplaces, neighborhoods and ordinary daily rhythms. It is learned over a lifetime through daily surrender, daily obedience, and the transforming work of the Holy Spirit.

Pentecost happened in a day. Spiritual formation happens over a lifetime.

Somewhere along the way, we’ve made the same mistake with evangelism. We’ve turned it into another skill to master, another class to attend, another program to organize, another technique to learn. We’ve made evangelism a “task” to be performed.

But when I read Acts 2, I don’t find an evangelism committee. I don’t find a strategic planning session or a “Director of Outreach.” I don’t find the apostles creating a twelve-week curriculum called “How to Win Your Neighbor in Five Easy Steps.”

What do I find? People worshiping. People praying. People eating together. People devoted to the apostles’ teaching. People giving generously. People living life together. And somehow — while doing all those ordinary things — “the Lord added to their number daily those who were being saved.”Evangelism is not primarily a task to be performed. Evangelism is a life to be lived.

A Pattern

We’ve made evangelism the destination. But what if Acts 2 reveals that evangelism is actually the byproduct? The fruit, not the root?

Luke doesn’t say the early church devoted themselves to evangelism, outreach, church growth, or making converts. Instead, he writes:

“They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and to fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer.” (Acts 2:42)

The very things we often treat as secondary, Luke places first. Why? Because he understands a simple but profound truth: What fills us eventually flows from us.

The overflow of Acts 2 began on the streets of Jerusalem on Pentecost with 3,000 people believing and being baptized. If Luke were writing a modern church growth manual, he might have ended the chapter there. But he doesn’t. Pentecost wasn’t the finish line — it was the starting line.

The same Spirit who brought them to Christ now began the lifelong work of forming them into the likeness of Christ. Verses 42-47 describe what that looked like in practice: worship, prayer, generous sharing, and devotion to apostolic teaching. Nothing flashy. No celebrity speakers, no marketing campaigns, no social media strategy. Just ordinary people faithfully walking with Jesus in the ordinary rhythms of life.

Whatever is forming you is also filling you. And whatever is filling you will eventually flow from you.

A Promise

Luke gives us a quiet but powerful promise in the final sentence of the passage: “…And the Lord added to their number daily those who were being saved.”

Notice who the subject is: The Lord. Not the disciples. Not the apostles. Not the church’s clever strategies. The Lord added.

As I’ve been preaching through the Spirit-Formed Life series with my congregation, I’ve stumbled onto a beautiful surprise: The Spirit never asked the first disciples to carry the weight of building His Church. He asked them to devote themselves to Him — worship, prayer, fellowship, generosity, apostolic teaching. Faithfulness was their assignment. Fruitfulness was God’s responsibility.

The Spirit-formed life is one in which Jesus increasingly becomes the subject of every sentence in our story. Jesus is the subject of our worship, our fellowship, our generosity, our witness, our salvation. 

As Jesus becomes the main character, we become perfectly content to be supporting characters in His story. 

That is discipleship. That is maturity. That is holiness.

A Personal Confession

Before I close, I need to confess something. That one-day discipleship class in the Facebook post? Twenty years…no, really more like ten…okay, so seven years ago, that could easily have been me. I would have been the one developing the curriculum, standing in the front of the room, convinced that if I could just teach enough, organize enough, and equip enough, people would become disciples.

Those were the things that formed me as a pastor for a long time. But the Holy Spirit has been teaching me something I wish I had learned much earlier: Jesus doesn’t primarily form disciples in classrooms. He forms them in daily surrender, in worship, in prayer, around tables, in ordinary acts of obedience, and in the daily rhythms of a life yielded to the Holy Spirit.

And when Jesus forms a life, that life begins to overflow.

That’s why I’ve been asking my congregation a Question of the Month that I believe matters so much: What is forming me more than Jesus right now?

Overflow isn’t the goal.

Overflow is the result.

Christlikeness is the goal.

Overflow is the consequence.

So, I’ve decided that I’m not going to spend the rest of my life trying to become a better evangelist. I’m going to spend my life becoming more like Jesus. I’m going to trust Him with the results. Because what fills us eventually flows from us.

Friends, what is forming you more than Jesus right now?

I’d love to hear from you in the comments. And if this resonates, would you share it with someone who needs encouragement to return to the simple, ordinary, Spirit-formed rhythms of the early church?

Until next time, keep looking up…

Developing Devotion…

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What the Early Church Can Teach Us About Daily Spiritual Formation

Someone once said, “The problem with life is that it happens so daily.” The same is true of spiritual formation. It rarely arrives in one dramatic moment. It happens daily. And it is that daily work of spiritual formation that equips us to obey Jesus when ordinary life happens.

Right after Pentecost, the Holy Spirit falls, Peter preaches, and three thousand people are added to the church in a single day. What happens next? Do they drift back to business as usual? No. Luke tells us:

“They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and to fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer.” (Acts 2:42, NIV)

What Is Devotion?

The key word is devoted—in the original Greek, proskartereō. It means to persist, to continue steadfastly, to hold fast. This is far more than casual interest or good intentions. It is wholehearted commitment.

We become what we repeatedly devote ourselves to. Everyone is devoted to something. The real question is not “Am I devoted?” but “To what am I devoted?”

Some of us are devoted to work—early mornings, late nights, minds always on the next thing. Others to family (a good thing), hunting, fishing, golf (though if you saw my golf game, you’d know I’m not devoted to that), shopping, or endless scrolling. None of these are inherently evil. But even good things can crowd out Christ if He is not shaping them.

Here is a truth I’ve wrestled with: Crisis doesn’t create our devotion—it reveals what we’ve been devoted to all along.

Luke doesn’t leave us guessing. He shows us exactly what captured the devotion of that first Spirit-filled church.

What Does Devotion Look Like?

They devoted themselves to four practices:

A. Devoted to the Apostles’ Teaching — Truth that Forms Us This was before the New Testament was written. They sat under the eyewitness testimony of Peter, John, Matthew, and others—hearing Jesus’ stories, parables, and commands directly.

The early church didn’t devote themselves to sharing opinions. They devoted themselves to receiving God’s truth.

We live in an age drowning in information but starving for transformation. The goal is not simply knowing more about Jesus. The goal is becoming more like Jesus.

B. Devoted to Fellowship (Koinonia) — People who Form Us This is far deeper than coffee and donuts after church. It’s shared life, shared burdens, and shared mission. Christianity is deeply personal but never private. The Gospel is a “we” proposition, not a “me” proposition.

There is no such thing as a solitary disciple. Jesus formed His followers in community, and He still does. That’s why the New Testament is filled with “one another” commands: confess sins to one another, bear with one another, encourage one another, forgive one another, spur one another on. Real koinonia looks like this.

C. Devoted to the Breaking of Bread — Grace that Forms Us This included ordinary meals together and the Lord’s Supper. The table became a place of remembrance, gratitude, equality, and belonging.

Spiritual formation doesn’t happen only in sanctuaries. It happens around tables. The early church was formed by sermons and suppers.

D. Devoted to Prayer — Dependence that Forms Us Prayer is not preparation for the work. Prayer is the work. The church born in prayer at Pentecost continued in prayer. A praying church knows it cannot form itself—it depends on the Holy Spirit.

How Is Devotion Lived Out?

Look at verse 46: “Every day they continued to meet together in the temple courts. They broke bread in their homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts.”

Spiritual formation is not an event or occasional inspiration. It is a daily rhythm. Life happens daily—discipleship must too.

Practically, this looks like:

  • Daily surrender
  • Daily prayer
  • Daily Scripture (sitting under teaching in our own time)
  • Daily connection with God’s people—a text, a call, a conversation, face-to-face when possible
  • Daily choosing obedience over convenience

These are not a magic formula. They are means of grace—ordinary ways we experience God and God reveals Himself to us. Spiritual disciplines.

The early disciples were not earning God’s grace through devotion. Their devotion was a response to the saving grace already given in Jesus Christ.

We need fewer rows of isolated spectators and more circles of people living life together, deepening devotion.

For me personally, this means shifting my morning drive to the shop. Instead of political podcasts that feed my cynicism, I need to choose silence and prayer so Jesus can form my heart first.

The Secret of the Early Church

The secret wasn’t talent, strategy, or programming. It was devotion—steadfast, day after day—to the apostles’ teaching, fellowship, the breaking of bread, and prayer. In the temple courts and house to house.

Truth formed their minds. Fellowship formed their relationships. The table formed their remembrance and gratitude. Prayer formed their dependence.

The same Holy Spirit who fell at Pentecost is with us right now. The question is not whether the Spirit is available. The question is whether we will devote ourselves to the things through which the Spirit forms us into the likeness of Jesus.

A Challenge

Choose one daily rhythm and shift it toward Christ: consistent time in Scripture and prayer, gathering with God’s people, meals around the table with glad hearts, or fresh daily surrender.

Take a quiet moment right now and ask: “What is forming me more than Jesus right now?”

What one rhythm needs to change so Christ shapes everything else?

If your calendar and habits were the only evidence, what would they say you are devoted to?

Let’s devote ourselves to what matters most. The Spirit who empowered them is ready to empower us.

What’s one rhythm you sense the Lord asking you to shift? Share in the comments—I read every one.

Until next time, keep looking up…

The Dream Nobody Knew

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Back in the mid-to-late 1980s, I worked in my grandfather’s hardware store in Chatham, Louisiana.

Like most small-town hardware stores, it wasn’t exactly a center of corporate innovation. We sold nuts and bolts, plumbing fittings, paint, and whatever else folks needed to keep life moving. Most days, I sat on an old stool behind the counter waiting on customers and trying to decide what I wanted to do with my life.

Somewhere during those years I started reading Entrepreneur magazine. I don’t know why it captured my imagination, but it did.

Every month I would read stories about entrepreneurs building businesses from nothing. I wasn’t a businessman. I was just a young husband working in a hardware store. But those articles stirred something inside me. They made me dream.

In the back of the magazine there was an advertisement for a little oil change company out of Metairie, Louisiana called SpeeDee Oil Change.

Most people had never heard of it.

They were beginning to franchise locations, and every time I saw that advertisement I found myself imagining what it would be like to own one.

Not just anywhere. In Ruston. And not just somewhere in Ruston. On the North Service Road.

I can still see myself sitting on that stool, flipping through those pages, imagining a future that seemed completely out of reach. Life, however, had other plans.

I never opened a SpeeDee franchise. Instead, I became a deputy sheriff. Then God called me into ministry. The years passed. I pastored churches. Raised children. Attended committee meetings. Preached sermons. Buried saints. Married young couples. Watched grandchildren arrive.

Like most people, I eventually assumed some dreams belonged to younger versions of ourselves.

Every now and then I would see a lube shop and remember those old thoughts from the hardware store, but life had moved on. Or so I thought.

Then in 2019, something unexpected happened. After nearly three decades in pastoral ministry, I sensed God might be leading me into a different season. An opportunity opened with a local bank, and I accepted a position as Business Development Officer.

In some ways, it felt like a return to those old entrepreneurial dreams. I wasn’t leaving ministry because I was angry or burned out. I simply believed God might be redirecting my path. For the first time in years, I found myself working in the business world again, helping build relationships and explore opportunities for growth.

Then 2020 arrived.

Like everyone else, we watched as COVID changed everything. The bank adapted to new realities, reevaluated priorities, and eventually chose a different direction. The role for which I had been hired was disappearing. Leadership offered me another opportunity within the organization, but it involved becoming a consumer loan officer.

I tried to imagine myself sitting behind a desk every day approving loans and financing purchases. The more I thought about it, the more I realized it wasn’t who I was. Nothing against the people who do that work. It simply wasn’t where my heart was. I couldn’t shake the feeling that God wasn’t calling me to spend the rest of my working years helping people borrow money to buy things they probably didn’t need and often couldn’t afford.

Once again, I found myself standing at a crossroads.

The door that had seemed so promising in 2019 was quietly closing. I didn’t know what came next. I only knew it was time for another change.

Looking back now, I don’t see the banking years as a detour at all. I see them as a placeholder.

When I left vocational ministry in 2019, I needed somewhere to land. SpeeDee wasn’t for sale. The opportunity didn’t exist. But the bank did. For two years, God provided exactly what I needed for that season. Not forever. Just for then.

At the time, I couldn’t understand why that door was opening only to close again so quickly. It felt confusing. Disappointing, even. But hindsight has a way of revealing what faith often cannot see in the moment.

The bank was never the destination. It was the bridge.

Had SpeeDee been available in 2019, I likely would have stepped directly into it. But it wasn’t. The timing wasn’t right. God wasn’t withholding anything from me. He was simply preparing the next chapter while providing a place for me to stand in the meantime.

Then, when the season at the bank had run its course and the role I had been hired to fill was disappearing, the opportunity I had imagined as a young man sitting in my grandfather’s hardware store suddenly appeared.

Nearly forty years after I first sat on that stool in Chatham dreaming about SpeeDee Oil Change, the business in Ruston was for sale. The very business. On the very road. In the very town.

The location was right. The timing was right. And for the first time, I could see that what felt like uncertainty had actually been providence all along.

There was one more detail I couldn’t appreciate at the time. The same bank that had provided a place for me to land after leaving ministry became the bank that financed the purchase of SpeeDee Oil Change.

Sometimes God’s provision is only visible in the rearview mirror.

I didn’t start it. I didn’t build it from scratch. Another entrepreneur did all of that. But I bought it. And in doing so, I realized something I had never fully understood. Sometimes God says yes to our dreams. Just not according to our timetable.

Looking back, I spent years paying attention to doors that didn’t open. There were positions I sought and didn’t receive. Leadership opportunities that passed me by. Places where I thought God might be leading, only to find the answer was no. Those disappointments felt significant at the time. Some of them still sting if I’m honest. But while I was keeping score of the doors that closed, I failed to notice the dream God quietly fulfilled.

The young man sitting on that stool in Chatham could never have imagined the route God would take to get there. He certainly couldn’t have imagined owning an oil change business while also serving as a pastor. He couldn’t have imagined the detours, disappointments, failures, successes, and surprises that would fill the next four decades. He only knew he had a dream.

What he didn’t know was that God had not forgotten it. The older I get, the more I suspect that faith is often learning to trust God’s timing when it bears little resemblance to our own.

Sometimes God closes doors we desperately want opened. Sometimes He opens doors we never expected. And sometimes He takes a dream that has been sitting quietly in the back of our hearts for forty years and says, “Not yet.”

Then one day, when we’ve almost forgotten about it, He says, “Now.”

Funny thing is, no one knew that story. Not even Vanessa.

No one knew that a young man sitting on a stool in a hardware store, flipping through Entrepreneur magazine, had quietly dreamed about owning a SpeeDee Oil Change in Ruston one day.

I almost forgot about that dream myself. But God didn’t. 

Until next time, keep looking up…

The Lifelong Fire…

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Fire fell.

Wind blew.

Tongues of fire appeared over the disciples’ heads.

If you’ve spent much time around the church, you’ve probably heard the story of Pentecost in Acts 2. It’s one of the most dramatic moments in the entire Bible.

But here’s something I’ve been thinking about lately:

Eventually the fire disappeared.

The wind stopped blowing.

The extraordinary manifestations faded.

Yet the power remained.

Why?

Because the Holy Spirit remained.

When most people think about Pentecost, they focus on the moment. The signs. The wonders. The supernatural experience. But the real miracle wasn’t what happened for a few moments that day.

The real miracle was what happened afterward.

Acts 2 tells us that the believers devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching, fellowship, prayer, worship, generosity, and shared life together. They became a community unlike anything the world had ever seen.

The visible evidence of the Holy Spirit’s work wasn’t ultimately the wind or the fire.

It was transformed people.

And that raises an important question for all of us.

What is forming us?

Because the truth is, every one of us is being formed by something.

Have you ever noticed how quickly your mood can change after spending a few minutes scrolling social media?

You can begin the day grateful and at peace, then suddenly find yourself irritated, fearful, cynical, or angry.

Nobody announces, “Today we’re going to shape your heart.”

Yet little by little, post by post, headline by headline, our hearts are being shaped.

I’ve noticed it in my own life.

Most mornings I leave home feeling pretty good. Grateful, even. But I’ve developed a habit of listening to political podcasts during my forty-minute drive to work. By the time I pull into the parking lot, I’m often frustrated with the world.

Angry.

Cynical.

Ready to argue with people I haven’t even met yet.

That realization forced me to confront something uncomfortable:

What we repeatedly consume eventually shapes who we become.

Something is always discipling us.

The question isn’t whether we’re being formed.

The question is who—or what—is forming us.

The Apostle Paul describes this struggle in Galatians 5. He speaks of a conflict between the flesh and the Spirit. The flesh isn’t simply sinful behavior. At its core, the flesh is our tendency toward self-rule. It is the instinct to remain in control of our own lives.

The flesh says, “I will decide what’s best for me.”

The Spirit says, “Trust God enough to surrender.”

That tension exists within every one of us.

Paul says the result of living according to the flesh is division, jealousy, selfish ambition, anger, and a host of other destructive attitudes and behaviors.

But when the Holy Spirit is shaping our lives, a different kind of fruit begins to emerge:

Love.

Joy.

Peace.

Patience.

Kindness.

Goodness.

Faithfulness.

Gentleness.

Self-control.

Notice something important.

Fruit doesn’t appear overnight.

Fruit grows.

That’s why spiritual formation is rarely instantaneous.

We often wish God would simply “zap” us into maturity. We want one prayer, one sermon, one worship experience, or one spiritual breakthrough to fix everything.

But God usually works differently.

There are moments of awakening.

Moments of conviction.

Moments of surrender.

Moments that change our direction.

Yet transformation itself is usually a journey.

The Holy Spirit may ignite the fire in a moment, but He forms the character of Christ in us over a lifetime.

That’s exactly what happened after Pentecost.

The same Spirit who fell in power stayed with those believers long after the excitement faded. Through worship, prayer, community, obedience, hardship, failure, and restoration, He continued shaping them into the likeness of Jesus.

Pentecost was the ignition.

Spiritual formation was the lifelong fire.

One of the things that stands out to me in Acts 2 is how deeply communal that transformation was.

Did you notice that almost every verb in Acts 2:42-47 is plural?

They devoted themselves.

They prayed.

They shared.

They worshiped.

They ate together.

They served together.

The Spirit who fell at Pentecost didn’t merely create individual Christians.

The Spirit created a community of disciples.

That’s a challenge for many of us because we live in a culture that prizes independence and self-sufficiency. We often think of faith as something private and personal.

The New Testament paints a different picture.

The Holy Spirit forms people together.

We need encouragement.

We need accountability.

We need people who know us well enough to celebrate our victories, challenge our blind spots, and walk with us through difficult seasons.

We need more than rows.

We need circles.

The Christian life was never intended to be lived alone.

As I reflected on all of this, I found myself asking a question that has become our congregation’s Question of the Month:

What is forming me more than Jesus right now?

That’s not a question designed to produce guilt.

It’s a question designed to produce awareness.

Because once we become aware of what’s shaping us, we can begin making intentional choices about what we allow to influence our hearts.

The good news is that God has not stopped forming people.

The same Holy Spirit who moved at Pentecost is still at work today.

Still transforming hearts.

Still calling people out of fear.

Still teaching us surrender.

Still shaping ordinary people into the likeness of Jesus Christ.

The question is not whether God desires to form you.

The question is whether you’re willing to surrender to the process.

So let me leave you with the same question I’ve been wrestling with myself:

What is forming you?

I’d love to hear your thoughts. Leave a comment below, or send me a message. I’d especially love to know your answer to this question:

What is forming you more than Jesus right now?

Until next time, keep looking up…

God Outside the Box

/ pastorlynnmalone / Leave a comment

We live in a world where almost everything feels explainable.

Need directions? Pull out your phone.
Need medical advice? Pull out your phone.
Need to fix a washing machine or learn how to smoke a brisket? Pull out your phone.

We have more information available to us than any generation in history. And because so much of life now feels manageable, we’ve slowly begun assuming God should be manageable too.

We want answers. Certainty. Explanations. Systems we can organize and control.

Then we come to Trinity Sunday.

And Trinity Sunday reminds us that God is bigger than our understanding.

The doctrine of the Trinity has always stretched the human mind. One God. Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Distinct, yet One. Christians have tried for centuries to explain it through illustrations and analogies, but eventually every illustration breaks down.

Why?

Because God is bigger than every comparison we create.

And maybe that’s the point.

Maybe the Trinity is not given so we can fully explain God. Maybe it’s given to remind us that God exists outside the boxes we keep trying to build for Him.

Jesus hinted at this in John 16 when He told His disciples:

“There is so much more I want to tell you, but you cannot bear it now.”

Think about that statement for a moment.

Jesus essentially says, “You’re not ready for the full picture yet.”

Honestly, neither are we.

One of humanity’s oldest temptations is the desire to control what we cannot fully understand. That struggle goes all the way back to Genesis. The serpent tempted Adam and Eve with the desire to “be like God.” Ever since then, humanity has been trying to reduce God into something manageable.

We want a God we can explain.
A God we can predict.
A God we can fit neatly into our political tribe, our preferences, and our comfort zones.

But God refuses to stay inside the boxes we create.

We’ve become incredibly tribal in our culture. It becomes easy to claim God for our side while assuming He fully opposes the other side. But anytime God fully agrees with everything my tribe already believes, I may not be worshipping God anymore.

I may be worshipping a mirror.

The Trinity reminds us that God is always bigger:

  • Bigger than our politics.
  • Bigger than our ideologies.
  • Bigger than our theological pride.
  • Bigger than our understanding.

Now don’t misunderstand me. The pursuit of knowledge is not bad. God gave us minds to think, learn, discover, and explore. Science itself grows out of humanity studying the order of God’s creation.

The mistake comes when we assume that because we can study creation, we can fully comprehend the Creator.

God is not a math equation to solve.

God is mystery.

And mystery makes us uncomfortable because mystery requires trust. We would often rather have explanations than dependence.

That’s why Christianity has never primarily been about mastering information. It has always been about learning trust.

Jesus said the Spirit would guide us into truth. Notice He didn’t say the Spirit would instantly explain everything. The Spirit guides. Slowly. Patiently. Over time.

That process is called sanctification.

Discipleship is formation, not just information.

That may be one of the greatest struggles facing the modern church today. We’ve convinced ourselves that if people know more, they will automatically become more spiritually mature. But information alone does not transform people.

You can know Bible verses and still not trust God.
You can understand doctrine and still live in fear.
You can win theological arguments and still refuse to surrender your heart.

The Spirit forms us gradually:

  • One act of obedience at a time.
  • One surrender at a time.
  • One step of trust at a time.

That’s why the question we’ve been asking at our church matters so much:

“What is one thing Jesus is asking you to obey right now that you’ve been avoiding?”

Because spiritual maturity is not about having God fully figured out.

It’s about trusting Him enough to obey what He has already revealed.

There are some things we may never fully understand this side of heaven:

  • Why suffering comes.
  • Why some prayers seem unanswered.
  • Why some doors close.
  • Why healing sometimes comes and sometimes doesn’t.

The apostle Paul once wrote:

“Now we see things imperfectly, like puzzling reflections in a mirror, but then we will see everything with perfect clarity.” (1 Corinthians 13:12)

Right now, we only see partially.

And honestly, that frustrates us. We want certainty. We want clarity. We want all the answers.

But perhaps part of God’s mercy is that He has not revealed everything yet.

Corrie Ten Boom once shared that as a little girl she feared she would not have enough faith to endure future suffering. Her father asked her, “When I buy your train ticket, when do I give it to you?”

She answered, “Right before we board the train.”

“That’s right,” he said. “And so it is with God. He gives you what you need when you need it.”

That’s how grace works.

Not usually early.
Not usually all at once.
But enough for the moment you’re standing in.

The good news of Christianity is not that we have God all figured out.

The good news is that God has us figured out — and loves us anyway.

He knows every contradiction in us. Every fear. Every failure. Every hidden struggle. Every doubt.

And still:

  • The Father creates us.
  • The Son redeems us.
  • The Spirit pursues and transforms us.

The Trinity reminds us that God is beyond us, but never absent from us.

Maybe faith is not about solving every mystery.

Maybe faith is learning to trust the One who already holds every mystery in His hands.

Because honestly, a god small enough to be fully explained would never be big enough to save us.

So perhaps the real question is not whether we fully understand God.

Perhaps the real question is this:

What area of your life are you still trying to control instead of surrendering to Him?

I’d love it if you’d share your answer to that question with me. Leave a comment below, or message me privately.

Until next time, keep looking up…

Let’s Have Church

/ pastorlynnmalone / Leave a comment

The Church Was Never Meant to Run Without the Holy Spirit

Pentecost Sunday is all about the Holy Spirit.

And if we’re honest, the Holy Spirit makes a lot of church people nervous. 

We talk comfortably about God the Father.
We talk confidently about Jesus the Son.
But when we start talking about the Holy Spirit… people get anxious.

Some churches ignore the Spirit altogether.
Others abuse the language of the Spirit emotionally or manipulatively.
And somewhere in the middle, many churches have simply learned how to function without any real dependence on the Spirit at all. 

We know how to organize church.
We know how to livestream church.
We know how to market church.
We know how to schedule church.

But do we still know how to depend on the Spirit of God?

A.W. Tozer once said:

“If the Holy Spirit was withdrawn from the church today, 95 percent of what we do would go on and no one would know the difference.”

That quote stings because it feels uncomfortably possible.

Activity is not the same thing as anointing.
Noise is not the same thing as power.
Crowds are not the same thing as transformation.
And information is not the same thing as spiritual formation. 

The church was never meant to operate merely on talent, personality, strategy, or programming.

The church was born in fire.

The Waiting Before the Fire

When Acts 2 opens, the disciples are waiting in Jerusalem exactly where Jesus told them to be.

But don’t romanticize the waiting.

Waiting sounds spiritual until you actually have to do it.

Waiting is where anxiety grows.
Waiting is where uncertainty lives.
Waiting is where all the “what ifs” begin whispering in your mind. 

Some of you understand that kind of waiting right now.

Waiting on healing.
Waiting on direction.
Waiting on peace.
Waiting on prodigal children.
Waiting on strength.
Waiting on God to move.

And somewhere in that waiting, it becomes easy to wonder:

“God, are You still working?”

But what if the waiting room is actually preparation ground?

Sometimes God does His deepest work in us before He ever does His visible work through us.

Then Acts 2 says:

“Suddenly…”

I love that word.

Because God can change everything suddenly. 

When Heaven Breathes on Ordinary People

The Spirit of God filled that upper room with wind and fire.

Ordinary men and women were suddenly filled with extraordinary power.
The gospel began spreading across language barriers.
Lives began changing.
The church was born. 

Some people stood amazed.
Others mocked.

Peter stood up and declared:

“This is the fulfillment of the promise of God.”

Pentecost was not emotional hype.

Pentecost was divine ignition.

It was heaven breathing on surrendered people.

The Spirit Still Moves

On May 24, 1738, John Wesley attended a prayer meeting on Aldersgate Street in London and later wrote:

“I felt my heart strangely warmed.”

That moment helped ignite a spiritual movement that spread around the world. 

And here’s what matters:

The same Holy Spirit who moved at Pentecost…
the same Spirit who moved at Aldersgate…
is still moving today.

The Holy Spirit is not merely a doctrine to study.
The Spirit is the presence of God transforming people into the likeness of Jesus Christ. 

The Spirit convicts.
The Spirit comforts.
The Spirit empowers.
The Spirit produces holiness.
The Spirit gives courage.
The Spirit breaks chains.

Only the Spirit of God can truly change a human heart.

The Evidence of the Spirit

That’s why I keep asking the same question as a pastor:

What is one thing Jesus is asking you to obey right now that you’ve been avoiding? 

Not admire.
Not agree with.
Not study.

Obey.

Because the evidence of the Holy Spirit is not merely emotional excitement.

It is transformed obedience.

Maybe for you that means forgiveness.
Maybe surrender.
Maybe reconciliation.
Maybe honesty.
Maybe letting go of a grudge, an addiction, or an excuse you’ve carried for years.

We often want the fire of Pentecost without the surrender of Pentecost.

But the Spirit was never given simply to make us feel something in worship.

The Spirit was given to make us more like Jesus. 

When the Fire Grows Weak

If I’m honest, there are seasons when even pastors feel spiritually dry.

You keep preaching.
Keep serving.
Keep carrying responsibility.

Meanwhile your soul quietly whispers:

“Lord… I need fresh fire.” 

Maybe I’m not the only one.

Maybe some of you still believe…
still show up…
still try…

But somewhere along the way the wonder faded.

Pentecost reminds us that God still breathes life into weary people.
He still awakens dry souls.
He still fills empty hearts.
He still empowers ordinary believers. 

So… Let’s Have Church

When the Spirit truly moves:

Forgiveness happens.
Fear gives way to courage.
Hope rises again.
Pride begins to crumble.
People begin obeying Jesus instead of merely admiring Him. 

Church isn’t merely a weekly gathering we attend.

Church is what happens when the Spirit of God fills ordinary people with extraordinary grace and power.

The wind of God is still blowing.
The fire of God is still falling.
The Spirit of God is still moving.

So come on…

Let’s have church. 

Until next time, keep looking up…

Trying Harder Never Works

/ pastorlynnmalone / Leave a comment

Acts 1:1–11

Most of us Christians already know what we’re supposed to do.

Forgive people.
Pray more consistently.
Trust God more deeply.
Stop returning to the same sin.
Let go of bitterness.
Obey what Jesus is asking of us.

The problem usually isn’t information.

It’s power.

That’s why Ascension Sunday matters far more than most people realize.

Most people think the Ascension is about Jesus leaving. It’s actually about Jesus reigning.

In Acts 1, the disciples stood watching as Jesus ascended into heaven. If we had been there, we probably would have thought the same thing they were thinking:

“He’s gone.”

But that’s not what the Ascension means at all.

Right before Jesus ascended, He told His disciples:

“You will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you…” (Acts 1:8)

Then He went up.

He went up…so the Spirit could come down.

The Ascension is not Jesus stepping away from His people. It is Jesus taking His throne.

The New Testament repeatedly tells us that Christ is seated at the right hand of the Father. That’s not a place of inactivity. It’s a place of authority.

The cross is finished.
The resurrection is accomplished.
And now Jesus reigns as King.

And Kings don’t make suggestions.

That changes how we understand the Christian life.

Because Christianity was never meant to be lived through sheer willpower.

Most of us have tried that already.

We make promises.
We recommit ourselves.
We vow to do better.
Then somewhere down the road we find ourselves struggling with the same attitudes, the same habits, the same failures, and the same exhaustion.

The problem is not that we lack effort.

The problem is that we are trying to live a spiritual life without spiritual power.

That’s why Jesus sent the Holy Spirit.

And let’s be clear about something: The Holy Spirit is not a force. He is not an energy. He is not a religious feeling.

He is a Person.

He speaks.
He convicts.
He guides.
He comforts.
He corrects.
He can even be grieved.

You can’t grieve a force.
You can only grieve a person.

The Holy Spirit is God within us.

We often say:
The Father is God over us.
The Son is God beside us.
The Spirit is God within us.

And that changes everything.

The Holy Spirit is not simply here to make us more religious. He is here to make us more alive.

Paul says in Romans 15 that the Spirit fills us with joy and peace and causes us to overflow with hope.

That’s not the absence of struggle.
That’s victory in the middle of struggle.

And that kind of life cannot be manufactured through discipline alone.

It comes through surrender.

Years ago, a missionary named Herbert Jackson was assigned a car that would not start without a push. Every day he found people to help push the car off. He parked on hills whenever possible. He kept the engine running whenever he could.

He lived that way for two years.

Finally, another missionary looked under the hood and discovered a loose battery cable. He tightened the connection, turned the key, and the engine roared to life.

For two years, the power had been there.

The problem was connection.

That may describe some of us spiritually.

We love Jesus.
We mean well.
We want to change.

But we keep finding ourselves exhausted because we’re trying to produce spiritual transformation through human effort alone.

And eventually we begin to wonder:
“Why do I keep struggling with the same things?”
“Why do I keep falling into the same patterns?”
“Why does the Christian life feel so heavy sometimes?”

Because the Christian life was never meant to be powered by human strength.

Jesus never said:
“Try harder.”

He said:
“Remain in Me.”

That’s a very different thing.

The problem is not that Jesus is absent.
The problem is not that the Spirit is unwilling.
The problem may simply be surrender.

Because the Holy Spirit does not force Himself upon us.

He waits.

For surrender.
For obedience.
For yieldedness.

And maybe that brings us back to the question we’ve been wrestling with together these past few weeks:

What is one thing Jesus is asking you to obey right now that you’ve been avoiding?

That may be your loose cable.

That may be the place where pride is keeping you disconnected.
Or fear.
Or bitterness.
Or addiction.
Or control.
Or simply delayed obedience.

And here’s the good news:
The power is not missing.

The Spirit of God is still present.
Jesus is still reigning.
Grace is still available.
Transformation is still possible.

You do not have to stay trapped in the same cycle forever.

Jesus went up…
so He could come down.

Not just to forgive you.
But to fill you.
To strengthen you.
To guide you.
To transform you.

Trying harder never works.

But surrender does.

And when the Spirit of God begins to take control of a surrendered life—
everything changes.

Until next time, keep looking up…