Running Toward Hope

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“He will swallow up death forever; and the Lord God will wipe away tears from all faces, and the reproach of his people he will take away from all the earth, for the Lord has spoken.”

Isaiah 25:8

John was faster. That was clear from the start. He had always been faster. But speed did not matter to me now. My legs burned, my lungs ached, but I could not slow down. The world had turned upside down, and I had to see it for myself.

It had been just before dawn when Mary banged on the door, shaking us from restless sleep. When I flung it open, her face was pale, eyes wide with something between fear and wonder. “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have put him!” The words hit like a fist to my chest.

John and I did not think. We just ran.

Now, as we neared the tomb, I saw John hesitate at the entrance, his breath ragged. I did not stop. I could not. I rushed inside, heart pounding in my ears. And then—stillness.

The stone was rolled away. The tomb was empty. But everything was in order. The grave clothes, neatly folded. Not stolen, not ransacked—arranged with intention. It was as if He had simply awakened and set His bed in place.

John stepped in beside me. Neither of us spoke.

Jesus told us. He told me, “Destroy this temple, and I will raise it again in three days.”

I had been too blind to see it until now.

The grief that had crushed me only moments ago shifted, making way for something else. Something like hope. Real hope—the kind that does not crumble under fear.

Because if He was alive, then everything He said was true. And if everything He said was true, then hope was no longer just a word. It was a person.

And He had done exactly what He said He would do.

This is why Easter matters. Maybe for you it carries grief. Maybe it comes with painful questions? But it is not about traditions or about trying to manufacture joy in the middle of loss. I say this because there is peace for the broken. There is hope for the weary, and it is found in Him. Easter is about an empty tomb, and that changes everything.

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Trying to Stop the Unstoppable

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“God raised him up, loosing the pangs of death, because it was not possible for Him to be held by it.”

Acts 2:24

We had done everything we could.

Jesus of Nazareth was dead. A threat was removed. A problem solved.

For years, we had tolerated his disruptions—the way he twisted the people’s loyalty, defied our traditions, and embarrassed us in public. But the crowds had cheered as he hung on that cross. The Romans had driven the nails. And now, his body lay breathless in a tomb.

Finally, we could move on.

And yet, something gnawed at me.

We had all heard of his claims. “After three days, I will rise.”

Of course, it was nonsense. But the people—oh, the people—would believe anything. His radical disciples could steal the body, spread their lies, and suddenly, we would have a worse problem than before. We needed to shut this down completely.

So we took our concerns to Pilate.

The governor barely looked at us. He was done with this mess. His wife had warned him not to get involved. He had washed his hands, his conscience clear. But we had no choice.

“Sir,” I said, forcing my voice steady, “command that the tomb be made secure.”

Pilate sighed sharply.

“You have a guard,” he snapped. “Go. Make it as secure as you know how.”

So we did.

A heavy stone. A Roman seal. Armed soldiers.

It was finished. Wasn’t it?

But that was never in our control. We had done everything to stop this man. Yet even in death, he remained a problem.

We tried to lock him behind that stone, to silence his influence once and for all. But nothing we did could change what was coming.

And Christian, here is the thing. You may feel like you are living in that long, dark day between the crucifixion and resurrection —where hope is buried. It may seem like nothing will change. But God is not confined by a tomb.

We tried to control the story, but God had already written the ending.

Jesus rose.

And no matter how impossible things seem, His power is not finished in your life either.

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Healing At His Table

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But if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus his Son cleanses us from all sin.

1 John 1:7

The room was packed—twenty guys crammed into my little two-bedroom rental. Some shoulder to shoulder on the couch, others cross-legged on the floor. The AC was struggling, but nobody seemed to mind.

In the middle of the coffee table sat a bottle of Great Value grape juice and a loaf of dollar-store white bread. It was nothing special. But tonight, it was sacred.

We met like this every week. Open Bibles, hard conversations, no pretense. Here, we learned how to be honest—not just with God, but with each other.

Some nights, the room was thick with laughter. Other nights, it was heavy with silence as someone finally let the truth spill out. Sin was confessed. Tears shed. Prayers were spoken. It was not rehearsed or religious. It was real.

And tonight, as I bowed my head, I thought about Jesus at the table with His disciples, the bread in His hands, and the weight in His words.

Did they understand it then? Did they feel what we felt now, sitting here in a bachelor pad full of guys just trying to get it right?

I broke off a piece of bread. It was dry and a little stale. The grape juice chased it down. I thought of His body, broken. His blood poured out.

Not just for eternity, but for today.

For the shame that still clings. For the bitterness we justify. For the sins we think we can handle alone. I swallowed and let the truth settle in my chest.

This is Christ’s invitation for all of us. An invitation to be healed. To live free. To step into real community—not the kind that just meets on Sundays, but the kind that pulls up a chair, looks you in the eye, and reminds you, You are not alone.

Jesus’ body was broken so we could be whole. And maybe part of that wholeness is found in rooms like this. And I cannot keep that to myself.

So, who needs a seat at the table?

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When The Lights Went Out

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“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” 

John 1:5

I remember the silence most of all.

It was a Maundy Thursday service, a Tenebrae — Latin for “darkness.” Sixteen candles lit the sanctuary at first, their small flames dancing in the stillness as we sang and read the story of Jesus’ final hours from the Gospel of John.

After each reading — each scene of betrayal, suffering, loneliness — a candle was extinguished.

One by one, the light faded.

As we sang, I felt the weight of each word. The sorrow of the garden. The sting of Peter’s denial. The agony of the cross. Until only one candle remained.

Then that, too, was snuffed out.

The sanctuary was completely dark. And then — a loud, jarring sound pierced the silence. It echoed like a door slamming shut. Like heaven itself had gone quiet.

We left in total silence. No conversation. No closure. Just the weight of it all. The sorrow. The sense of God’s absence. It was crushing.

That night, I felt what it means to live without the presence of Jesus. The light had gone out, and the darkness was not just around me — it was in me.

But the story didn’t end there.

On Easter morning, we entered the sanctuary again. It was still dark and still silent, like the tomb.

And then — suddenly — the lights burst on. Music erupted. Voices lifted.

Hope was not gone.

Hope rose from the dead.

That contrast — between the darkness of Friday and the light of Sunday — has changed the way I see everything.

Because even now, when life feels dim… when sorrow hangs heavy and it seems like God has gone quiet… I remember: the silence is not the end. The darkness does not win.

The light will return.

And it will burst forth brighter than before — because Jesus didn’t just bring hope.

He IS hope. Living. Breathing. Risen.

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Still Wanted, Still Loved

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Luke 19:10 “For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost.” 

Charles doesn’t say much about his past these days. But every now and then, sitting quietly on the porch with his coffee, the memories come back.

And when they do, they still bring tears.

He remembers being young, too young to feel the kind of shame he carried. There were no words for it then, but he was confident: God hated him. When he looked in the mirror, he didn’t see someone broken. He saw someone unworthy. Unloved. And eventually, he made a quiet, painful agreement in his heart: If that is how God feels about me, then I want nothing to do with Him.

So, he shut the door, locked it, and threw away the key.

Then came the war.

Vietnam broke him in ways no one could see. The blood, the terror, the weight of it all—it never really left. But even harder than war was what waited for him when he got home. A country that didn’t understand, didn’t ask, and sometimes seemed to hate him for surviving.

So he turned to whatever might quiet the pain. Anything to help him forget. He was chasing peace, but all he ever found was numbness.

By Easter night in 1982, he had a plan. His life was going to end.

But it didn’t.

Because Jesus showed up.

Not as a feeling. Not a metaphor. He came in person. Charles still shakes when he talks about it.

“You’ve made some mistakes,” Jesus said, “and I am the only one who can help you.”

In that stillness, something happened. Like a jolt of electricity. Like light breaking through a locked door or a wave crashing on the shore. It was more than forgiveness. It was the feeling of being chosen. Wanted. Loved, even after everything. Charles collapsed to the floor. And in that moment, everything changed.

Now, when he wipes away a tear, he remembers who he was. But that man is gone. In his place is a husband, a father, and a man who walks in real peace. His life was rebuilt by a Savior who stepped into his darkest moment and said, “You’re not too far gone.”

And maybe, if you’ve felt dead inside for too long, his story is meant for you.

Because Easter is not just history. It is a living God who still walks into rooms and says, “I am the only one who can help you.”

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Changed By God’s Presence

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1 Peter 1:3 “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! According to his great mercy, he has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead.” 

We always looked good on Easter Sunday. My mom was all about the details—fresh relaxer, a new shade of Estee Lauder lipstick, and those perfect shoes. My dad and brother weren’t so caught up in fashion, but my mom and I? We loved it.

We always made sure to look the part. Easter was about tradition, family, and looking your best for that Sunday service. But deep down, I knew there was more to Easter than just looking good.

Like crawfish by the lake that afternoon. Like the snowball stand just down the road—my favorite part of the day. I could already picture the wooden table, spicy fingers, and the sound of cousins laughing. That was Easter to me. I knew it was about Jesus, but honestly, I looked forward to the after fun.

We pulled into the church parking lot, and I was surprised. There were cars everywhere—lined down the road, packed in the grass. Inside, it was standing room only.

When the service began, it got loud. The orchestra was extra powerful, voices were raised high, and the worship team and choir didn’t hold back. And the preacher? Well, and my pastor? Well, he must have spent extra time with the Lord that day because He walked on stage with a mission.

That morning, my friends and I sat together, but instead of playing MASH on the back of the bulletin, we were all a little quieter. Something about this service felt important. It wasn’t just the music or my pastor’s words, but something deeper. I felt the power of the Holy Spirit.

As the service came to an end, I watched in awe as people moved toward the altar. Some knelt, some lifted their hands in worship, and some just bowed their heads in prayer. There was a sweet presence in that room, and I remember looking around and thinking, This is different.

Sitting later that day, with the sweet taste of snowball syrup still on my lips and crawfish shells piling up by my side, I couldn’t shake it.

Easter wasn’t about the outfits, or the traditions, or the food. It was about what happens when people experience the hope of Jesus.

So this Easter, when you show up, take a look around. The person next to you might not be waiting for a good sermon. They might be waiting for the kind of hope only Easter can bring.

Let’s not miss that. Because Jesus is here, and His presence still changes everything.

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Layers of Love

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Galatians 6:10 – “Therefore, whenever we have the opportunity, we should do good to everyone — especially to those in the family of faith.” 

I was digging through an old box when I found a photo I had not seen in years.

There I was: second grade me, with the biggest smile and standing in a green dress, white cardigan, and the tallest, most over-the-top Easter bonnet you have ever seen. It kind of looked a little bit like a birthday cake on top of my head. One with many layers and a ribbon that tied it under my chin.

I laughed out loud. “Wow, Mama… you really outdid yourself.”

And she did.

Our class was having an Easter parade, and every kid was supposed to make a bonnet. But I didn’t make mine. Instead, my mom stayed up at the kitchen table and tirelessly worked cutting and sewing, layering ribbon and lace until it was completed.

I was so proud to wear that bonnet. I felt like the queen of the Easter parade.

And now, looking at that picture as a grown woman, it is obvious to me what that Easter bonnet meant to me. I knew that I was loved by my mom.

It made me wonder how many people are walking through life without anyone making them feel cared for like that. Without anyone going the extra mile just to say, “You matter to me.”

We have the chance to be that for someone: to show up, to do more than is required, and to speak worth over someone’s life.

Because love that costs you something—even if it is just your time—is the kind people remember. And sometimes, the simplest things we make or give or do in love end up being the things they carry with them forever.

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Jesus Knew and He Came Anyway

“Looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God.” 

Hebrews 12:2

I want you to think about all that He went through in that last week of His life for you. It was a week where everything changed in the history of the world and in the trajectory of all of our lives.

It started with Palm Sunday. He rode into Jerusalem for you. He knew that when He got there the same people that were cheering for Him would be the same people—just days later—demanding that He be put to death. But He did it for you.

He came into Jerusalem and there were people that were so excited because this guy who was the Messiah they finally expected. They didn’t know whether or not He could redeem them from their sins. They didn’t know about all that stuff. But what they did think was that He was coming to restore political glory back to them. They had been so ravaged by the Romans that they were expecting this was the guy that was gonna restore Israel to her former glory.

So they laid down their palm branches and they shouted, “Hosanna! King of the Jews!” They had been conquered by everybody at that point—the Assyrians, Babylonians, Persians, Greeks, and the Romans. They were zero for five, and they were excited that somebody had finally come to give them political victory.

They didn’t realize that that’s not why Jesus came. He didn’t come to Jerusalem to kick out the Romans. He came to kick out sin. He came to make sure that none of us had to pay our own wages for our sin. Aren’t you glad about it?

That’s not what they expected. It’s not even what they wanted.

Palm Sunday represents all the times that we get really excited because of all the things we expect Jesus has come to do for us. We’re so excited because we have predetermined expectations of what He desires to do in our life. We think He has come to bring miracles with no requirements, no dying, no suffering, but this Jesus came to lay down His life.

He survived brutal whippings and beatings and mocking. He was dressed in purple, a robe just to mock Him. And there was a crown of thorns that was not lightly placed upon His head. It was driven into His skull for you and for me.

There was no bleaker moment in all of human history. The people who had just celebrated Him now they were demanding His death. He knew that going in, but He did it for you and He did it for me.

They hung Him high. They stretched Him wide. He hung His head, and for me and for you, He died. That’s love.

— Priscilla Shirer

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The Courage To Follow Through

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“Let what you say be simply ‘Yes’ or ‘No’; anything more than this comes from evil.” 

Matthew 5:37 

In radio, you learn quickly—if you make a promise, people will remember. 

I’ve spent years helping with fundraisers at stations across the country. It’s one of my favorite things—watching generosity ripple through a community, knowing that each dollar represents a life touched. When my friends in Minnesota invited me to help with their fundraiser, I was all in. 

We were live on-air, pushing to meet the station’s goal, doing everything we could to keep listeners engaged. And then, in a burst of enthusiasm, Andy Youso, Niki, and I made a bold pledge: if we hit our goal, we would jump into Lake Superior. 

We made a big deal out of it, laughing and daring people to make it happen. 

And they did. The goal was shattered.  

But…that’s where things got complicated. I had already left town by the time the challenge came due, which meant Andy and Niki braved the icy waters without me. I figured that was the end of it. Life moved on. We celebrated the win. 

But Andy? Andy did not move on. 

Any time my name came up, so did this unfinished business. “Lisa still hasn’t jumped in,” he’d remind me. Again and again and again. 

And the truth was? He was right. I had made a promise. I had said yes. And my yes needed to mean something. 

So I booked another flight to Minnesota. 

I stood on the edge of that freezing lake, feeling the wind bite through my jacket. I thought, Well, this is it. No backing out now. And then, I took a deep breath and jumped. 

And as the icy shock stole my breath, I couldn’t help but laugh. Because in that moment, it wasn’t just about a fundraiser or a bet—it was about integrity. About living out the kind of faith that does what it says. 

These days, people break commitments like they’re nothing. But what if we chose to be different? What if we decided that when we say we’ll do something, we actually do it? 

It might not always be easy, but that’s the kind of person I want to be. 

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Your Story Could Change A Life

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“And He said to them, ‘Go into all the world and proclaim the gospel to the whole creation.’” 

Mark 16:15

“My wife didn’t grow up in a Christian home. To this day, her parents are still not Christians. 

When she was 22, a friend invited her to church, and for the first time, my wife heard the Gospel. That day, she gave her heart to Jesus. God immediately changed her life. 

Overwhelmed by the beauty of God’s saving grace and the new life she had been given, my wife was admittedly mad. She was angry with her Christian friends.  

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked them. “I’ve been struggling for so long. I’ve been completely miserable. This is such a better way to live. Why did you never tell me about Jesus?” 

Evangelism is an important part of God’s plan. It’s our job as believers to look for opportunities to share the love of Jesus with the people around us.  

What if the person sitting beside you in the cubicle at work doesn’t know who Jesus is? What if the waitress at your favorite restaurant needs a healing but doesn’t know the Healer? What if your next-door neighbor has never experienced the life-changing power of Christ? 

You might not know what someone else is going through, but you can know with certainty that everybody’s going through something. You might not have the full story, but God does, and He can use even a short, honest conversation to change someone’s life. 

As the church, it’s our job to tell somebody. You don’t have to deliver an eloquent speech. You don’t have to be a gifted public speaker. Words don’t have to be your strong suit. All you have to do is share what God’s done in your own life.  

Then you’ll be living out a very important part of the plan God has for you. Watch how walking in this kind of obedience to His word will change your life and the lives of those around you!” 

— Danny Gokey

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