What is Your Life Preaching

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Matthew 5:16 – In the same way, let your good deeds shine out for all to see, so that everyone will praise your Heavenly Father. 

The first sermon I really remember was not told from a pulpit. No. It was from a six-year-old boy standing on a fireplace.

He was preaching into a purple and green toy microphone that came from McDonalds. And though I barely understood what he was doing, I have never forgotten it.

That boy was my cousin, Waylon. He has lived his life on the autism spectrum, and while most may see limitations, I have only ever seen his faith. And he never stopped preaching.

Today, you can still see Waylon living out the sermons he preached as a kid.

On Wednesdays, you would find him on stage at church playing his bongos. On Sundays, you would see him with hands raised high. If you asked anyone at Hodge Assembly of God, they would tell you without hesitation that he was the “head usher.” At home, Waylon kept a stack of Jimmy Swaggart tapes spinning. He listened, he learned, and he soaked it all in.

And he even has the coolest job, tailor-made for him.

He rides with the local police unit, spending time with the elderly, visiting people who are too often forgotten. He talks, he listens, he reminds them they still matter—to him and to God. And in his own way, he is still preaching sermons.

I look at his life and realize how much it shaped my own. His unwavering example helped lead me to my work at Always Uplifting 88.7 The Cross. Because I believe, like he does, that every single moment matters.

One song can meet someone at just the right time. One story can change a life. One gift from a listener can make sure someone else hears the hope they need most.

And that is the question left in my heart after sharing his story: what sermon is your life preaching? Because the truth is simple, and it is urgent: life really is about sharing Jesus. Make every moment count.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • When people look at your life, what kind of “sermon” do they see?
  • How can you let your light shine today in a way that points others to Jesus?
  • Who in your life has quietly shown you what faith looks like in action?
  • What small act of love or service could become someone’s reminder that they still matter—to you and to God?
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Already Loved

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Jeremiah 31:3 – I have loved you, my people, with an everlasting love. With unfailing love I have drawn you to myself.

The day I lost one hundred pounds, I expected fireworks.

I had imagined it over and over: stepping onto the scale, seeing the number, and somehow feeling more loved by God than I did before. In my mind, I thought He would put His arm around me and whisper, “Now you are worthy. Now you are enough.”

But there I was in my own bathroom, standing barefoot on the scale, and nothing about God’s love had changed one ounce.

It was the same steady love I had known the day I could barely bend down to tie my shoes. The same love that was there when I sweated just from peeling an orange. It was the same love that never flinched when I turned to food because I did not know what else to do with my sadness.

The truth settled in slowly like the way a sunrise sneaks over the horizon. I had not earned more of His affection by shedding pounds. And the irony of it made me smile.

I was chasing a reward I already had. Yes, the discipline mattered. Yes, the growth was worth celebrating. But none of it increased the love of God that had been constant from the start.

I stepped off the scale lighter, not just in body but in heart. And it left me wondering: how many of us are still waiting for some future breakthrough to feel loved, when we are already standing in it?

— Micah Tyler

 

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • Have you ever believed you needed to earn God’s love through performance or progress?
  • How does Jeremiah 31:3 challenge the way you see your worth?
  • What would it look like for you to live today as someone who is already fully loved?
  • Where in your life is God inviting you to rest, rather than strive, in His affection?
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Faith and a Folding Chair

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Hebrews 10:24-25 – Let us think of ways to motivate one another to acts of love and good works. And let us not neglect our meeting together, as some people do, but encourage one another, especially now that the day of His return is drawing near.

Covid had a way of making the world feel smaller.

Empty streets, canceled plans, faces hidden behind masks. I told myself isolation was fine, but the truth was, I was tired of being alone.

So when I heard a handful of guys were meeting for Bible study in a bus warehouse in Bawcomville, I didn’t care how sketchy it sounded. I was in.

That warehouse was no chapel.

It smelled like metal and dust, and the wind whistled through the cracks. But what took place inside could not have been more sacred.

We sat in folding chairs and opened our Bibles, but more than that, we opened our lives.

Men spoke fears they had never voiced, struggles they had carried in silence—addiction, shame, failures that still left scars. And instead of judgment, there was prayer. There were tears. There was laughter that felt like a release valve after years of pressure.

We stayed late into the night, long after common sense said we should go home. But nobody wanted to leave. Revival was happening there.

That warehouse taught me more than I expected. Faith was never meant to be a solo sport. When one part of the body hurts, we all feel it. When one part heals, we all rejoice. That’s what pulled us back, week after week.

For me, it became a living picture of what Christ’s body was meant to be: honest, powerful, and deeply connected. Every time I left, I carried less shame and more freedom.

“Let us think of ways to motivate one another to acts of love and good works. And let us not neglect our meeting together, as some people do, but encourage one another—especially now that the day of His return is drawing near.” — Hebrews 10:24–25

That’s what those nights in the bus warehouse were really about. Ordinary guys choosing to show up, to listen, and to lift each other up when life felt heavy.

And maybe that is the point—we do not need a stained-glassed building to find God’s people. Sometimes all it takes is a few folding chairs and the courage to show up. Because when our eyes are fixed on Jesus, we find Him in the most unexpected places—even in a dusty bus warehouse in Bawcomville.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • When have you experienced the power of community in your faith, and how did it impact you?
  • How can you intentionally encourage or show up for someone else this week, even in small ways?
  • What does Hebrews 10:24–25 teach you about the importance of gathering and supporting one another in faith?
  • In what ways does fixing your eyes on Jesus change the way you see ordinary spaces and moments around you?
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Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus

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Hebrews 12:2 — Fix your eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith.

Helen Lemmel knew what it was to feel buried.

Some days, life felt heavier than she could carry. Money was tight, her health fragile, and the world seemed determined to test every ounce of endurance she had. She had long learned that hope does not always arrive wrapped in sunlight or easy answers.

Then one afternoon, she found a small pamphlet. Its cover was plain, but the few words she found inside were exquisite.

It read, “Turn your eyes upon Jesus.”

She read them slowly, letting the phrase sink into the quiet corners of her heart. At first, it seemed almost too simple t—but, for the first time in weeks, she felt the weight pressing on her lift a little.

No. It did not make the bills disappear. It did not suddenly make the world less lonely. But it gave her a place to look besides the storm.

She began humming a tune, small and unsteady at first. Then she wrote, letting her worry pour out as melody and verse.

Over time, the fragile notes she wrote became a song. It was a new hymn that carried not only her own hope but the hope of anyone who might feel crushed under life’s demands.

When people sang it during the Great Depression, their faces lifted, their hearts softened, and the burden they carried grew a little lighter.

“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.”

Helen learned something in that season: the storm does not have to define where you set your gaze. Even when life is harsh, the bills are stacked, and the world seems unkind, you can choose to lift your eyes up to your savior.

So pause today, even for just a moment. I believe you to can find the same relief Helen did. Andy you might discover, that a hopeful horizon can still exist though the storm rages around you.

 

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.

CHORUS
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!

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Faith Around the Flagpole

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1 Timothy 4:12 –Don’t let anyone think less of you because you are young. Be an example to all believers in what you say, in the way you live, in your love, your faith, and your purity.

Coach Jeremy stood a step back from the circle of students at the flagpole, hands in his jacket pockets, fighting the coach’s reflex to lead.

He reminded himself what he had told faculty and parents: this was student-led, not a show for adults. His job this morning was to watch, to pray quietly, and to make sure the kids owned what they were doing.

Nash Wisner was one of the middle schoolers there. His shoulders were squared, eyes sweeping the crowd. Coach Jeremy knew the kid’s family and liked them. Nash had a steadiness to him and seemed to care about things that mattered.

By the time the clock edged toward 7:30, the crowd had swelled to two-hundred. The sound of them filled the small courtyard.

Between the songs, students like Nash Wisner stepped forward. They were awkward at first. Their words weren’t polished, but they were leading their peers. They prayed for friends who were struggling, for teachers carrying heavy loads, and for families needing strength.

Jeremy thought of how rare it was to see middle schoolers stand in front of peers and live their faith out-loud like this.

As their prayers came to a close and the school bell rang across the campus, the coach’s throat tightened as he looked in the eyes of these students. It was like each of them were given a jersey with their name on it.

Nash and other students knew they were agents of change, and today they were going to live like it.

Coach Jeremy stayed where he was for a moment under the flag flicking overhead. He knew on a day like today how easy it would be to sleep in or blend into the crowd without anyone noticing. But these students, along with others across the country, chose faith over comfort.

And as he followed them inside, he decided he would too.

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Strong in Every Storm

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Isaiah 43:2 — When you go through deep waters, I will be with you. When you go through rivers of difficulty, you will not drown. When you walk through the fire of oppression, you will not be burned up; the flames will not consume you.

It was one of those mornings when I felt heavy long before the sun had fully risen.

I carried my worries like a weight across my shoulders. Responsibilities piled high. Problems without clear answers crowded my mind.

I turned to my Bible out of habit and hope, even though my thoughts were tangled and the words blurred. Still, I kept reading. That day, I found myself drawn into the story of Jesus on the boat with His disciples when the storm hit.

The scene played out clearly in my mind. The wind screamed across the water. Waves crashed hard against the wooden sides of the boat. The danger was real—enough to sink them.

And there, right in the middle of it all, Jesus was sleeping.

He was not absent or unaware of the storm. He was simply resting.

When the disciples woke Him, He did not join their panic. Instead, He asked a simple question: “Where is your faith?”

Those words struck me deeply. I knew the end of that story—how Jesus calmed the storm—but it felt like God was asking the same question to my anxious heart that day.

I closed the Book and stayed still for a moment. A truth swelled up inside me:

God is strong.

Not just strong in a distant, “back then” kind of way. He is strong here and now, with authority over the storms that press in around me.

More than that, He is not standing on the shore watching from afar. He is in my boat with me embodying peace.

And if you are wondering, no, the storm around me has not broken yet. The answers I want are still somewhere beyond the horizon, but I know I am not facing it alone.

If you can relate, I hope you will take courage with me. The waves are no match for Him.

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Wide Eyed and Wonderful Life

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Psalms 9:1 — “I will give thanks to the Lord with my whole heart; I will recount all of your wonderful deeds.”

There are moments when life slows down. It’s like the whole world has paused and is holding its breath to see what happens next.

That’s how it felt in the at work that day. I was on the couch, laptop open, trying to focus. My wife Sarah was there. Her stepmom, GiGi, too—watching Reese for us.

Our little girl was still in that almost-walking stage—testing the waters, clinging to furniture, never daring to cross the open floor. Like many nervous parents, we wondered if we would ever see her take those first steps.

Don’t get me wrong. Reese had always been right on time with her development, so there was nothing to worry about. But for Sarah and me, this felt like our one hope right under the surface.

Then, out of nowhere, that little one-year-old got up and moved. As she lunged forward, I could tell she had it.

No wall. No couch. No hands. Just Reese, swaying, wide-eyed and toddling. One step, two, three, four, five. Five seconds of wobbly, glorious motion before she fell into her mama’s arms.

And it took my breath away.

In that Kodak moment, I felt everything. My whole chest swelled, my face flushed, and goosebumps covered my arms.

Fast-forward a few weeks, and she was running everywhere—into every room—climbing every surface, and moving faster than we could keep up. Those five seconds just became part of the everyday. I didn’t realize, along the way, that I had stopped noticing.

That’s the danger, isn’t it? God gives us moments that take our breath away, and then we just… move on.

God answers prayers, opens doors, and carries us into new places. But if we’re not careful, the extraordinary starts to feel ordinary. We begin walking like it’s no big deal, forgetting what it was like to take that first step.

So, I’ve been learning to slow down, to notice, and to remember with gratitude those days where I prayed for what I have right now.

Maybe today is ordinary. Maybe it’s messy. But what if you walk with God through it the way Reese wobbled across that break room floor—wide-eyed and expectant?

It might just take your breath away all over again.

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When Less is More

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Philippians 4:11 — “Not that I am speaking of being in need, for I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content.”

The first thing you should know about Joshua is that he likes to hug. A lot.

“Bring it in, Bud!” he says every time he meets someone new. Again, he’s an enthusiastic, grinning, full-send hugger.

He is also what you might call a minimalists— someone who had it all, decided it wasn’t enough, and now lives with a lot less than most people think is practical.

He didn’t start out this way. He grew up in Ohio as a poor kid with big dreams. Like a lot of people raised without much, he chased that version of success that comes with keycards and cufflinks. By his late twenties, he was hauling in six figures and racking up frequent flyer miles.

But then life did what life does.

Joshua’s mother passed away. His marriage ended in the same month. He was just 28. He owned a large three-bedroom house and a job title longer than most church prayer lists, and he was miserable.

It was then that Joshua realized just how unhappy he was.

So, in the wake of all that, he started to let go. Of his stuff, that is. He moved into a smaller house, got rid of the TV, the DVDs, the furniture, and the backup spatula— basically everything that once gave the illusion of security. One by one, he cleared out his life.

But the miracle Joshua found, obviously, wasn’t the empty shelves.

It was the space that showed up in his soul.

See, the peace he found came when he stopped pretending that more would finally make him feel like enough. He once found identity in what he had, but now he was finding peace through surrendering all of that.

He discovered that when enough is finally enough, you realize you’ve had more than enough all along. You start hearing the birds outside again. You show up for dinner with both feet in the room. And you start hugging people. Alot.

That’s the thing no one tells you: when your arms aren’t carrying everything, they’re finally free to reach out.

So…

“Bring it in, Bud.”

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The End Is Just the Beginning

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Isaiah 25:8 — “He will swallow up death forever; and the Lord GOD will wipe away tears from all faces.”

There’s things you try to bury and run away from your entire life.

Bart Millard was only three when his parents divorced. His mom remarried and moved away, and it was decided that he and his brother would stay with their dad, Arthur.

Arthur Millard worked hard and stayed sober, but his temper ruled the house. Small things, like being cut off in traffic, could set him off, and Bart became his favorite target. He spent most of his childhood walking on eggshells, bracing for the next explosion.

But everything changed in high school when Arthur was diagnosed with cancer. The disease weakened his body—and, somehow, softened his heart. He gave his life to Jesus.

Almost overnight, he began to change. Bart, now his caregiver, had a front row seat to the transformation.

He started talking about grace and peace and love like they were more than words, and he lived it. The man who was once a monster became kind, gentle, and apologetic. Bart stopped fearing him and started thinking of him as his best friend.

They found something they never had before—until cancer took it away. And it wasn’t the past that hurt most. It was losing what they’d finally found.

At the funeral, Bart’s grandmother leaned in and whispered, “I can only imagine what your dad’s seeing now.”

That one line became a lifeline. Bart clung to it through grief, scribbling it on scraps, receipts, journals—anything. It gave him something to picture besides an empty house.

In time, Bart and a few others began the band MercyMe, and as they sat down to write one last song of their album he found inspiration in those old journals with “I can only imagine” scribbled across every page.

He wrote the song in just ten minutes, and the rest is history.

But that’s not the end of the story.

Today, when Bart closes his eyes and sings those words— “I Can Only Imagine”—he’s not just remembering what God did. He’s looking ahead to what God will do.

Because the gospel doesn’t stop at changed hearts or even gravesides. It carries on—into forever. Into a kingdom where there are no more regrets and no more goodbyes.

And the truth that steadied Bart through every wound and every loss still stands: if God can write that kind of ending for his father, He can write one for yours too. Or your sister. Or your friend. Or that person you’ve been praying for so long it hurts.

So, believe Him for the future.
Believe Him for your loved one.
Believe Him for what’s still ahead.

Because one day, we will finally see with our own eyes.

Can you only imagine it?

LYRICS  |  I CAN ONLY IMAGINE

I can only imagine what it will be like
When I walk by your side
I can only imagine what my eyes will see
When your face is before me
I can only imagine

Yeah

Surrounded by your glory
What will my heart feel
Will I dance for your Jesus
Or in awe of you be still
Will I stand in your presence
Or to my knees will I fall
Will I sing hallelujah
Will I be able to speak at all
I can only imagine
I can only imagine

I can only imagine when that day comes
And I find myself standing in the Son
I can only imagine when all I will do
Is forever, forever worship you
I can only imagine, yeah
I can only imagine

Surrounded by your glory
What will my heart feel
Will I dance for your Jesus
Or in awe of you be still
Will I stand in your presence
Or to my knees will I fall
Will I sing hallelujah
Will I be able to speak at all
I can only imagine
Yeah
I can only imagine

Surrounded by your glory
What will my heart feel
Will I dance for your Jesus
Or in awe of you be still
Will I stand in your presence
Or to my knees will I fall
Will I sing hallelujah
Will I be able to speak at all
I can only imagine
Yeah
I can only imagine

I can only imagine
Yeah
I can only imagine
I can only imagine
I can only imagine

I can only imagine
When all I will do
Is forever, forever worship you

I can only imagine

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When Fear Stands in the Way

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Psalms 56:3 — “When I am afraid, I put my trust in you.”

I stood at the edge of the woods that afternoon, just trying to catch my breath in the heat. I was standing in the shaded path near the ropes course at summer camp when I saw him.

A young boy—maybe seven—stood trembling on top of a telephone pole, tears dripping down his cheeks. His arms were rigid at his sides, and his knees shook beneath him.

This was the final challenge of the ropes course. They called it “The Leap of Faith.” The goal was simple: jump off the platform and reach for a nearby trapeze bar suspended in midair. But for this kid, it might as well have been the Grand Canyon.

From the ground, the belayer called up with gentle encouragement.

“You are safe, buddy. You are clipped in,” he said. “Those ropes are solid, but listen. You do not want to go back the way you came. Trust me. The safest way down is to jump.”

The boy stood frozen for what felt like forever. I wondered if he would try climbing down. Then, quietly, he bent his knees and jumped.

When he caught the bar, the grin that broke out across his face was unforgettable. All the fear was still hanging in the air, but now it was drowned out by something louder: joy.

That memory has stayed with me for years. Not because of the stunt, but because I have lived in that tension—wanting to turn back, doubting what I cannot see, standing on the edge of something that looks impossible.

But sometimes the only way forward is a leap. Not reckless. Not blind. But real, trusting faith grounded in the confidence that you are already held.

If you are standing on a ledge today, frozen with fear, listen closely. There is a Voice calling to you—not shouting, not rushing—but reminding you that, while the way forward might feel risky, you are not unprotected. You are never alone.

Friend, you may not see the harness, but that does not make it any less secure.

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