Darrell W. Pardy

When the world says we're not enough, God's truth reminds us of our immeasurable worth.

[Darrell W. Pardy @Darrell_Pardy]

A missed email can become a missed customer.

If SPF, DKIM, or DMARC are missing or broken, your quotes, forms, invoices, and follow-ups can quietly lose trust.

I wrote a plain-English guide on email deliverability:

https://t.co/9GlYCU4JZt

Free checker:

https://t.co/7rpIyOEwzm

[Darrell W. Pardy @Darrell_Pardy]

Today, Day 5 found me.
Not with thunder. Not with some grand revelation. But with a sentence that reached quietly into places I try not to expose.

“Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief.”

How strange and beautiful that such a cry can live in the same heart. Belief and unbelief. Faith and trembling. Hope and ache. Not as enemies tearing the soul apart, but as two truths kneeling together before God.

And I thought of the psalmists.

How often they came before the Lord without polish. Without hiding. Without the careful language we sometimes use to make ourselves sound stronger than we are. The writer of Psalm 88 ends without resolution — not with a shout of victory, but with darkness as his closest companion, and still he keeps speaking toward God. That is not the failure of faith. That is faith refusing to go silent.

And yet, somewhere in the middle of the sorrow, somewhere between the fear and the pleading, they still turned their face toward Him.

That is what stirs me.

That God does not ask me to bring Him a rehearsed heart. He does not wait for my soul to become neat and certain before He welcomes me near. He lets me come with the doubt still breathing, with the questions still open, with my faith feeling less like a banner in the wind and more like a frayed rope burning in my hands.

Still, I am holding on.

And perhaps that is the beauty of it, that faith is not always bright and triumphant. Sometimes it limps. Sometimes it whispers. Sometimes it can do nothing more than look up through tears and say, “Lord… I’m still here.”

The psalmist knew this. The father who cried out to Jesus knew this. And if I am honest, I know it too.

There are days the heart feels fierce with trust. And there are days it feels worn thin, when belief seems to flicker like a small flame fighting the wind. But even then, the Lord does not turn away from the honest soul.

He meets us in the gap — between what we know and what we struggle to hold, between the promise we cling to and the pain we cannot explain.

So today I do not want borrowed language or polished faith. I want the kind that tells the truth. The kind that sounds like the Psalms. The kind that dares to say, “I am afraid, and I am trusting. I am wounded, and I still believe You are good.”

There is something deeply sacred about refusing to hide from God. About bringing Him not the version of ourselves we wish we were, but the one that stands before Him now. And maybe that is where deeper faith begins. Not in certainty without struggle, but in honesty that keeps returning to His feet.

A frayed rope is still a rope. A trembling hand can still cling. A weary heart can still pray.

And the God who hears the broken whisper is still God.

[Darrell W. Pardy @Darrell_Pardy]

Reading Genesis 29:30–31; 30:22 the other day, I was struck by Leah and Rachel. Leah, though not the one Jacob wanted, was blessed with many children. Rachel seemed forgotten for a season—until she wasn��t. Those thoughts led me to write this short poem, While We Wait.

While We Wait
by Darrell Pardy

Some hearts are Leah hearts,
quietly breaking in rooms full of people,
learning how to carry sorrow
without letting it spill onto the floor.
They know what it is to be present and still overlooked,
to give and give and wonder
if being faithful will ever feel like being seen.

Some hearts are Rachel hearts,
deeply loved and yet still aching,
holding unanswered prayers
like stones worn smooth in the hand.
They know the pain of delay,
the weariness of longing,
the silent question that rises
when hope has had to wait longer than expected.

And most of us, if we are honest,
have been both.

We have been the one standing in the shadow,
and we have been the one staring at a closed door,
asking heaven for one more mercy,
one more sign,
one more reason to keep trusting.

But the God who watches has never been absent.
He is not distracted by louder voices.
He sees the hidden wound,
the private prayer,
the tear wiped away too quickly
for anyone else to notice.

He moves through the stories that seem unfair.
He does not waste the ache,
does not lose the cry,
does not forget the soul
that waits in the dark for morning.

So we keep walking.

Not because every answer has already come,
not because every burden has already lifted,
but because hope is still alive
even in the long night.
Because there is still purpose in the pain,
still mercy in the delay,
still a hand holding us
when life feels uneven.

And while we wait for all things to be made right,
we learn to lift our eyes higher than disappointment.
We learn that being unseen by people
is not the same as being forgotten by God.
We learn that delay is not abandonment.
We learn that even here, even now,
grace is quietly at work.

So let the hurting heart take courage.
Let the weary heart breathe.
Let the overlooked heart remember
that heaven has not passed it by.

The story is not finished.
The waiting is not empty.
And the God who sees,
the God who remembers,
the God who stays,
is still writing beauty
into lives that have known
both longing and love.

[Darrell W. Pardy @Darrell_Pardy]

@Dave_Eby And David you’re a fool too. Exchanging our largest democratic trading partner for a communist regime is insanity.

[Darrell W. Pardy @Darrell_Pardy]

@MarkJCarney Carney, you’re a fool to side step our largest democratic trading partner for a communist regime.

[Darrell W. Pardy @Darrell_Pardy]

@JimHansonDC @joeroganhq What a stupid thing to say about a man who has built businesses worth trillions. And is probably the leading innovator of our time.

[Darrell W. Pardy @Darrell_Pardy]

An Excerpt from Day 37: When Faithfulness Feels Invisible
The Scorecard You're Not Supposed to Keep
You've been measuring wrong your whole life.
Success by promotions. Impact by recognition. Worth by whether anyone notices. You give credit, tell the truth, show up with integrity—and watch people who do none of those things get the corner office while you stay exactly where you are.
The question isn't new. You've asked it a hundred times in a hundred different ways: What exactly is the return on invisible faithfulness?
Your small group leader says, "God sees." Your pastor says, "Store up treasure in heaven." Your grandmother says, "Keep your soul."
And you want to believe them. But the guy who lied is getting promoted Friday and you're eating lunch alone in your car wondering if any of this actually matters.
Here's what no one tells you about being salt: salt gets no credit for what it preserves. You don't taste the salt in good meat and think, Wow, that salt really did something here. You just notice the meat is still good. The salt dissolved weeks ago. Invisible. Gone. But doing exactly what it was made to do.
That's the math you're being invited into. Not the kind you learned in business school—where effort equals outcome and results are measurable and credit goes to whoever's name is on the project.
A different math entirely. Where invisible faithfulness counts.
Where integrity in rooms that will never thank you shapes the world. Where doing the right thing when no one's watching is seen by the only One who matters.
The question isn't Does invisible faithfulness pay? The question is: Do you trust that God sees what disappears into the good it does?

[Darrell W. Pardy @Darrell_Pardy]

@Wisdom_HQ Absolutely

[Darrell W. Pardy @Darrell_Pardy]

@MarcoFoster_ Trump should sue this guy.

[Darrell W. Pardy @Darrell_Pardy]

@LauraBabcock Why is she ready for war?

[Darrell W. Pardy @Darrell_Pardy]

@elonmusk If that is true, it is insane.

[Darrell W. Pardy @Darrell_Pardy]

@WallStreetMav There is a growing number that want out of Canada. I talk to Albertans daily andI won’t be surprised if a referendum to leave Canada takes place.

[Darrell W. Pardy @Darrell_Pardy]

@TrumpBarron_Q They should

[Darrell W. Pardy @Darrell_Pardy]

@WallStreetMav If a Canadian really thinks Trump
Is going to attack Canada, then they are stupid!

[Darrell W. Pardy @Darrell_Pardy]

@Real_RobN @DNIGabbard If the evidence supports it, they should be indicted and criminally charged. And then let a group of their peers determine if they are guilty or innocent.

[Darrell W. Pardy @Darrell_Pardy]

@WeAreCanProud It's a good day:)

[Darrell W. Pardy @Darrell_Pardy]

This morning, I hit day 27 of my new devotional book about faith and spoken words. It's my third pass on it and, every time I've read through it, I've ended realizing that I write for really one person - myself.

These devotionals are where I am right now in my faith and, to be completely transparent, more often than nought they bring me to tears. Probably because they are hitting the core of my being.

If it interests you, please take 15 minutes to read it, maybe it's what you need, or maybe it's not. God bless.

Day 27: The Atmosphere of Words

Scripture

"With the tongue we bless our Lord and Father, and with it we curse people who are made in the likeness of God. From the same mouth come blessing and cursing. My brothers, these things ought not to be so." — James 3:9–10
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When Everyone Braces

Dan walks into the kitchen where his wife is making dinner. His daughter Emma is doing homework at the table.

"Smells good," he says. Then adds: "Let me guess—chicken again? What is this, the fourth time this week?"

Sarah's jaw tightens. She doesn't respond.

Emma looks up, tenses, looks back down at her homework.

Dan doesn't notice. He opens the fridge. "Did anyone go to the store? We're out of everything. Again."

Sarah turns. "I went yesterday. You ate the last—"

"I'm just saying. If you want me to do the shopping, just say so. But then don't complain about what I buy."

The kitchen goes silent. Heavy. Everyone's shoulders have moved up half an inch.

Dan sits down, pulls out his phone. Doesn't see his wife's face.

Doesn't see Emma staring at her homework without reading it.

Doesn't feel the thickness in the air.

This is what dinner feels like in their house. Every night. And Dan has no idea he's the one making it this way.

You've been learning to speak to mountains—to storms, to lies, to division. Today's mountain is closer than you think: the atmosphere your words create. The climate people have to breathe when they're around you. And here's what you need to know: your words either fill rooms with grace or drain it out.
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When a Room Remembers What You Say

You've walked into rooms that feel different.

One house where people barely raise their voices, but sarcasm hangs like fog. No one's yelling, yet you brace yourself. Every story has a dig. Every compliment has a barb. You leave tired and smaller.

Another space where they tell truth without poison. They disagree without contempt. They pray like God is listening. You walk out breathing easier, somehow more aware of Jesus.

Same world. Different climate. Words did that.

You've been learning that words have power. That mountains move when you speak. But here's what's easy to miss: your words don't just shape individual moments. They shape the air people breathe around you.

What you say consistently becomes the atmosphere. And people can feel it the moment they walk in.
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Deep Dive — One Mouth, One Kingdom

James 3 doesn't flatter us. The tongue is tiny and terrifying: spark, rudder, fire. With it we bless God; with it we curse people made like God.

That tension is the point. You cannot coherently praise the Artist and trash His image-bearers without warping your own heart.
"From the same mouth come blessing and cursing. My brothers, these things ought not to be so."

This isn't about never being frustrated or honest. The Psalms groan, protest, plead. The issue is what you practice. What you normalize.
What accumulates.

Atmosphere is simply accumulation: what your words, over time, make normal.

If your steady tone is sarcasm, criticism, and complaint, you are training everyone around you to expect: no one is trustworthy, nothing is ever right, cynicism is wisdom. That's smog.

If your steady tone is honest but hopeful—naming what's wrong without dehumanizing, speaking truth with grace, blessing even when frustrated—you are training hearts toward: God is near, grace is possible, people are not disposable. That's incense.

Here's what this means practically:

When you bless God on Sunday but curse your spouse Monday through Saturday—that's contradiction. When you worship with raised hands but speak contempt over your kids—that's poisoning the well. When you pray "Come, Holy Spirit" but your words make it hard for anyone near you to expect Him—you're creating smog, not incense.

The mountain you're speaking to today is the atmosphere in your spaces. And you move that mountain not with one conversation, but with what comes out of your mouth consistently. Day after day. Sentence after sentence.

Do your words accumulate into grace? Or into something toxic?
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Reflection — When Your Wife Names It

Dan's at the dinner table. The kids eat in silence. Sarah barely touches her food.

After dinner, Emma disappears to her room. Their son Jake follows. Sarah starts cleaning up.

Dan scrolls his phone. Then says: "Why's everyone so quiet tonight?"

Sarah stops. Turns. "Are you serious?"

"What?"

"Dan, you walked in and immediately criticized the meal, the groceries, everything."

"I was just—"

"You do this every night. You walk in and find something wrong. With dinner. With me. With the kids. And then you wonder why no one wants to talk."

Dan feels defensive. "I wasn't criticizing. I was just making conversation."

"That's not conversation. That's... that's contempt. And it makes this whole house feel heavy."

Maybe someone needs to say this to you. Not to shame you. To wake you up. Your words—the constant sarcasm, the subtle digs, the chronic criticism—are creating an atmosphere. And people can't breathe in it.

Dan sits there. Wants to argue. But something in him knows she's right.

"I didn't realize..."

"I know. But the kids feel it. They tense up the moment you walk in. They don't share things with you anymore because they're waiting for the criticism."

When's the last time you asked: What does it feel like to be around me? What atmosphere have your words created? At home. At work. In your small group.

Because here's the hard truth: you might be the reason the room goes quiet. You might be the reason people brace themselves. You might be the mountain.

That night, Dan can't sleep. He thinks about what Sarah said. About how the kids tense when he walks in. About the silence at dinner.

And he realizes: his words have been creating this. Not one comment. Thousands of them. Years of sarcasm. Years of criticism disguised as humor. Years of finding what's wrong instead of what's right.

Maybe you're realizing this too. That the toxic atmosphere you've been complaining about—you're creating it. With your words. With what you say about your spouse, your kids, your church, your boss, yourself.

The mountain isn't out there. It's coming out of your mouth.

The next morning, Dan tries something different.

Sarah's making breakfast. Dan walks in. Opens his mouth to say something about the mess on the counter.

Stops. Takes a breath. Says instead: "Thanks for making breakfast."
Sarah looks up, surprised. "You're welcome."

Emma comes down. Dan's instinct is to comment on her outfit—too much makeup, skirt too short.

He stops. Says instead: "Morning, Em. How'd you sleep?"

She looks at him warily. "Fine."

It's awkward. The new words feel forced. But he keeps trying.

This is what it looks like to speak to the mountain of toxic atmosphere. Not with one dramatic conversation. With small daily choices. With catching the sarcastic comment before it leaves your mouth. With choosing building words instead of cutting ones.

What would it sound like for you to do this? At the dinner table. In the group chat. In your marriage. What if you caught the contempt before it became a sentence? What if you spoke grace instead of criticism?

Over the next days, Dan practices. It's hard. The sarcasm is his default. The criticism feels automatic.

But he starts catching it. Swapping it. Choosing different words.

When Sarah burns dinner: Instead of "Great, what are we eating now?" he says: "It happens. Want me to order pizza?"

When Jake forgets to take out the trash: Instead of "You never remember anything," he says: "Hey bud, trash needs to go out. Can you grab it?"

When Emma's on her phone too much: Instead of "All you do is stare at that thing," he says: "Em, can we have phone-free dinner tonight? I'd like to hear about your day."

Small shifts. Different words. The same mouth choosing grace instead of contempt.

And here's what happens: the atmosphere shifts.

Not immediately. Not perfectly. But Emma starts talking at dinner. Jake stops rushing to his room. Sarah's shoulders come down.

Because the mountain is moving. One sentence at a time.

Two weeks later, Emma says something Dan never expected.

"Dad, you're different."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know. You're just... nicer. It's easier to be around you."

Dan's eyes fill. Because he realizes: his words had been making it hard for his own daughter to be around him.

What are your words making hard? Trust? Vulnerability? Hope? Joy? Peace? What atmosphere have you created that's making it difficult for people to breathe around you?

And more importantly: what could shift if you started speaking differently?

The mountain of toxic atmosphere doesn't move with one apology. It moves with consistent, daily choices to speak grace instead of contempt. Blessing instead of cursing. Truth without poison.

Your mouth is either filling the room with incense or smog. Choose today which one it will be.
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Spirit Prayer

"Holy Spirit, show me the atmosphere my words create. Where my speech has poisoned my home, my church, my friendships, forgive me. Where I've blessed You and cursed Your image-bearers, cleanse my mouth. Teach me to speak truth without contempt. Let my words become incense, making it easier for people near me to believe You are good. Amen."
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Action Step — One Space, One Shift (5 minutes)

1) Name the atmosphere (2 minutes). In one space (home, work, group chat)—is your atmosphere grace or smog?

2) Catch one comment (2 minutes). Today, before you speak sarcasm or criticism, stop. Swap it for grace.

3) Notice the shift (1 minute). Watch how one different sentence changes the room.
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Faith Declaration

My words set the climate around me. In Jesus' name, I choose speech that gives grace, honors His image in people, and fills my spaces with faith instead of fog.
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Challenge — Incense, Not Smog

For the rest of this week, before you speak ask:

"Will this sentence release grace into the room—or drain it?"

If it drains grace, swallow it.

If it gives grace—even honest, weighty grace—speak it.
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Evening Check-In (2 minutes)

• Where did I notice the atmosphere today—heavy or hopeful?
• One moment I caught smog on my tongue and chose incense instead?
• What climate do I want my words to build tomorrow?

[Darrell W. Pardy @Darrell_Pardy]

@ZelenskyyUa @cafreeland Boi, have you been duped!