Father, Son & Holy Spirit are the origin of everything honest and real. You began there, in their image. They always see you honestly and love you as you really are. This is WHY you can believe and any change you need is possible. Come home to the Good Father’s house where you always belong and truly matter. See Luke 15.
The value that God has for freedom and liberty cannot be overstated. And yet that freedom is constantly threatened by those whose perspective has been twisted by distorted religion, by the ideology of dictators, and by the selfishness of the human heart. On this 250th anniversary of American independence, let us give thanks for freedom. A liberty that generations before us sacrificed to pass down so that we could steward an inheritance that so few have truly enjoyed.
“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.” Declaration of Independence, 1776
“Freedom is never more than one generation away from extinction. We didn’t pass it to our children in the bloodstream. It must be fought for, protected, and handed on for them to do the same.”
Ronald Reagan
“The trouble with Socialism is that eventually you run out of other people’s money.”
Margaret Thatcher
We have marketed the church instead of being the church. Churches as global brands are toppling as God takes us away from our brands and points us back to the Way.
I want to make this as plain as possible. There is no place in the Bible where God confronts, rebukes, or corrects any person (prophet, apostle, ordinary believer, or even a pagan) for overemphasizing, exaggerating, or proclaiming His goodness, mercy, love, grace, or kindness as being “too much.”
I’ve searched the Scriptures thoroughly, and you won’t find a single instance of God saying anything like, “You’re making Me sound too loving, too merciful, too good.”
Instead, the pattern we see over and over is exactly the opposite. God (and Jesus) repeatedly corrects people for underestimating His mercy, for being hard-hearted toward others who desperately need grace, or for trying to project their own small, limited ideas onto Him.
Think about Jonah. He was furious that God showed mercy to Nineveh. He sat outside the city and was angry because God was “too kind” in his eyes. But God didn’t rebuke Jonah for thinking He was overly compassionate. He gently corrected Jonah’s lack of compassion and his hard heart (Jonah 4).
Consider the older brother in the Prodigal Son parable (Luke 15). He was resentful and angry when the father threw a party for his wayward brother. The father (who represents God) never once rebuked the celebration of goodness and grace. He defended it.
Jesus repeatedly pushed back against the Pharisees for their hardness and lack of mercy. He told them, “I desire mercy, not sacrifice” (Matthew 9:13, 12:7). Their problem wasn’t that they made God sound too gracious. It was that they made Him too small and too stingy.
Even Paul, when he warned against a “different gospel,” was confronting those who were adding law and diminishing grace (Galatians 1). He never once warned against anyone who was magnifying grace too highly.
The consistent witness of Scripture is clear. God isn’t offended when we lean hard into His goodness. He’s grieved when we don’t. Proclaim His kindness without apology. If He ever tells me to dial it back, I’ll be sure and let you know. 
Bill Vanderbush
The Apostle John on Patmos beholds a new heaven and a new earth, where “the dwelling place of God is with man” and “death shall be no more” (Rev 21:3–4). This is not a marginal embellishment of Christian doctrine but its very heart. It is the promise that the Lamb who was slain will gather all things into himself, that the cruciform pattern of divine love will prove the final ontology of the cosmos.
Psalm 23:6 doesn’t merely say “goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.”
The Hebrew word רָדַף (radaph) means “pursue.”
It doesn’t just trail behind you. You’re being actively pursued by God’s goodness and mercy!
God’s reliability is not fragile like ours. Our weaknesses don’t force God to lower His standards or revoke His grace because doing so would mean denying His own faithful character. Instead, He remains steadfast, reconciling, preserving, and restoring us.
We either assume separation or we assume union. What we assume as a default produces the life and experience that flows from that assumption. Paul’s pervasive “in Christ” language (over 160 times in his letters) echoes Jesus’ own teaching on mutual indwelling. Union isn’t a goal to achieve, it’s the reality to live from. When we default to it, everything changes. Rest replaces striving, confidence replaces uncertainty, intimacy replaces distance.
The prodigal stayed away from his Father's house and endured pigpen poverty because he feared his actions had changed his identity from son to slave, only to return and find his fears had no basis in reality. Fear keeps us in a slave mentality and robs us of our very selves enjoying the Father’s house. The prodigal was always a son. You are always a son or daughter of God. Enjoy His house. Believe.
What about "repentance"?
Only love that cannot be changed by our behavior has the power to change our behavior.
Agreeing with God's unchangeable love for you is the most powerful form of repentance (metanoia - renewed mind) and empowers us to live free of all "pigpens" as the sons and daughters we always were.
Repentance is not just another bargaining tool in our negotiations with God to get a better deal on salvation, it is our response to God’s initiative of kindness toward us when we didn’t have a clue so that we may agree with what God already knows to be true about us in Christ (metanoia).
We don’t change God’s mind about us, He changes our mind about Him.
“In that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.”
—Romans 5:8, KJV
“…it is His kindness that leads us to repentance (metanoia).”
—Romans 2:4
“We love him because He first loved us.”
—1 John 4:19, KJV
“Now we know that the Son of God is come and has given us understanding, so that we may know Him who is true; and we are in Him who is true, in His Son Jesus Christ. He is the true God and eternal life.”
—1 John 5:20, Berean
“We look at it like this: if one died for all men then, in a sense, they all died, and his purpose in dying for them is that their lives should now be no longer lived for themselves but for him who died and rose again for them…
…God was in Christ personally reconciling the world to himself—not counting their sins against them—and has commissioned us with the message of reconciliation.”
—22 Cor. 5:14-19, Phillips
“The deepest level of communication is not communication, but communion. It is wordless. It is beyond words. It is beyond speech, and it is beyond concept. Not that we discover a new unity. We discover an older unity. My dear brothers, we are already one. But we imagine that we are not. And what we have to recover is our original unity. What we have to be is what we are."
—Thomas Merton, via @TheNewMystics
“In dying on the Cross, Christ manifested the holiness of God in apparent contradiction with itself. But in reality this manifestation was the complete denial and rejection of all human ideas of holiness and perfection. The wisdom of God became folly to men, His power manifested itself as weakness, and His holiness was, in their eyes, unholy.”
—Thomas Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation
Sickness is not normal. Wholeness is normal. Miracles are normal. Provision is normal.
There is an adversary that seeks to steal, kill, and destroy. So when you experience death, loss, and destruction, that’s NOT GOD!!!
Anything that’s not God, you are given the authority to oppose.
Just live in obedience to the will and voice of God. That’s the biggest key to walking in miracles.
Deconstruction, in its rawest form, is easy.
It requires no apprenticeship. It only needs frustration and a target. Reconstruction, however, is carpentry for the soul. It demands calloused knees, a steady hand, and the humility to measure twice before you cut. When you deconstruct with the intent to rebuild, the process changes. You don’t demolish the load-bearing beams just because they’re scarred. You test them. You ask, “Does this still carry weight? Does it point me to Christ or merely to nostalgia?”
Deconstruction without reconstruction is spiritual arson. You burn the house down, walk away, and call it freedom. But winter comes, and you’re left shivering in the charred foundation.
Reconstruction is slower, messier, humbler. You salvage nails bent by bad theology and straighten them for new beams. You invite carpenters older and wiser (Paul, Athanasius, Basil, Julian, Maximus, Clement, Guyon) who know the process. You pray the Psalms while you work, because vulnerable lament and honest praise both belong in the blueprint.
When the sawdust settles, what remains is something timeless and something deeply personal.
The timeless is the Gospel stripped down to Jesus, crucified and risen, offering grace to enemies and friends alike. It’s communion shared across denominations because the table is bigger than our tribes.