Better Than Yesterday

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Colossians 2:6-7 – And now, just as you accepted Christ Jesus as your Lord, you must continue to follow him. Let your roots grow down into him, and let your lives be built on him. Then your faith will grow strong in the truth you were taught, and you will overflow with thankfulness.

The locker room smells like sweat and disappointment.

A few boys stare at the floor, as if it might explain what just happened. The scoreboard still glowing in their minds, even though they’ve walked away from it. This is that painful place after a loss where nobody’s sure yet what this game says about them.

Their coach stands in front of them. They brace for correction. Maybe frustration. A breakdown of everything that went wrong. Instead, he pauses and reframes the moment.

He doesn’t deny the loss. He doesn’t soften it either. They didn’t play well. Mistakes were made. But he refuses to let the loss be the final word.

“You didn’t win today, but you didn’t walk away emptyhanded.” He says, “You’re better today than you were yesterday.”

Not because they won. They didn’t. Not because it feels good—it doesn’t. But because today gave them something yesterday couldn’t. Experience. Exposure. Clarity. They saw how another team exploited their weaknesses and their lack of miscommunication. They saw what pressure does to their focus.

Later—after the noise fades and the bus ride home goes quiet—that same truth shows up again. This time in an email from their coach. Near the bottom, it reads, “You are better today than you were yesterday.”

Even on a bad day. Especially on a bad day.

Because this is a Christian school, he goes one layer deeper. He reminds them that how they process the loss matters. God is shaping their hearts in real time—using disappointment and perseverance as tools. They now have more to work with than they did yesterday.

More roots. More depth. More formation.

That’s the hope of the Gospel—that it meets people who are unfinished and failing and still becoming. Before Jesus, failure only meant shame or finality. But now, even our missteps can be redeemed and repurposed.

“Therefore, as you received Christ Jesus the Lord, so walk in him, rooted and built up in him and established in the faith, just as you were taught, abounding in thanksgiving” (Colossians 2:6–7).

Real life faith feels a lot like that locker room. We are all learning to move forward. No one graduates from growth. Layer by layer, root by root, God is working on us and helping us to become more like Him.

So today doesn’t have to feel like a win to be a step forward. Stay planted. Keep walking. Take the next faithful step of obedience that you can see.

Because growth counts—even when the scoreboard says otherwise.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • Where in my life does the scoreboard feel discouraging right now?
  • Have I been measuring growth only by visible wins?
  • What might God be forming in me through disappointment?
  • Am I rooted in Christ — or in outcomes?
  • How do I typically respond to failure: with shame, frustration, or growth?
  • Where is God inviting me to stay planted instead of walking away?
  • What would it look like to choose gratitude, even in a season that doesn’t feel like a victory?
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From Bully to Brave

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Nehemiah 9:17 — You are a God of forgiveness, gracious and merciful, slow to become angry, and rich in unfailing love. You did not abandon them.

I’ve never been to a high school reunion. Not once. Not even close.

My high school is in Washington State, outside Seattle, but I moved away after college. Every reunion somehow landed just out of reach. I’d be home visiting my parents weeks before or after—but never on time.

So I don’t have reunion stories of my own. But I’ve always liked the idea of revisiting where we’ve come from.

I came across a story online from a man who did attend his twentieth reunion. He didn’t romanticize it.

“In high school, I was a bully,” he admitted. “I was cruel. Mean. Hard to like.” Then he added the hardest truth—he didn’t like himself either. His home life was painful, so he hurt others so he wouldn’t feel hurt alone.

When the invitation came, he was nervous. He decided to go with one purpose: to apologize. “You’ll never address what you don’t confess,” he told himself. He knew forgiveness wasn’t guaranteed. Some people might not want to see him, and some wounds couldn’t be undone. He barely slept the night before he went.

When he arrived at the school auditorium, he sought out the people he knew he had unfinished business with. One by one, he owned what he had done—no excuses, no explanations. Just apologies.

To his surprise, most of them forgave him. Some barely remembered the details. Others remembered clearly—and still chose grace.

They told him how much his apology meant. How glad they were that he came. By the end of the night, the regret and shame that had followed him for years began to lift—not because the past had changed, but because mercy met him there.

That story reminded me of how God deals with us.

In Nehemiah, the prophet looks back over Israel’s long history of rebellion and failure and declares this truth about God:

“You are a God of forgiveness, gracious and merciful, slow to become angry, and rich in unfailing love. You did not abandon them.” (Nehemiah 9:17)

A forgiving God. Patient. Compassionate. Overflowing with love. A God who does not walk away—even when we give Him every reason to.

What those classmates offered in a crowded auditorium—God has offered us all along. Not denial. Grace. Not pretending the damage never happened, but forgiveness that restores. Mercy doesn’t erase the past, but it does free the one who receives it.

We carry our mistakes and regrets quietly, assuming it’s too late or that we’re stuck. But God doesn’t wait decades to respond. He meets honesty and repentance with mercy—every time.

So maybe today isn’t about revisiting the past. Maybe it’s about releasing it. Letting grace meet the parts of your story you’ve been running from. Freedom begins there, shaping how you live, how you love, and how you extend that same mercy to others.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • Is there a part of your past you’ve been carrying with shame instead of surrendering to God’s mercy?
  • What does Nehemiah 9:17 reveal about God’s posture toward you when you fall short?
  • Is there an apology God may be inviting you to offer—or a forgiveness He’s inviting you to receive?
  • How might releasing the past change the way you live and love today?
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Love is Enough This Christmas

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1 John 4:9 — God showed how much He loved us by sending His one and only Son into the world so that we might have eternal life through Him.

The flight is booked, and I already feel the pressure. You know—the juggling of calendars, schedules, and all the holiday “who’s going where and when.” It should be simple. It never is.

I’m flying to Seattle to visit my parents and brother, and I want my son with me too. On paper, that sounds easy. In real life, co-parenting means conversations, compromises, and careful timing. I’m not complaining—I want him to experience the best of both his worlds—but by the end of the day, my brain feels tapped out.

So I close my laptop. I pause.
And in the quiet, I feel a gentle nudge in my chest: “It’s going to be all right.”

It hits me that the Heavenly Father understands this ache—the desire to be close to your child, to draw them near. And right in that moment, I sense His dad-heart for me.

Then I remember: God had His own travel itinerary for His Son, too. But His was a rescue mission. A mission of love. Scripture says, “God showed how much He loved us by sending His one and only Son…”—not to stress us out, not to burden us, but so we might live through Him.

That reminder loosens something inside me.
Yes, I’ll still pack.
I’ll still coordinate.
I’ll still have to navigate the handoffs and the holiday logistics.

But the point isn’t the schedule or the plans or getting everything perfect.
The point is this: I am loved. And at the end of the day, God’s plan is steady, and He will take care of the stress.

Maybe that’s the invitation for all of us today:

If God’s love comes first—if we don’t earn it, maintain it, or negotiate for it—then perhaps we can carry that same quiet confidence into the places that feel heavy.

Into the stress.
Into the planning.
Into the daily balancing acts.

Because love is already here.
And it’s enough.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • Where in your life today do you feel the pressure to “make everything work”?
  • How does knowing God sent His Son for you shift the way you approach that stress?
  • What would it look like to pause and let His love lead you before you take your next step?
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The Friend Who Never Left

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Hebrews 4:16 — Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.

I can still see him in the back seat—legs swinging, eyes shining, talking a mile a minute. He could hardly sit still because we were on our way to see his buddy, Max.

Back then, I could glance in the rearview mirror and see both boys grinning, covered in dirt, and full of plans that always seemed to involve snacks.

These days, my boy rides up front. He’s taller than me now, with a deeper voice and a driver’s permit that still makes me a little nervous. And today, we’re driving to the racetrack—same event, same two friends, just a few years older and a lot more sentimental on my end.

Their friendship started years ago under unusual circumstances. My son was pulled out of his own school once a week to attend a special program at Max’s school. I remember wondering how he’d handle being the new kid in a strange classroom. But then he met Max—and that was that.

That summer, their friendship stuck. Though we lived ten minutes apart, both sets of parents took turns shuttling them back and forth, week after week. They were inseparable.

And now, watching them pick up right where they left off—it gets me every time. There’s something beautiful about a friendship that doesn’t fade, no matter the distance or time apart.

But it also makes me think. Why is it so easy to believe that people can stay close through time and distance, but so hard to believe that about God?

Life gets busy. We drift. And before long, we convince ourselves we’ve gone too far to find our way back. But God never moves. He’s still standing right where you left Him, smiling, ready to welcome you home without a hint of hesitation.

Maybe that’s what grace really is. Not shame. Not scolding. Just joy at the reunion.

It reminds me of Hebrews 4:16, which says, “Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.”

That verse isn’t an invitation for perfect people—it’s for wanderers, drifters, and those who feel like they’ve waited too long to return.

So if it’s been a while, maybe it’s time to buckle up again. The Friend who never left is still waiting—and the race of faith can start again right where you left off.

 

A MOMENT TO REFLECT

  • When was the last time you “drew near” to God without hesitation? What made that moment possible?
  • Where in your life have you drifted, and how does Hebrews 4:16 reshape the way you think about returning?
  • What would confidence look like for you this week as you approach God—emotionally, spiritually, or practically?
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