I have spent more time than I'd like to admit wishing I had been given more — more talent, more opportunity, more money. The issue was never how much each servant received. It was what they did with what they had.

The Pharisee wasn't lying about his record. That's what makes this parable so uncomfortable. He was telling the truth — he just had no idea that Jesus didn’t care about his record

I give up too soon. Not because I stop believing God — but because I quietly begin to wonder if He is listening, or if it matters, or if anything will change.

I have a remarkable memory for what others owe me — and a genuinely impressive forgetfulness about what I've been forgiven. It's a peculiar gift, and not one I'm proud of.

I want to appear better to other people than I really am. I can’t do that with God. He knows me. He knows my heart. Jesus tells me the Father doesn’t want my excuses. He is waiting with great anticipation for me just as I am.

I stopped making plans in the ER a long time ago — the patients never read the schedule. And somewhere along the way I made peace with that — professionally, at least.

I've seen people in the ER make instant decisions when the stakes are suddenly clear. When you finally see what's real, you act. That's this man.

I have a weakness for the dramatic. I want the burning bush, the parted sea, the moment where everything is obviously, unmistakably God.

The seed is always good. Jesus turns my attention not to what is being sown, but to the soil of my own heart.

The real issue was never what I hear - It's what I do. I can admire His teaching, agree with His truth, even pass it along to someone who looks like they need it more than I do, and still be building on sand.

Maundy Thursday always slows me down. The room is quiet, the hour is late, and Jesus is not giving a lecture—He is giving Himself.

Because life so easily fills with concerns, pressures, and uncertainties, Jesus’ words speak directly into one of the most persistent struggles of my heart — worry.

Because Lent invites me to step away from noise and appearances, Jesus’ words gently uncover a subtle but powerful struggle within me.

Because Lent slows me down enough to notice my reactions, Jesus’ words confront one of my deepest instincts.

Because Lent invites me into honest self-examination, Jesus’ words in Matthew 5 draw my attention inward.

Because Lent calls me to honesty about my true condition, I notice where Jesus begins His most famous sermon — not with achievement, strength, or success, but with humility.

Because Lent invites me to slow down, pay attention, and return again to what matters most, I am drawn to the words of Jesus in the Sermon on the Mount.

Because the Beatitudes have formed a new heart in me, and Jesus has shown me what true righteousness looks like, He now brings me to a simple but life-defining question: Will I live what I’ve heard?

Because the Beatitudes have taught me to value purity of heart and mercy, Jesus now teaches me to be wise and discerning. 

Because the Beatitudes have reoriented my desires toward God’s kingdom, Jesus now calls me to make a clear choice.