allison elaine writes

Your Longing Has a Name

February 14, 2026

There is a longing inside every one of us.

We try to fill it with day-to-day things—relationships, work, accomplishments, comfort, distraction. And for a time, those things satisfy. They give moments of happiness, relief, or stability.

But their satisfaction is temporary.

When the pains of this world surface—loss, disappointment, trauma, unmet expectations—the happiness fades. What once felt sustaining begins to feel thin. And we’re left with a sense of lack that circumstances alone can’t explain.

It’s often in that space that a deeper longing emerges—the longing to be healed.

“Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you in turmoil within me?”
— Psalm 42:5

The Tools—and Their Limits

There are many tools available to help us heal, and I genuinely believe God has given us many of them as part of the equation. Counseling. Community. Education. Medication. Boundaries. Self-awareness. Trauma-informed care.

These tools matter. They can be incredibly helpful and, at times, life-giving. I’ve seen them support real growth and relief in countless lives—including my own.

But healing is still a journey.

And while these tools can help us understand our pain, manage symptoms, and move forward, they cannot fully heal what is broken at the deepest level of our being.

They bring support—but not transformation.
Relief—but not restoration.

“I will give you a new heart, and a new spirit I will put within you. And I will remove the heart of stone from your flesh and give you a heart of flesh.”
— Ezekiel 36:26

This is the difference.

Tools can assist.
But only God can regenerate.

Tools can inform the mind.
But only Christ can remake the heart.

A Shelter Unlike Anything Else

What if—no matter what you’ve been through or what you’re currently facing—you could experience peace that doesn’t disappear when circumstances change?

What if joy didn’t depend on everything going well?

What if you had strength to endure suffering while feeling sheltered, protected, and deeply cared for?

This is what a daily, surrendered walk with Jesus offers.

When we turn our lives over to Christ—dying to ourselves and being regenerated through the power of the Holy Spirit—we enter a refuge unlike anything else. Hardship doesn’t vanish, but we are no longer exposed and striving. We are held.

“The Lord is my strength and my shield; in him my heart trusts, and I am helped.”
— Psalm 28:7

This is not temporary relief.
This is transformation.

Why Do We Resist What We Know Is There?

I often wonder why so many people—especially those who know this kind of life exists—resist leaning fully into it.

Why do we keep running like hamsters on a wheel, cycling through tool after tool, hoping the next one will finally make us feel whole?

Is it pride—our desire to remain in control?
Is it pain—the fear of surrendering what has already hurt us?
Is it timing—the belief that we’ll turn to God later, when things are calmer or clearer?

Often, it’s not unbelief.
It’s self-protection.

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding.”
— Proverbs 3:5

My Own Resistance—and God’s Grace

For me, it wasn’t readiness that led me to Jesus.

In my own flesh, I never would have surrendered my life to Him. I was stubborn. I was rebellious. I wanted control.

It took an encounter with the Holy Spirit to soften what I never would have given up on my own.

And in the kindness of God, the very traits that once resisted Him—my stubbornness, my intensity—are now things He uses for His glory. What once pushed against surrender has become an anchor in my faith. What once fueled rebellion now fuels a deep love and longing for Him.

“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come.”
— 2 Corinthians 5:17

This is the power of regeneration.
This is what only God can do.

The Longing Has a Name

The longing we feel was never meant to be filled by the things of this world. They were never designed to carry that weight.

The ache for healing, safety, peace, and belonging points beyond tools, strategies, and self-effort. It points us toward something eternal—toward Someone.

“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”
— Matthew 11:28

When we stop running—when we finally surrender—we discover that the longing itself wasn’t the problem.

It was the invitation.

A Gentle Invitation

If you’ve been doing all the “right things” but still feel empty…
If the tools have helped but haven’t healed…
If you’re tired of striving and managing and holding it all together…

You don’t need another solution.
You need a Savior.

Not a one-time decision, but a daily surrender. A life continually placed in His hands.

“Whoever believes in me, as the Scripture has said, ‘Out of his heart will flow rivers of living water.’”
— John 7:38

The longing you feel is not a failure.

It’s a holy sign pointing you home.
Finding Balance in the Pendulum of Life’s Hardships

February 13, 2026

One thing is certain in life: you don’t get to skip through the daisies without difficulty. Hardship is unavoidable. And honestly—how strange would life be if it weren’t?

In many narratives we consume, hardship is framed as the defining moment of a person’s life. Whether it’s death, violence, abuse, childhood trauma, or loss, suffering can become the primary lens through which a character is understood—rather than one part of a broader story.

For many years, society lived on one extreme. Abuse and dysfunction were rarely discussed. People powered through, kept quiet, and survived.

Then, as humans so often do, the pendulum swung.

Now trauma has become central to identity. Life is filtered almost entirely through what happened. Pain is revisited repeatedly. Sometimes it becomes the explanation for everything.

But Scripture shows us something different.

We are never told to deny suffering. In fact, we are invited to bring it into the light.

“The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.” — Psalm 34:18

God does not dismiss pain. He draws near to it.

And yet, we are also not told to build our identity on suffering.

“We rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope.” — Romans 5:3–4

Notice the movement. Suffering is not minimized—but it is not the final destination either. It produces something. It shapes something. It moves somewhere.

That middle ground is where healing actually happens. It’s where we make space for grief without being ruled by it. It’s where we acknowledge trauma and also believe in the brain and body’s God-designed capacity to heal and adapt. It’s where we utilize counseling, community, and practical tools—and we also lay our pain before the Lord.

“Casting all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you.” — 1 Peter 5:7

We serve a big-picture God. Walking like Jesus requires us to lift our eyes beyond what has wounded us and see our story within His greater redemptive plan.

There is a difference between honoring your story and being trapped in it.

When hardship becomes the only lens through which we see ourselves, it begins to dictate our reactions, our relationships, and our future. But when hardship is surrendered to God, processed in safe community, and integrated into a larger story of redemption, it no longer defines us—it refines us.

“And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good.” — Romans 8:28

“All things” includes the parts we would never choose.

How you frame your hardship matters. If you deny it, it will surface in unhealthy ways. If you cling to it as your identity, it will keep you stuck. But if you bring it to God, process it wisely, and allow Him to shape you through it, it can become part of your growth rather than the cage that confines you.

The trajectory of your life is not determined solely by what happened to you. It is shaped by how you carry it forward—and who you entrust it to.

Reflection

Take a moment to consider:
Where does the pendulum sit in your life right now?

Have you minimized your pain in the name of strength?
Or have you allowed it to become the primary lens through which you see yourself and others?

What would it look like to move toward the middle — to acknowledge your story without being defined by it?

Healing is not found in denial.
But it is also not found in staying anchored to what hurt you.

It is found in surrender, wisdom, and steady steps forward.
He Is the Reward

February 6, 2026

Listening for God in Stillness, Scripture, and Simple Obedience

I am deeply aware of my desperate need for Jesus—every moment of every day. By God’s grace, my faith journey has grown into one of continual, conscious contact with Him. When something frustrates me, I talk to God about it. When something is good, I praise Him for it. And in the small, ordinary details of life, His presence and His love are real and tangible.

I am profoundly grateful to have reached a place in my walk with Christ where I understand this truth: He is the greatest reward.
Nothing that can be attained on this side of eternity compares to His goodness or His glory.

“Whom have I in heaven but You? And there is nothing on earth I desire besides You.” — Psalm 73:25

Most days, this connection with God happens moment by moment as I move through life. But there are times when I intentionally set everything aside—not to speak, but to listen.

Creating Space to Hear From the Lord

What I’m about to describe is not a formula or a guarantee. It is my intent—my posture before the Lord. A way of coming to Him with expectancy, humility, and reverence.

I intentionally go into a space without distractions. I open the Word of God and read a verse slowly and intentionally. Then I pray through that verse—asking the Holy Spirit to produce in me whatever the Scripture reveals.

If the verse speaks of a godly attribute, I ask Him to grow that in me.
If it speaks of endurance or hardship, I praise Him even there.
If it reveals His character, I worship Him for who He is.

“Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.” — Psalm 119:105

From there, I pray intentionally through the primary people in my life—bringing each one before the throne of God. I pray for them to experience Him for His glory and lift up any needs or circumstances I know they are walking through.

Then I get quiet.

When God Speaks

Often, it is in that stillness that something remarkable happens. God begins to bring people to mind—needs I wasn’t thinking about, situations I didn’t know about. I begin to intercede for them.

And when the Lord speaks in these moments, there is no confusion. The thoughts are not my own. They do not originate from my imagination or internal dialogue. They are clearly from Him—clearly from above.

There is a weight to His presence.
A clarity to His voice.
And a peace that accompanies it.

“My sheep hear My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me.” — John 10:27

There have been times when God revealed needs in someone’s life that I had no prior knowledge of. Later, I would find out that what He showed me was exactly what they were walking through. Sometimes, He even shows me how He wants to use me in someone else’s journey.

Passing It On

One time in particular, after a moment like this with the Lord, He spoke very clearly to me: “Tell your son how to do this.”

So when my time with the Lord ended, I did exactly that.

My son wanted to try it immediately. He went into a room by himself and spent time praying, praying through Scripture, and praying for the people he loves.

When he came out, I asked him how it went.

He told me that after praying and sitting with God’s Word, the Lord spoke to him and told him that he needed to spend more time with Him. Then he shared a detail that deeply moved me: he had been on his knees praying, and when his knees began to hurt, he got up. That was when the Lord told him that he needed to pray specifically for the sick and the wounded.

I loved how personal his experience was.
I loved how clear it was that the Lord was speaking to him.
And I loved that it flowed from simple obedience and stillness.

“Be still, and know that I am God.” — Psalm 46:10

An Invitation

If you desire to hear from the Lord, I want to encourage you to give this a try—not as a formula, but as a posture of listening and obedience.

Create space.
Open the Word.
Pray through it.
Intercede for others.
And then get quiet.

God still speaks. And when He does, His voice carries clarity, authority, and peace.

“Call to Me and I will answer you, and tell you great and hidden things that you have not known.” — Jeremiah 33:3

If you’ve experienced a time when the Lord spoke to you clearly, I’d love to hear about it. Consider sharing your story—because sometimes God confirms His voice in us through the testimony of His work in others.
When Our Eyes Drift from the Kingdom

January 26, 2026

As I continue to see discord and division among God’s people, it grieves my heart—because I know it grieves our Father’s heart. Scripture tells us that we are to “live at peace with everyone, as far as it depends on us” (Romans 12:18).

I’m not writing this to point a finger at any specific brother or sister in Christ, but rather to call all of us—myself included—back to God’s standards for our lives.

I have found myself, at times, with my eyes fixed on the things of this world, even while knowing that I am called to seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness (Matthew 6:33). That tension led me back to Scripture, and I wanted to share what the Lord impressed on my heart.

In Colossians 3:1–2, we are reminded:

“If then you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth.”

This does not mean that earthly evil should be ignored. Scripture clearly calls us to pray, to intercede, and to spur one another on toward love and good deeds. We are not called to apathy or silence. But we are called to guard where our hearts, minds, and energy are most invested.

Our primary focus—our fixation, our identity, and our hope—must remain anchored in the kingdom of God, not the chaos of the world.

As I continued reading, I was reminded that there are many places in God’s Word that call us to care deeply about justice. One of the clearest is Micah 6:8:

“He has told you, O man, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God?”

Justice matters because it matters to God.
But that same verse places firm guardrails around how we pursue it.

We are called not only to do justice, but also to love mercy and to walk humbly. Those words leave little room for self-righteousness, hostility, or the kind of political posturing that inflames or fractures the body of Christ. Justice that is divorced from mercy and humility is no longer biblical justice.

So the question I found myself asking—and the question I want to gently ask my brothers and sisters in Christ—is this:

When we see what we believe is injustice, will we spend more time talking to God… or more time arguing with His people on social media?

A Call to Action

Before we speak, post, debate, or defend our perspective, let us pause and ask an honest question:

Is this drawing me closer to Christ and His kingdom—or entangling me further in things that were never meant to hold my heart?

Scripture reminds us that even the smallest actions of our lives are meant to reflect a greater purpose:

“So, whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God.”
— 1 Corinthians 10:31 (ESV)

It also offers this sobering reminder:

“No soldier gets entangled in civilian pursuits, since his aim is to please the one who enlisted him.”
— 2 Timothy 2:4 (ESV)

My encouragement—to myself first and then to my brothers and sisters in Christ—is this:
Pray over these verses. Sit with them. Ask the Lord what obedience looks like for you in this season. Ask Him where your attention has drifted, where your peace has been disrupted, and where He may be calling you to realign your focus—not for the sake of silence, but for the sake of faithfulness.

May our aim not be to win arguments, but to please the One who has called us, redeemed us, and sent us as ambassadors of His kingdom—and may we each take time to examine where our attention, energy, and allegiance are most invested, allowing the Lord to realign them as He sees fit.where our attention, energy, and allegiance are most invested, allowing the Lord to realign them as He sees fit.
It’s You — You’re the Problem.

January 15, 2026

And Why That’s Actually Good News

I know that sounds bold, but stay with me.

Every day brings opportunities to be annoyed, irritated, or offended. Something won’t go the way you expect. Someone will say the wrong thing. A situation will feel unfair or uncomfortable. And before we even realize it, we’re reacting—internally or externally—often convinced the problem lives outside of us.

But the world was never designed to protect our comfort.

This isn’t about shame or self-condemnation. It’s about ownership. While we can’t control what happens around us, we can take responsibility for how we respond. And that responsibility is where freedom begins.

Scripture tells us that hardship produces something in us when we endure it faithfully (James 1:2–4). Difficulty doesn’t just test our circumstances—it exposes what’s happening beneath the surface. It reveals the places where we’re still reactive, guarded, or operating from unhealed wounds. Growth doesn’t come from avoiding discomfort; it comes from allowing God to meet us in it.

In my own journey, the Lord has done significant work renewing my heart and mind. Along the way, He also led me toward practical tools that supported that healing. One of those has been brainspotting—a therapeutic approach that helps the brain and nervous system reprocess experiences that still trigger present-day reactions.

As the saying goes, “If it’s hysterical, it’s historical.” In other words, when our emotional response feels bigger than the moment calls for, it often points to an unresolved wound from the past rather than the present situation itself. These reactions aren’t something to dismiss or shame—they’re invitations to slow down, get curious, and allow God to bring healing to places that still carry pain.

As I sought the Lord—paired with nervous system work, grounding practices, and honest self-awareness—I noticed something shift. My reactions softened. The constant internal agitation quieted. My focus moved from managing the world around me to getting out of God’s way, allowing His presence—not my defensiveness—to lead.

I’m not saying I never feel irritation or frustration. I’m saying I’m no longer ruled by it.

There is real freedom when we stop asking, “Why is this happening to me?” and start asking, “What is this revealing in me?”

I have a friend whose family uses a simple phrase when they realize they’re the central issue in a situation. Instead of deflecting or doubling down, they pause and say, “It’s me. I’m the problem.” Not with shame—just honesty. Every time I hear it, I’m reminded how much freedom lives on the other side of ownership.

Call to Action

The next time you feel irritated, offended, or reactive, pause before responding. Ask the Lord what’s being exposed—not to condemn you, but to heal you. Pay attention to patterns. Invite God into both your spiritual formation and your emotional awareness.

Freedom often begins the moment we stop defending our reactions and start surrendering them.
When Helping Becomes Hindering

January 14, 2026

How Good Intentions Can Undermine Growth

I was about ten years into working in the helping profession at the time. I was working at a domestic violence shelter serving individuals who had experienced trafficking and domestic abuse. It was a 24-hour crisis shelter, and the work was intense, sacred, and heavy all at once.

At that point, there was rising tension within the organization. Leadership dysfunction had begun to seep into every layer of the workplace. You could feel it among the staff — frustration, exhaustion, disconnection. And unfortunately, that dysfunction didn’t stay contained. It had a very real impact on the clients we were serving.

Many mornings when I arrived for my shift, I would immediately find myself de-escalating emotional crises with one or two clients before I even set my bag down. Trauma doesn’t pause for staffing issues, and the clients felt the instability even if they couldn’t name it — layered onto lives they were already trying to piece back together.

One particular day, we gathered for an all-staff meeting to discuss multiple clients and their needs. As we worked our way through the agenda, we came to a specific client.

That’s when another case manager spoke up.

She turned toward me and asked,
“Did you ever make the housing calls for her?”

The tone wasn’t collaborative — it was corrective, as if the question itself was meant to expose a failure.

By that point in my career, it was immediately clear that she and I were approaching this client from very different perspectives.

I responded calmly.

“She has spent years being told that she can’t do things — years being controlled by her abuser. Why would I do for her what she is capable of doing herself? I want her to learn that she can take action. That she is capable.”

I went on to explain that I had offered to sit with her while she made the calls, to support her through the process, and that I had been encouraging forward progress in our weekly meetings.

There was no response.

The meeting simply moved on.

But for me, that moment landed deeply. It marked something significant in my career.
In the silence, it became clear that we weren’t just disagreeing on a task — we were operating from fundamentally different beliefs about what helps people heal.

I realized that because of both my professional experience and my personal journey, I was offering something different than some of the other service providers. I wasn’t just focused on task completion or checking boxes. I was deeply committed to helping individuals rediscover their own capacity — the belief that they could think, decide, act, and move forward on their own.

That belief is not passive. It is a powerful tool for growth.

For survivors of abuse, empowerment doesn’t come from being rescued again. It comes from rebuilding confidence, autonomy, and agency — skills required for life beyond crisis.

Sometimes, what looks like help is actually hindering growth.

Sometimes, the most loving thing we can do is not to step in and take over, but to walk alongside someone as they learn to stand again.

A Challenge for Us All

Here’s the challenge I want to leave you with:

Where in your life — or in your work — might you be doing for others what they are capable of doing themselves?

Not because you’re unkind, but because it feels faster, cleaner, or more comfortable — and perhaps because it protects your sense of control more than it serves their long-term growth.

And on the other side of that, where might God be inviting you to step into your own capacity, instead of waiting for someone else to do it for you?

Growth often happens in the space where support and responsibility meet. That space can feel uncomfortable — but it’s also where confidence is built, dignity is restored, and lasting change begins.
Revelation and Regulation: When Scripture and Science Agree

January 9, 2026

Control issues were once a driving force in my life—and still, at times, they can creep back in if I’m not attentive to what’s happening within me. Let me explain.

Not always in ways that were obvious to others, but in ways that were deeply exhausting to me. I found myself increasingly annoyed by the world around me—why someone would do something a certain way, how they would do it, or why everyday situations felt unnecessarily frustrating. I nitpicked, analyzed, and internally bristled at things that shouldn’t have carried so much weight.

What frustrated me most was that I knew better—and yet I kept finding myself in the same patterns.

Over time, the Lord began to give me perspective. Eventually, He gave me revelation that aligned beautifully with what science now confirms.

I began to notice something important: I had lived through similar circumstances at different points in my life, yet I responded to them very differently. The common denominator was never the situation—it was me.

When I was spending intentional time with the Lord—being filled with Scripture, anchored in truth, and emotionally regulated—situations would roll off my back. I could move through my day with steadiness and remain rooted in the joy of the Lord. But during seasons when I was less intentional about reading and living out the Word, a clear pattern emerged: internal chaos, internal dysregulation, and then external frustration spilling into the world around me.

Unfortunately, that spillover most often affected the people I loved the most.

What neuroscience calls emotional and nervous system regulation, Scripture has always described as guarding the heart. Science shows that when we are internally regulated, our reactivity decreases—not because we are trying harder, but because our nervous system is no longer operating from threat. Scripture says the same thing in a different language: everything we do flows from the heart.

That realization brought another layer of conviction.

The Bible calls our enemy the accuser. And as I reflected honestly, I recognized how my struggle with control had quietly turned me into one as well—picking apart motives, actions, and outcomes. God builds us up. He reminds us of our identity in Him. He speaks truth, life, and restoration. Yet in my dysregulated moments, I was participating—often unintentionally—in the very work Scripture warns us about.

That realization didn’t bring shame.
It brought clarity.

Because God does not expose to condemn—He reveals to heal.

A Gentle Invitation

So here’s the question I now ask myself—and one I’ll gently offer to you as well:

What is happening inside of me that my behavior is trying to manage?

Instead of immediately correcting behavior—mine or someone else’s—I’ve learned to pause and tend to the heart. To ask whether exhaustion, fear, overwhelm, or disconnection might be beneath the reaction. To return to the Word not as a task, but as nourishment. To allow the Lord to regulate what I cannot willpower into place.

Formation doesn’t begin with control.
It begins with honesty, surrender, and being filled with truth.

A Prayer

Lord, teach me to tend to my heart before I try to manage my behavior.
Help me recognize when control is rising from unrest rather than trust.
Fill me with Your truth, anchor me in Your Word, and regulate what feels chaotic within me.
May my responses reflect Your peace, my words reflect Your grace,
and my life reflect the identity You have given me.

Amen.

Formation begins where accusation ends.
And regulation—both spiritual and emotional—begins when we allow ourselves to be filled by truth rather than driven by unrest.
January 3

January 7, 2026

Blessed Be the Name of the Lord

Thankfully, I went to bed early on New Year’s Day. With the anticipation of one of my closest friends getting married at sunrise on January 2, the night that followed was restless and light.

After a false alarm call at my home in Phoenix, I had finally fallen asleep—only to be woken five or ten minutes later by a call from my daughter.

In that moment, I felt gratitude more than anything else. I’m thankful that I am the person she calls in the middle of the night for support and guidance.

We talked through how many breaths per minute my granddaughter was taking. I FaceTimed with them and could see that her breathing was labored. My daughter made the decision to take her to the hospital.

Before going further, I need to pause.

January 3, 2009 was the day my youngest daughter, Caroleen, died from a lung infection at Phoenix Children’s Hospital.

Seventeen years later—to the exact date—I found myself walking with my daughter as her own child was being admitted for breathing issues.

By the grace of God, I am living in a regulated body. I have walked with the Lord for twenty-one years and have committed myself to daily, moment-by-moment healing and growth. God knows how I am wired—how deeply I love, how fiercely I show up for the people He has entrusted to me.

Instead of spiraling into fear at the parallels in front of me, I stepped into love and support. I stayed present. I stayed grounded. I knew this was a redemptive moment the Lord was giving me as a gift.

And I knew—deep in my spirit—that my granddaughter was going to be okay. I had already imagined the moment we would be released from the hospital.

I was an hour away and couldn’t be there for the beginning of what my daughter had to navigate. My granddaughter did spend a short time in the ICU on heavy oxygen at Phoenix Children’s Hospital.

After attending the beautiful sunrise wedding, I headed back to the valley as soon as I could. By the time I arrived, my sweet grandbaby was already on room air—and she was very clear that she did not want her Bama going anywhere.

She was happy to see me. I got to spend quiet, sacred time with her and my daughter. That night, we all finally rested. I stayed until she fell asleep because she insisted.

The next morning, I returned before they woke up. When she saw me, her face lit up.

We spent the morning waiting for the doctor to come in and officially release her from the hospital. And then—just like that—we walked out with my granddaughter riding triumphantly in a unicorn chariot, pushed by a hospital assistant down the hallway.

The same hospital.
The same date.
A completely different ending.

When I got into my car, I took a moment to sit in the stillness. I turned on the radio and listened to the same song that had been playing when I left that hospital seventeen years earlier.

The song had been released by Steven Curtis Chapman after the loss of his daughter. Even then, we recognized the sovereignty of God—down to the song playing in that exact moment.

You’re the King of kings
And Lord of lords
And it’s all Yours, God
Everything is Yours.

I also listened to Blessed Be the Name of the Lord—the very first song I heard when I returned to church the Sunday after Caroleen died.

When the darkness closes in, Lord
Still I will say
Blessed be the name of the Lord.

God’s love, care, control, peace, comfort, and strength have carried me through life—even through its deepest hardships.

“The Lord is my strength and my shield;
my heart trusts in Him, and I am helped;
my heart exults,
and with my song I give thanks to Him.”
Psalm 28:7

And on this January 3, joy looked like redemption.
There Is No Such Thing as “Good People”

January 2, 2026
(And How That Truth Leads to True Freedom and Hope)

For nearly eighteen years, I had been walking with Jesus—aware of my need for Him, grateful for His grace, and continually learning what it means to depend on Him rather than myself.

Then one conversation shifted something deep in me.

I was talking with a very close friend about her husband’s infidelity and his ongoing struggle with drug and alcohol addiction. This was not a new conversation. I had seen her heart broken many times. I had prayed with her, supported her, and encouraged her as she continued to fight for her marriage and to follow what God was leading her to do, even when it came at great personal cost.

In the middle of our conversation, she said something so human and so understandable:

“But he really is a good person.”

What came out of my mouth next wasn’t planned. It didn’t feel like my own thought. It simply came out:

“There is no such thing as good people. We all absolutely need Jesus.”

I wasn’t trying to correct her.
I wasn’t trying to judge her husband.
And I certainly wasn’t trying to minimize her pain.

But in that moment, the Holy Spirit began to connect Scripture in a way I had never fully articulated before.

What Do We Mean When We Say “Good”?

Jesus Himself says:

“Why do you call Me good? No one is good except God alone.”
— Mark 10:18

That statement alone dismantles the idea that human goodness is something we possess apart from God.

Isaiah echoes this truth with sobering clarity:

“All of us have become like one who is unclean,
and all our righteous acts are like filthy rags.”
— Isaiah 64:6

Even our best efforts, our most disciplined attempts at righteousness, fall short when measured against God’s holiness.

Why?

Because so often—even when we don’t realize it—our actions are motivated by self-gain: approval, fear, control, image, reputation, or self-preservation.

That doesn’t mean people can’t do kind things.
It means true goodness has a source, and that source is not us.

The War Inside Us All

Paul articulates what every honest believer recognizes:

“For I do not do the good I want to do, but the evil I do not want to do—this I keep on doing.”
— Romans 7:19

This isn’t the confession of an unbeliever.
This is the cry of someone who knows the law, loves God, and still recognizes his inability to overcome sin by sheer willpower.

Paul isn’t excusing sin.
He’s exposing the truth:

We cannot transform ourselves.

Good Actions vs. God-Led Change

This is where the distinction matters.

There is a difference between:
- behavior modification and heart transformation
- self-effort and Spirit-led obedience
- temporary change and lasting fruit
Scripture is clear:

“There is no one righteous, not even one.”
— Romans 3:10

And yet, in the same breath, Scripture gives us hope:

“I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me.”
— Galatians 2:20

The only true good we see in this world flows from the Holy Spirit working through surrendered lives.

A Freedom I Didn’t Know I Needed

That revelation didn’t just change how I viewed others—it changed how I viewed myself.

There was a new freedom in fully understanding that my effort is not what ultimately makes me “good.” It lifted a subtle burden I didn’t even realize I was carrying—the pressure to produce righteousness through discipline, resolve, or striving.

Instead, it became a daily reminder of how deeply I need to seek God:
- for growth
- for change
- for wisdom
- and for the moment-by-moment actions required to love and serve the world around me well
Goodness is not something I manufacture.
It is something I receive and surrender to.

“It is God who works in you to will and to act in order to fulfill His good purpose.”
— Philippians 2:13

Why This Truth Brought Comfort, Not Condemnation

As our conversation continued, my friend—who is herself a woman of God—recognized that this truth aligned completely with Scripture. She understood that my words were not an indictment of her husband’s worth, but an invitation to deeper prayer.

My goal was never to label him as “bad.”
My goal was to point toward the only source of genuine change.

Because if change is rooted in self-gain, it will eventually collapse.
But if change is rooted in surrender to Christ, it produces fruit that lasts.

“Apart from Me you can do nothing.”
— John 15:5

That verse is not meant to shame us.
It is meant to free us.

Why This Is Actually Good News

If goodness depended on us, we would all be disqualified.

But because goodness flows from Christ:
- there is hope for the addicted
- there is hope for the unfaithful
- there is hope for the weary spouse
- there is hope for all of us
True goodness is not something we achieve.
It is the fruit of a life surrendered to Jesus.

And every single one of us stands in the same place:

In desperate need of Him.
Someone You Don’t Know Yet

January 2, 2026

One of the most memorable clients of my career was someone I met early in my work within Arizona’s state behavioral health system, serving individuals living with serious mental illness diagnoses.

That’s when I was introduced to LT.

He was a large man with long hair pulled back into a ponytail. He was homeless at the time, malodorous, and carried the unmistakable smell of sour laundry. He presented as gruff, irritated, and deeply annoyed with the world around him.

But it didn’t take long to see past that.

Even on days when he came into the center visibly grumpy, the moment he saw me, his face would soften. He’d smile, stand up, and come over to give me a hug. I helped him secure housing—a low-cost room in a large assisted living facility—and although I worked alongside another case manager, LT chose to talk to me about the details of his life.

Once he was housed, he called me every day. Not because there was a crisis, but for one specific reason—to tell me that he had stayed sober that day. He wasn’t interested in sharing that with anyone else. It mattered that I knew. Every day, I encouraged him, told him how proud I was of him, and how grateful I was that he trusted me enough to share that with me.

There were several moments with LT that have stayed with me. During a group one day, he suddenly spoke up and said, “You know what a normal person is, right? Someone you don’t know yet.” It stopped the room. And he was right.

Another moment was far more tender. LT disclosed to me that he had experienced childhood sexual abuse—something he had never told anyone before and said he would never tell anyone else. I encouraged him to seek counseling and additional support, but he declined. Still, I was profoundly grateful that, for that season of his life, I had been a safe place for him to speak that truth aloud.

He also once said to me, “A lot of people talk about finding God. I never lost Him.”

Others often saw LT as grumpy and unfriendly. I saw something very different. Over the ten months I worked with him, I saw kindness, humility, humor, and faith—often hidden beneath years of pain and survival. It brings to mind a line from Brené Brown: “People are hard to hate close up. Move in.”

One afternoon, as I was finishing my documentation, my phone rang. It was LT’s other case manager, calling to tell me that he had died. He had fallen in the shower, and from what I remember, his ribs punctured an internal organ.

It was a hard day. One that still stays with me.

LT is someone I will always carry with me. I am deeply grateful that I was able to know him—not just as a client, but as a human being—and that before he died, he had at least one place where he was seen, safe, and known.

If there is anything LT taught me, it’s this: people are not problems to be managed, diagnoses to be reduced, or behaviors to be tolerated from a distance. They are human beings, shaped by stories we may never fully know. Loving others—especially those who are difficult, guarded, or inconvenient—requires that we move in close enough to see them clearly.

So here is the invitation: move in.
Every “difficult” person is just someone you don’t know yet.
Lean toward the person who is easy to dismiss.
Stay present with the one who makes you uncomfortable.
Choose curiosity over judgment and proximity over distance.

Because love is not passive. It is practiced. And sometimes, the most life-changing thing we can offer someone is simply the decision to see them.