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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God Never Skips Over You

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Colossians 3:23–24 – Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men, knowing that from the Lord you will receive the inheritance as your reward.

Sunflower seeds, red dirt, and Gatorade. That was the theme of my childhood summers.

I can still smell the nacho cheese from the concession stand and see the red lips of other kids eating snowballs by the bleachers. Everything about those days stuck—on my cleats, in my memory, in who I was becoming.

Those days playing softball was where I learned how to work with others, how to win well, and how to lose without falling apart.

That is, I thought I had learned it until the all-star list went up.

We were all crowded around the bulletin board. I was bouncing on the balls of my feet, pretending not to care as much as I did. One by one, the names were called out. I leaned in.

And then it was over.

My name was not there.

I blinked, waited, and checked again. Maybe they skipped a line. Maybe someone forgot something. But they had not. They just… did not choose me.

I stood still. My face burned. I could feel my throat get tight. Everyone else was laughing and hugging. I just stared at the list offended. I had been one of the best on the team. At least, I thought I was.

By the time we got back to the car, I was quiet in that heavy way you are when you feel hurt. My arms were crossed, eyes out the window. I hoped no one would say anything.

But later on, my dad came to me, handed me my glove, and said, “Let’s get to work.” There was no lecture, no pity, just steady love.

So, I kept going.

That year I worked harder, not to prove them wrong, but to become someone who did not give up so easily. The next season, I was the starting pitcher.

Looking back now, I think God used that moment to teach me the kind of lesson you can’t learn when everyone is clapping for you. He used it to show me that being overlooked by people does not mean being unseen by Him.

If you are walking through something similar—feeling forgotten, wondering if any of it matters—please hear this. It does matter. You matter. You matter even when no one calls your name.

The invitation is not to quit or to prove them wrong. It is to put in the work, to trust who God says you are, and to grow like it is true.

Because it is.

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Stop Running, Start Resting

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Psalms 46:10 — “Be still, and know that I am God. I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth!”

Ann was elbow-deep in tomatoes at the grocery store when a voice from the past stepped into aisle four.

It was Mrs. Martin, her second-grade music teacher. She had the same no-nonsense expression and same silver hair pulled tight. The only difference were the wrinkles and the orthopedic slippers replacing her old patent pumps.

Just like that, the memories returned. Music class. The rhythm drills. The clapping.

Ann never could get it right. Her classmates moved together in sync, but she always lagged a step behind. Mrs. Martin would pace the front of the room, heels tapping the tile, calling out.

“Beat, beat—rest,” she said. “You have to feel the rest! You cannot feel the rhythm if you do not know when to stop.”

Ann tried, but her timing always felt off. After a while, she stopped trying altogether.

Now in her fifties, she stood in that grocery aisle watching her former teacher, and a quiet thought rose.

I think I finally understand what she meant.

She had not clapped in years, but the pressure to stay in rhythm never left. Life just swapped playgrounds for deadlines. Instead of rhythm drills, it was school pickups, doctor’s appointments, late-night emails, and holidays to plan. Ann kept the pace. She showed up, but underneath it all, she felt like she was always a little behind—missing something she could not name.

Maybe that something had been rest.

Not a nap. Not a vacation. But the kind of stillness that leaves space for breathing, listening, and being.

Lately, she had begun making time for it—ten quiet minutes in the morning, a walk without her phone, a chair by the window in the late afternoon sun. At first, it felt useless, but over time, those moments became something sacred. She felt a different kind of peace began to rise, not from finishing the to-do list, but from laying it down.

And now she could hear it clearly: the rhythm that had always been missing. The rests were not interruptions. They were the invitation.

Ann glanced at Mrs. Martin once more and smiled. Some lessons just take longer to land.

So, friend, if your heart feels out of rhythm, just know that you were you were not created to run without stopping. You were made for a rhythm that includes real rest, and that is not selfish. It is where your soul remembers who God is.

What if you made space for it today? Not someday. Not after everything is done. Just one breath. One quiet prayer and moment of stillness. You might be surprised at the peace you finally feel.

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When Faith Is Fun Again

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Psalms 16:11 — “You make known to me the path of life; in your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore.”

It started with a bag of pretzels and a quiet parking lot. I was sitting with my car engine off while finishing a snack before heading home. That was when a dad and his two young kids came out of the store.

I was not trying to stare, but they caught my eye. There was something about the way they moved—like they were late for a plane. But they were not running.

Oh no. They were speed walking.

I mean it. Elbows bent, legs moving in exaggerated strides, eyes locked on their destination: the family car. It was so dramatic that I laughed out loud because it hit me—they were racing for the front seat.

Of course they were.

The younger one kept glancing over at his sibling to measure the gap, then picked up his pace. He was still technically “not running,” likely because their dad had told them not to. That just made it funnier.

And suddenly, I was seven again. My brother and I did the same thing. We would fling open the store doors and speed walk like our lives depended on it. Riding shot gun was sacred. You got to sit by Mom. You controlled the radio. And best of all, the coldest blast of AC hit you first.

I smiled at the memory. Then, a different thought crept in.

When was the last time I brought that kind of energy into my faith? That full-hearted, joy-soaked, eyes-on-the-prize kind of intentionality? It struck me because I think a lot of people can relate.

Somewhere along the way, faith can start to feel heavy. We forget that God calls us not just to run the race, but to enjoy it—to walk with Him not only seriously, but joyfully.

We need both. Steady purpose and deep delight. Obedience with laughter. Reverence that still knows how to smile. That is the kind of pursuit that changes you.

Are you moving toward God with that kind of energy? Are you making room for joy along the way? Do not pick between the two. There is power when you choose both.

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Twelve Dollars of Love

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Hebrews 13:16 — “And do not forget to do good and to share with others, for with such sacrifices God is pleased.”

One mom, Stacey, always tried to keep birthdays simple. No fuss, just a meal and some laughs. So, when Nathan turned twelve, she let him pick his favorite spot—Waffle House.

After they slid into their booth, Stacey leaned across the table and flagged down the lone waiter on duty, Philip.

“Hey, just so you know,” she said with a grin, “it’s my son’s twelfth birthday.”

She figured it might get him a free dessert or something, but she wasn’t prepared for what happened next.

Philip grinned right back and disappeared behind the counter. A minute later, he came back with a stack of twelve crisp dollar bills, one for each year Nathan had been alive.

He placed them in front of Nathan with a genuine, “Happy birthday, Buddy.”

Nathan’s eyes widened. He had never seen generosity like that up close. Stacey found herself blinking back tears. She knew the weight of that gift. She could picture Philip working long shifts, relying on every tip to make ends meet. Yet here he was, giving generously.

It was a lesson she’d been trying to teach her son for years, and here it was demonstrated in a roadside diner.

As they left, Stacey squeezed Nathan’s hand. She hoped he’d carry that moment with him, that he’d remember it long after the waffles were gone. Because, she thought, sometimes the best way to live is to give—even when it costs you something.

Friend, maybe you’ve been waiting for the right moment to put someone else first. Don’t wait. Little sacrifices, given freely, can turn a simple thing into a memory that lasts a lifetime. Let’s live that kind of story.

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Sunday Morning Struggles

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Isaiah 26:3 — “You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you, because he trusts in you.” 

The dogs were barking at the squirrels and frogs again this morning. Lennox was wanting my attention. My teenage stepdaughter was hunting through my closet for a cardigan. Chris was glued to ESPN, and my hair was refusing to cooperate.

It’s safe to say, Sunday mornings at my house are a bit chaotic these days.

But sometimes, in the midst of the noise, I remember my mom. She would stand near the window on Sunday mornings, playing her flute. She always chose that old hymn that made her smile. I can still imagine her lifting her voice in praise.

“Turn your eyes upon Jesus,
Look full in His wonderful face.
And the things of earth will grow strangely dim,
In the light of His glory and grace.”

In those moments, everything just settled into peace.

This morning, however, I felt anything but calm. I told Chris to go on without me. We both serve at church, and showing up in a bad mood is never ideal. I just needed a few more minutes to get my life together.

In the stillness that followed, that old hymn crept back into my mind. I felt a gentle question press on my heart: Have you spoken to God yet? It stopped me in my tracks.

It was Sunday, of all days, yet I had rushed right past Him. My eyes had been fixed on the chaos instead of the One who brings peace.

The dogs still barked. The cardigan remained missing. The ESPN highlights rolled on. But somehow, those things seemed smaller when I turned my eyes back where they belonged.

If your life feels loud and chaotic like mine does, know this: there is another way to see it. When you lift your eyes to Him, the noise fades into the background. The chaos shrinks, and the peace grows. So, take a deep breath and look up. Let Him carry the weight that was never yours to bear alone.

Turn your eyes to Him, and watch the chaos shrink in the light of His grace.

 

LYRICS

O soul, are you weary and troubled?
No light in the darkness you see?
There’s light for a look at the Savior,
And life more abundant and free!

Refrain:
Turn your eyes upon Jesus,
Look full in His wonderful face,
And the things of earth will grow strangely dim,
In the light of His glory and grace.

Through death into life everlasting
He passed, and we follow Him there;
O’er us sin no more hath dominion—
For more than conqu’rors we are!

His Word shall not fail you—He promised;
Believe Him, and all will be well:
Then go to a world that is dying,
His perfect salvation to tell!

Hymn by Helen H. Lemmel

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Choosing The Jesus Way

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Matthew 5:44 — “But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.”

It was just another Tuesday in the studio. Switches flipped, headphones on, songs queued. I was scanning emails and half-listening when Phil Wickham’s The Jesus Way came through the speakers.

I’ve heard it before (dozens of times, probably). But that day, it just hit differently.

“If you curse me, then I will bless you.
If you hurt me, I will forgive.
And if you hate me, then I will love you.
I choose the Jesus way.”

And suddenly I thought:
Wait. Would I actually do that?

I was flabbergasted. Because my honest answer was, “Absolutely not.”

Not if I’ve been hurt.
Not if I’ve been overlooked or disrespected.
Not when it means blessing someone who lied to me.
Not when it means forgiving someone who never said sorry.

But I couldn’t shake the question. I felt like God was tugging at something in me, asking me to stop pretending I had this Jesus thing figured out. I had convinced myself I was already living that way, but I wasn’t. I was saying the right things, but not living them.

Because the Jesus way? It’s not always easy or aesthetic. It is messy and complicated and sometimes downright painful. And sometimes, saying yes to Jesus means saying yes to being misunderstood, to letting go of grudges, and to loving people who won’t love me back.

It means keeping your spiritual ear tuned even when everything in you wants to shut down. It means choosing to bless someone who might never know the cost of that choice.

So, I prayed right there in the studio. Lord, I don’t know how to love like that, but I want to. Help me to do it…even if it hurts.

I don’t know exactly where that prayer will take me, but I know this. The Jesus way isn’t about what we say we believe. It isn’t a one-time decision. It is an ongoing invitation to choose love when it feels unfair.

And if you’re like me—if you’ve ever convinced yourself you’re living this way but secretly know you’re not—maybe this is your moment too.

No, it’s not easy.
It may even invite pain.

But it’s the Jesus way.
And it’s worth it.

Lyrics:

If you curse me then I will bless you
If you hurt me I will forgive
And if you hate me then I will love you
I choose the Jesus way

If you’re helpless I will defend you
And if you’re burdened I’ll share the weight
And if you’re hopeless then let me show you
There’s hope in the Jesus way

I follow Jesus
I follow Jesus
He wore my sin
I’ll gladly wear His name
He is the treasure
He is the answer
Oh I choose the Jesus way

If you strike me I will embrace you
And if you chain me I’ll sing His praise
And if you kill me my home is heaven
For I choose the Jesus way

I follow Jesus
I follow Jesus
He wore my sin
I’ll gladly wear His name
He is the treasure
He is the answer
Oh I choose the Jesus way

I choose surrender
I choose to love
Oh God my Savior
You’ll always be enough
I choose forgiveness
I choose grace
I choose to worship
No matter what I face

I choose the Jesus way
I choose the Jesus way
I choose the Jesus way
I choose the Jesus way

I follow Jesus
I follow Jesus
He wore my sin
I’ll gladly wear His name
He is the treasure
He is the answer
Oh I choose the Jesus way

I follow Jesus
I follow Jesus
He wore my sin
I’ll gladly wear His name
He is the treasure
He is the answer
Oh I choose the Jesus way
Oh I choose the Jesus way
#PhilWickham #TheJesusWay

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Loved. Seen. Protected.

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2 Corinthians 6:18 — “And I will be a father to you, and you shall be sons and daughters to me,” Says the Lord Almighty.

I was just trying to make it home before the storm started. The clouds were piling higher and darker by the minute when my phone rang. I didn’t have to look. I knew who it was.

“Hey,” my dad said. “Have you seen the forecast?”

“Yeah,” I answered. “It’s not looking great.”

“You fill up your gas tank today?”

There it was. Classic Dad. I’m a grown woman with bills, a job, and a baby of my own, but to my dad, I am still his kid. So, he still asks.

And I love that he does.

We talked for a few minutes, just the usual back-and-forth, but there’s something about being on the other end of that call that always steadies me. It makes me feel seen. Protected. Still someone’s daughter.

As we were wrapping up, he said, “Hey, check your glove box when you stop. Left something in there for you last week.”

I was curious. At the next light, I popped it open.

A flashlight. With fresh batteries.

I just stared at it for a second. It was such a dad thing to do.

And it said more than he realized.

Because the truth is, my dad is still fathering me—showing up, checking in, and thinking ahead. And somehow, that flashlight made me feel like I wasn’t alone in the dark.

It also reminded me why I’ve never struggled to believe in a God who loves me…because I’ve seen it modeled my whole life.

Not everybody gets a dad like mine. I know that, but the truth is—everybody does have a Father like that. The Bible tells us that this is the kind of Father God is. He is steady, present, protective, and intentional.

He is the kind of father who checks on you when the skies grow dark. He is the kind that prepares what you need before the storm even hits.

God doesn’t just claim the title of Father. He lives it. Even in this very moment—for you—and He is in it for the long haul.

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Loved by a Good Father

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James 1:17 – “Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change.”

Looking back, I never understood the idea of ‘missing out’ on having a son to throw a ball with. My dad was different. He was excited to have a daughter to teach. He is the reason I fell in love with sports!

My dad, a 6’4 gentle giant standing, is one of the kindest and strongest men I know. From blending my baby food for daycare to tucking away extra bows so I’d always look cute, he has invested in me from a very young age.

I have two brothers, yet I have always been the athlete of the family. From a young age, Dad taught me to play catch with a Velcro mitt and introduced me to basketball. The joy in his face when he saw me progressing and beating him at his own game is something I will never forget.

Dad’s love was not just about cheering at a game; it was an entire investment in who I could become. He nurtured my talents, big and small, and believed in me more than I believed in myself.

When I think of what it means to be a godly man, I immediately think of him. He reminded me that my gifts come from Jesus. He taught me sportsmanship in working hard and handling setbacks with a positive attitude.

He never raised his voice and always disciplined us in love. In sports, He always made sure I had the best equipment like bats, knee pads and cleats.

Reflecting on his constant encouragement, I see parallels with God. Like my earthly father, God, the Father of Lights, desires to give good gifts to His children and equip them for success in all aspects of their lives.

So remember that God is a good Father, and He wants to help you, not just on the court, but in everything you face today.

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Right Place Right Faith

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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.”

When Shelby Anders boarded the flight, she expected nothing more than pretzels and a nap. She had clocked enough hours in the ICU that week to last her a while.

But just after takeoff, a commotion started a few rows ahead.

“Somebody help! He’s not responding!”

Shelby didn’t think. She stood.

“I’m a cardiac ICU nurse,” she said, already leaning over the man. He was slumped, face colorless.

Shelby started compressions. Her arms knew the rhythm, but her heart felt the weight. An ER doctor joined. Then another nurse. They moved like a single unit, strangers with the same mission.

The man’s wife—Melanie—was shaking. “Lord,” she whispered, “I need You.”

The minutes stretched long. Too long.

And then, it happened. A heartbeat. A breath. A sign of life.

When the plane touched down in New York, paramedics waited on the tarmac. The man was still alive. His wife held Shelby’s hand for a moment before following the stretcher. She didn’t say much—just “Thank you.” But the look in her eyes said the rest.

Someone called her brave. Someone else called her a hero, but reflecting on the experience later, she shared, “I don’t see myself as a hero. I just see it as being the hands and feet of Jesus. That’s why I do what I do.”

Maybe you’re not a nurse on a flight. Maybe your gift looks more like cooking, listening, or driving someone around. You were created with something this world needs. Do not underestimate those gifts God has given you. He may not call you to save a life at 30,000 feet—but He may use you for something only you were made to do.

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