Tag: hope

  • Practice Life

    This morning, I was thinking about a conversation I had with my dad, several years ago. It was about the killing of a nurse in Buffalo. The alleged shooter, a surgeon, had served 18 years as a decorated special forces soldier. As we reflected on how tragic the situation was, my dad brought up another decorated soldier who in a maximum-security prison for a similar crime. Then he said something that stuck with me:

    “It’s sad because these men have been trained to kill and fight—but they have not been trained to live.”

    That statement hit me hard. And as I thought about it, I realized how much it applies to us as Christians. We are taught how to fight the enemy. We know how to resist the devil and make him flee. We put on the full armor of God and stand against the schemes of darkness. But do we know how to live?

    Yes, there are great sermons and teachings on family, relationships, and godly living. But listening to a message isn’t the same as training. A soldier isn’t prepared for battle just by watching videos or receiving instructions. He drills relentlessly. He disassembles and reassembles his weapon until it’s second nature. He practices marksmanship until he can hit his target every time. Training is what makes him effective.

    The same principle applies to living.

    According to Barna Research, conservative Protestant Christians have a higher divorce rate than many other religious groups, including Catholics and some mainline Protestants. Some studies also indicate that their divorce rate is comparable to or higher than that of atheists and agnostics. That statistic should make us pause. If we have so much teaching on marriage and family, why are we struggling so much? The research suggests that churches may not be providing truly life-changing, practical support for marriages. The issue isn’t just knowledge—it’s training.

    This isn’t about condemning those who are divorced. It’s about recognizing a critical gap. We don’t just need to know what to do; we need to practice how to do it.

    If you struggle with communication in your marriage, practice until you improve. Don’t give up just because you have a fight or get hurt. We must learn to live well, not just fight well. If apologizing is hard for you, practice until it becomes second nature. If serving others in love doesn’t come easily, train yourself to do it until it feels natural. A good attitude isn’t automatic—it’s a learned skill that takes discipline.

    When I look at Scripture, I see a pattern. Some of the greatest warriors, prophets, and kings knew how to fight—but they didn’t know how to live.

    • King David raised sons who fought and killed each other.

    • Solomon, despite his wisdom, had disastrous relationships, with 700 wives and 300 concubines.

    • Manasseh was one of the most wicked rulers in Israel’s history, even though his father, Hezekiah, was a godly king.

    • Samuel, a righteous prophet, had corrupt sons who took bribes and perverted justice.

    • Isaac’s sons, Jacob and Esau, were locked in bitter conflict.

    • Eli, the priest, had sons who defiled the temple and led Israel into sin.

    These men were strong in battle, but many failed in their homes. It’s a wake-up call.

    So, what will we do? Will we keep fighting without learning how to live? Or will we commit to training in the areas that matter most?

    As for me, I choose to practice until I get it right. I hope you will too.

  • The Friend Who Calls Us by Name

    Sitting in the living room of our temporary apartment, my husband napping on the couch beside me, I thought about how fast this mission trip had gone. We had spoken in different churches, Fred had taught in two Bible schools, and I had spoken at two ladies’ conferences. Fred had also checked on the orphanage. Along the way, we fellowshipped with dear friends—relationships forged over years of shared faith and ministry.

    Tonight, we’re having a final dinner at a friend’s home. I know what that means—more food than we could possibly eat. You know how it is when company comes over. You do your best and offer your most.

    And that made me think about Jesus having dinner at Zacchaeus’s house.

    You remember Zacchaeus, don’t you? The little guy who climbed the tree just to catch a glimpse of Jesus as He passed by? Jesus stopped, looked up, and called him by name.

    “Zacchaeus, hurry and come down, for today I must stay at your house.” (Luke 19:5, WEB)

    I can just picture him scrambling down the tree, splinters digging into his hands and feet—but I doubt he even noticed. Jesus knew his name. I imagine Zacchaeus, wide-eyed and breathless, stammering in disbelief:

    “Yes, yes, of course, Lord! You will have dinner at my house!”

    Then he was off, running as fast as his short legs could carry him, huffing and puffing toward home, clutching his side.

    “Rachel! Rachel!” I imagine him calling to his wife. “We have company tonight! Call the servants! Make a feast! Only the best! No, I don’t know how many are coming—I forgot to ask! Just cook everything we have!”

    The table would have been spread with fine tapestries, bowls heaped high with fruit, bread, and steaming grains. A roasted lamb in the center, ready to be carved. How many times had Zacchaeus hosted politicians and dignitaries at his table? Too many to count. But this time, everything was different.

    Jesus knew his name.

    Out of all the people in the crowd—tall men, powerful men, men with influence—Jesus looked up at the one who had been ignored, ridiculed, and dismissed. And He spoke his name.

    Friends know their friends’ names.

    “A friend loves at all times; and a brother is born for adversity.” (Proverbs 17:17, WEB)

    Jesus is that friend. The one who sticks closer than a brother (Proverbs 18:24). The elder brother who sees us, knows us, and calls us out of hiding.

    Zacchaeus didn’t need healing. He wasn’t blind or lame. He didn’t need loaves and fish multiplied. What he needed was recognition. He had spent his life feeling overlooked—until the most important man to ever walk his streets called him by name.

    In many ways, that’s how this mission trip has felt. Not just about preaching or teaching, but about seeing people. Fellowshiping. Speaking their names.

    Because sometimes, the greatest gift we can give is the same gift Jesus gave Zacchaeus—the simple but powerful reminder:

    “I see you. I know you. You are not forgotten. And I know your name!”