Speak Up But Speak Life

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Proverbs 18:21 — “Death and life are in the power of the tongue, and those who love it will eat its fruits.”

If you have lived through a Louisiana summer, then you know—August is brutal.

And people are not shy about letting you know it. You hear it everywhere: “ Whew I am hot.” “It is miserable outside.” “I cannot take this.”

It is like the official small talk of summer.

Honestly, I have been guilty of it too. You do not even realize how often you say it until the words start to echo.

But a few days ago, it hit me: talking about how hot it is does not change the temperature. It does not make the sun go away. Complaining about a season does not make it pass.

That made me wonder, “What if our words are part of the problem?”

What if, instead of feeding frustration, we practiced shifting our focus? Maybe it is hot—but maybe that means your day just became slower. Maybe it is hot—but maybe you remember your vacation isn’t far away. Maybe it is hot—but that local snowball stand is open and has your favorite summertime flavors ready for you.

There will always be something to complain about. There will always be something we wish we could change. But the truth is, the more we talk about what is wrong, the more it takes root. And I am learning—if I want to feel lighter, I have to speak that way.

So, the next time you catch yourself getting ready to complain, pause for a second. You do not have to fake it. Just find the good. Find the beauty. Let your words lift you up, not drag you down.

Speak life. Even when it is hot.

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Rock Bottom Redemption

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Romans 1:16 — “For I am not ashamed of the gospel, for it is the power of God for salvation to everyone who believes, to the Jew first and also to the Greek.”

The doctors said I would not wake up. My brother stood by my hospital bedside preparing for the worst, and still—somehow—I opened my eyes.

No one expected me to make it. I had overdosed in New Jersey, far from my family in Florida. My mom had died not long before, and my godmother was the one trying to hold my life together. She had promised my mom she would tell me about Jesus.

I thought it was sweet—maybe a little pushy—but I never took it seriously.

The truth is, I never knew Him. I had heard the stories. I saw a few videos, but I had no relationship with Him. Instead, I was pursuing what I wanted—modeling, acting, and partying in the city.

That world swallows you fast, and I let it.

Until it almost killed me.

In that coma, something happened that I still cannot fully explain. I saw Him. I saw Jesus. He came close and wrapped His arm around me like a friend and said, “Are you done?”

I knew what He meant because I was. I was done with the running, the pretending, and the pain.

And when I said yes, everything changed.

Jesus brought me back—body and soul. I woke up, confused and stunned, with hospital socks on my feet and my brother’s jaw on the floor. Since then, every day has been part of the comeback. I still mess up, still grow, but now I walk with the One who rescued me.

No, my life is not perfect, but it is His. He took the talents I once used for shallow things and turned them into tools for His story. I speak up because I cannot stay silent. I live for Him, not out of duty, but joy.

We get to live for Him. That is the honor of it all, and I will never be ashamed of that.

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Giving From What You’ve Received

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Hebrews 13:16 – “Do not neglect to do good and to share what you have, for such sacrifices are pleasing to God.”

Rhonda poured coffee into her favorite mug. The radio hummed softly in the background, like a friend who knew too much but didn’t judge.

For twenty years, Christian radio had been there. Even in the mornings when the dishes were piled high, and when her children squabbled over cereal bowls. Even during her divorce, when everything she’d relied on felt like it was made of paper and could tear at any moment.

She had to pause her monthly giving back then. It hurt more than she expected. Not because the money was gone, but because that act of giving had been a rhythm that told her she was still a person who could extend kindness into the world.

But she never turned the station off. The songs still poured over her, spilling over laundry piles and homework papers. They reminded her of promises she had almost forgotten existed—things like God’s nearness, God’s faithfulness, and God’s care.

Years later, life had shifted in ways that were subtle and miraculous all at once. Bills balanced themselves more easily. Mornings felt lighter. Her heart no longer clenched at the sound of the phone ringing.

She could give again, and more than she ever had before. And as she clicked “submit” on her monthly donation, she realized it wasn’t about the money at all. It was about gratitude. It was about honoring the lifeline that had held her steady when she felt untethered.

The songs hadn’t just played. They had whispered that she could endure. That peace was possible. That even when life felt like it might unravel, God used her radio to help carry her all along.

And maybe that’s the thing: when something has carried you through the hard parts, it’s worth passing it on. Whether it’s a song, a word of encouragement, or a small act of generosity, there’s power in saying, “I remember how this felt, and I want someone else to know they can make it too.”

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Trusting Through the Thorns

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Romans 8:18 — “For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us.”

Honeysuckle and honey bees.

Growing up in the country, I could spend hours walking the fence line of our horse pasture. That stretch of land was thick with flowers and wild blackberries. I would breathe in the honeysuckle—it was the kind of aroma you want to bottle up and keep forever.

I would pick blackberries until my fingers were stained purple. The metal bowl clinked with every drop. Then I would take them inside to Mama. She would pour evaporated milk over them and sprinkle sugar on top. That bowl was better than Dairy Queen—better than anything, really.

But those berries did not come easy. The vines were full of stickers and prickers. To pick even a small bowl meant taking your time, moving slow, steady, and careful. If you got in a hurry or grabbed too quick, those thorns would draw blood.

It took precision. Patience. A little pain, too. But again, it was worth the scratches.

The older I get, the more I see how life works the same way. It will poke and prod and prick you along the way—especially when you dare to dream big, when you want to follow what God has placed on your heart. He never promised a smooth path. He never said the thorns would not come. But He did say He would be with you.

So if the road feels rough today, if your hands feel scratched from doing the right thing—keep going. The reward is real. The sweetness is still ahead.

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This is My Jesus

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Psalms 56:8 — “You have kept count of my tossings; put my tears in your bottle. Are they not in your book?”

It was the kind of pain that makes everything else stop. My brother Jacob had died in a car accident. He was only 23.

I did not know how to process it, but I could write. That was how it started, just me and a journal. At the end of each entry, I would write that God had gotten me through one more day of tragedy.

Years passed, and I began writing songs. One day, I pulled out those old journals and flipped through page after page. That is when it hit me: I had never once in my writing used the phrase “God” or “Lord.” Every single time, I had written, “My Jesus.”

I asked God why. Why that name? Why always that phrase?

And what I sensed—clear as anything—was Him saying, “Because I am yours, and you are mine.”

I remember the sweetness of that moment. The kindness in it.

A few days later, I had a writing session planned. I brought that phrase with me, and it became the starting point for a song called “My Jesus.”

He was the whole reason I had survived those painful years. God had not been distant in my grief. He had been beside me, holding me up every step of the way.

I do not know what you have walked through. Maybe you have buried someone. Maybe you are still trying to breathe through the fog of grief. I want you to know this: Jesus can be personal for you too because he’s not just a name in a book or a distant deity.

He can be your Jesus.

And if all you can manage today is to whisper that one phrase, let me tell you, that is enough.

— Anne Wilson

 

LYRICS:

Are you past the point of weary
Is your burden weighing heavy
Is it all too much to carry
Let me tell you ‘bout my Jesus
Do you feel that empty feeling
‘Cause shame’s done all its stealing
And you’re desperate for some healing
Let me tell you ‘bout my Jesus

He makes a way where there ain’t no way
Rises up from an empty grave
Ain’t no sinner that He can’t save
Let me tell you ‘bout my Jesus
His love is strong and His grace is free
And the good news is I know that He
Can do for you what He’s done for me
Let me tell you ‘bout my Jesus
And let my Jesus change your life
Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, amen, amen

Who can wipe away the tears
From broken dreams and wasted years
And tell the past to disappear
Let me tell you ‘bout my Jesus
And all the wrong turns that you would
Go and undo if you could
Who can work it all for your good
Let me tell you about my Jesus

Who would take my cross to Calvary
Pay the price for all my guilty
Who would care that much about me
Let me tell you ‘bout my Jesus

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The Blessing of Riding Shotgun

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Ecclesiastes 3:11 (a) — He has made everything beautiful in its time.

Dear One, nobody tells you how fast it happens.

One day you’re wiping peanut butter off a tiny face, and the next she’s sitting across from you at breakfast—taller than she has any right to be.

That little girl with the dark, curly hair and those almond eyes that could undo your whole day with one smile? She’s sixteen now. Her words come quick, her opinions quicker, and Lord help us all if she’s decided you’re wrong.

One day you’re catching fireflies, and the next you’re hearing about the latest TikTok dances.

And you miss her. The small version of her. The one whose knees still fit under your chin when you hugged her tight.

You catch yourself trying to remember the last time you played on the swing set together. The last bedtime story. But the truth is, you didn’t mark the date—because you didn’t know it was the last.

For a while, you grieve the change. You tell yourself the sweetest days have passed.

But I’ve discovered something. God always has a way of trading one kind of good for another. And do you know what one of the best gifts of these teenage years is?

It’s the front seat.

The booster seat is gone, and she’s buckling herself in beside you. You drive her everywhere now—practice, youth group, late-night Chick-fil-A runs.

She fiddles with the radio, eats all your gum, and tells you about a funny meme or the kid who wore pajamas to math class. Sometimes she laughs so hard she can’t finish her sentence. Sometimes a good song comes on, and you both belt it out at the top of your lungs.

And every now and then, when I make her laugh, I see the same spark in those eyes I’ve loved since day one.

No, it’s not the swing set anymore, but it’s so good.

And I’m convinced—that’s the Lord.

Each season might feel like a goodbye, but He tucks goodness right into the middle of what’s next. You just have to climb in, buckle up, and let Him show you the upgrade.

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Lasting Lessons from Godly Leaders

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Hebrews 13:7 — “Remember your leaders, those who spoke to you the word of God. Consider the outcome of their way of life, and imitate their faith.”

The start of another school year always brings out the nostalgia in me. I love the smell of new pencils, fresh notebooks, and all the gizmos and gadgets that a new school year brings! It also reminds me of the important teachers who helped shape me in ways they may not have even realized.

Levi Kroeker was one such teacher. Though his name and nerdy glasses might have sparked some giggles, this man was always held in the highest regard.

You see, he was not only my middle school history teacher but also the principal.

His dual role could have been intimidating, and quite frankly it was! He was a tough teacher, yet students who went through his classes came out the other side with a new respect for him – both as a teacher and as the leader of our school. Despite his authoritative position, he had a unique ability to make his presence approachable and even endearing.

What truly symbolized his connection with us was his simple metal lunchbox. It told a thousand stories. It was adorned with a colorful array of stickers – each one representing a grateful student who had given him a sticker as a token of their love and respect for him.

When he passed away a few years ago, the gymnasium overflowed with students and alumni. The sheer number of people who came to pay their respects for the man with the lunchbox spoke volumes about the powerful mark he left on our lives.

As the new school year begins and fresh supplies fill the aisles, it is a perfect time to reflect on the mentors who have shaped your journey. Consider how their guidance aligns with the values taught in the Scriptures—kindness, integrity, and love.

Maybe this year you might take a moment to reach out and give your gratitude to those who have had an influence on your life and shaped you into the person you are today.

— Linda Meyers

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Comparison Kills Calling

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Ephesians 2:10 — “For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.”

I have been reconnected lately with a few of my old high school classmates, and honestly, it has been a lot of fun. There is something sweet about reminiscing with people who remember your bad haircuts and awkward stage.

I graduated from Tallulah Academy. My class had twenty-seven people, so yes, when I say I finished fifth, it sounds great. But let’s be honest… fifth out of twenty-seven is not exactly a headline.

Still, for me, it’s more than just a number. It reminds me of a mindset people often fall into. The way we all kept score in high school. Who was the smartest? Who made the team? Who got invited where?

And it is funny how those habits follow us through life. The scoreboard just changes.

Now I catch myself comparing houses, talents, jobs, and ministries. I notice who gets more recognition. Who seems to have more influence? Who is moving faster? And that same quiet voice creeps in—”You are behind.”

I have looked around and wondered, “Why can’t I do what they do?

But here is the thing—I was never meant to be them. I was made to be Tammi.

God had a plan for me long before I knew how to spell my own name, and He did not get it wrong. He knew what He was doing.

So, friend, instead of keeping score or asking why you can’t do what someone else can, maybe ask this—”What has God put in me that only I can bring to the world?”

What lane has God put you in? That is not a mistake. It is a calling, and no one can run it quite like you can.

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A Lesson Beyond the Classroom

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Philippians 2:3 — “Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves.”

It was hard to get a read on Mr. O’Connor.

He was not mean, exactly; he was just tough. He was the kind of teacher who did not smile unless something was funny, and to him, most things were not.

He was a Vietnam veteran and a numbers guy. His math class was a no-nonsense zone. No one expected warmth from him, nor did he offer any.

“It drives me crazy when people say school should be fun,” he said. “It is nice if it could be, but you cannot make school fun.”

That about summed him up.

So, when senior Pat McGoldrick volunteered to help with a student blood drive and walked into Children’s Hospital Los Angeles, he was not thinking about Mr. O’Connor at all. But the second he mentioned that he went to St. Francis High School, all eyes lit up.

“Oh, you must know Jim O’Connor,” the nurses said. “Isn’t he just the best?”

Pat had to pause. Were they serious?

As far as he knew, “Jim O’Connor” and “the best” had never appeared in the same sentence. Something was clearly missing from his understanding, so he started asking questions.

That was when he found a plaque in the hospital that read, “Jim O’Connor, record blood donor.”

Not only that, but when he was not solving equations or terrifying freshmen, Mr. O’Connor spent three days a week in the hospital nursery. He fed, rocked, and comforted sick babies. He had done this for twenty years.

No one at school had a clue.

He had never been married. He had no children of his own, but you could tell he had fallen in love with those babies. They were his.

And now, Pat could see his math teacher in a whole new light.

“I have always respected him,” he said, “but now it is at a whole different level. I want to emulate him. He is the epitome of a man of service.”

Sometimes, you think you know a person, but you do not have the slightest idea.

Sometimes, you think you are learning calculus.

But the real lesson is love.

And that changes everything.

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From Frozen to Fearless

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Deuteronomy 31:6 — “Be strong and courageous. Do not fear or be in dread of them, for it is the Lord your God who goes with you.”

In elementary school, we held elections where students in the upper grades could run for class positions—president, treasurer, and the like. I was painfully shy, but for some reason, I wanted to be part of it.

I do not remember where the courage came from. I just remember wanting to try. I made a “Vote for Sarah” shirt. I wrote a speech. I practiced it until it felt natural. There was a spark in me—something new. A sense that I had something to say.

When my name was called, I walked to the front of the room and stood at the podium. I looked out at my classmates, took a deep breath, and froze.

My mind went blank. A few jumbled words came out as I turned red with embarrassment.

I felt like I had let myself down in front of everyone.

I carried that moment with me for years. I did not raise my hand in class. I avoided being called on. I assumed I was not meant to speak in front of people.

Then, years later, I sensed God asking me to share my story—the one where I met Jesus. With everything in me, I wanted to make Jesus more famous by sharing how he had saved me, but all I could think about was what might happen if I froze again.

But God kept gently reminding me that His Spirit is not limited by my strengths and weaknesses. If He was calling me, He would give me what I needed.

So, I said yes.

The nerves were still there. but something greater settled in. As I spoke, the fear shrank. Not because I had gotten stronger, but because I was no longer speaking alone.

Afterwards people came and told me how much they related to my story. I stood there, stunned by what God had done through me. Shy Sarah. This was never about how confident I was. It was about what God could do when I chose to be obedient.

So, if you are standing in front of something that makes you afraid but you know God is asking you to do it—say yes anyway. You never know how many people are waiting on the other side of your obedience.

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