This is one of them.

“You have growed up in a whole different world of things than we did. Just think the good things you have. Running water and a bathroom. Flip a switch and a light will come on. Electricity. Heat. Wonder we hadn’t froze.”
— Grandma Pauline

Wood Dairy and Sons is what provided for my upbringing.

My daddy milked cows twice a day with my uncle and Paw Paw. Twice. A. Day. There were no days off, no sleeping in on the weekends. The only real breaks we had were the occasional trip to Gatlinburg in the summer, and even then, it took some serious coordination. On Christmas morning, we didn’t tear into presents at the crack of dawn like other kids. First, Daddy had to finish milking and check the furnace for wood before he came inside. That was life. And at the time, I didn’t think much of it—other than maybe feeling a little impatient while waiting. Honestly, it made Christmas last a little bit longer.

I had the kind of childhood where walking into a milk barn was normal. It was loud. It was cold in the winter and hot in the summer. It smelled like cows and we’ll just say “other stuff.” It was honest, backbreaking work that happened whether you were tired or not, whether it was Christmas or Tuesday, rain or shine. My brothers and I did not milk many cows growing up because whenever we were in the barn, the cows focused more on us then they did their job.

Before the dairy farm, my grandfather lived on his family’s land. Paw Paw used to tell stories about how the interstate cut their original family farm in half. I can still hear the aggravation in his voice when he talked about men showing up with clipboards, putting a price on land and equipment they didn’t even understand. They didn’t know the name of a single piece of equipment or how much hay that pasture had yielded last year—but they still named a price and took it.

Paw Paw would explain, “Those men said I could build new barns. I said that I liked the ones I got. Giving me prices for things that they didn’t even know what they were.” If you wanted to see the rare fire in Paw Paw’s eyes, just bring up the interstate.

So he and Grandma started over a few miles away. They bought the farm that I spent a lot of time growing up on and that my brother still lives on today and built a new life. Piece by piece. That’s when Wood Dairy and Sons really became more than a name. It was a legacy.

I grew up eating from our garden. We had a deep freeze full of beef—from hamburger to steaks—and fresh milk we didn’t have to buy in a jug. Mama only went to the store for staples. I joke now that I grew up eating organic before it was trendy. No one called it “farm to table.” It was just dinner.

I also grew up in a farmhouse almost one hundred years old that was cooled by window units. It was a bigger, older house, and in the summer, we’d have to shut the doors to rooms we weren’t using that much so we could trap the cool air in the parts we lived in. At the time, it never occurred to me that we were doing something special. That was just life. Now, I look back and see the ingenuity. The sacrifice. The quiet efficiency of making do with what you had and doing it without complaint.

Funny side-note—While we were on vacation, we would keep our hotel rooms like they were a meat locker. We took advantage of that air conditioner.

Grandma and Paw Paw gave me a piece of advice before I got married that stuck with me. They said a lot of people get married expecting to have everything their parents have, right away, without realizing it took their parents decades to build that kind of life. That wisdom didn’t fully land until I had a mortgage, bills, and a minivan with goldfish crackers and crayons buried in between the seats.

When Grandma passed away, I stood next to Paw Paw at the funeral home during visitation. He was about ninety. Frail, but still strong in the ways that matter. He had a hump in his back, the result of a barn loft fall as a kid that never healed right. He told me he was supposed to stay in bed for weeks to recover and let his spine straighten back out, but life on a farm doesn’t wait on anything. So he got up and kept going. Fences needed mending. Cows needed milking. Work needed doing.

I remember hugging him as a boy and feeling that hump in his back. I asked him about it once. Just once. After he told me the story, I never brought it up again.

That day at the funeral home, as he stood looking at the woman he’d loved for over fifty years, he said quietly, “I don’t know how people go through tough times like this without God, family and people around them.”

I didn’t have anything profound to say. I just put my arm around him, patted his back, and said, “Me neither, Paw Paw. Me neither.”

Reflection: “Want” is not evil, but it isn’t wise either.

As a kid, I didn’t get it. Not really.

The “want” in me wasn’t evil, but it wasn’t exactly wise either. I didn’t understand that money paid for everything—not just toys and fast food, but things like electricity, insurance, and gas we got regularly at the Co-Op. I didn’t understand why sometimes we had to say no. Or why Mama bought the store-brand at times. Or why Daddy worked so many hours. I had a very blessed childhood, but not one built on excess. We were comfortable. My parents took great care of me and my two brothers.

Now, as a dad, I see it differently. Completely.

When Karen and I got married, we had one of those “grocery budget” conversations early on. I remember telling her we didn’t need to buy much meat when I was younger because we always had a freezer full. That’s when it hit me—my childhood wasn’t just good. It was different. Mama bought only the essentials at the store because everything else came from the farm: garden veggies, milk, and beef. We still had to get eggs because our farm lacked chickens.

I still carry that mindset. I believe hard work gives value to what we have. If it’s handed to you, it doesn’t mean as much. Sometimes you don’t take care of it like you should.

I want my kids to know that.

It’s hard for them to imagine a world where you had to hang clothes on a line to dry or go outside to use the bathroom (I did not, but Paw Paw and Grandma did). And while I’m thankful they haven’t had to live through that kind of inconvenience, I do want them to understand the effort behind comfort.

Where I live now, my Grandma would probably say she’s very proud of me. But I still mow my own yard. I know plenty of people pay for landscaping. My brother even built a business off of it. Nothing wrong with that. But if I have the time and the energy to do it myself, I do it. I’ve said that to my kids before and gotten a few eye rolls. I just smile and keep pushing the mower or fixing whatever needs fixing at the moment.

Same thing with going to eat. These days, we’d rather eat at our own kitchen table than go to a restaurant. The food might not come on fancy plates all the time, but it’s cooked with love—and for us. One of our kids asked if we could eat supper outside recently. We did. In the middle of the meal, they looked around and said, “This is nice.”

They were right. It was.

It’s not about the convenience. It’s about the connection. The care. Karen’s cooking is amazing—not because it’s gourmet (it is the best) but because it’s made with intention. And that intention matters more than anything on a menu.

I’ve also learned how to fix a lot of things around the house thanks to my stepdad, Tom. I’m trying to show my kids how much we save as a family by installing appliances or repairing things myself. That’s money we can spend on what we need and want.

You could say I’ve traded the farm life for a house on less than an acre. But let’s be honest: you can take the boy out of the country, but you can’t take the country out of the boy. I am proud that most people can tell I grew up in a rural part of Tennessee.

These days, when I’m mowing, and I catch a whiff of fresh-cut grass, it’s about as close to the smell of hay as I get now. And when a diesel truck drives by, I think of stepping off the school bus and heading out to rake hay with Paw Paw. That smell brings it all back. The rhythm. The work. The way they helped raise me by instilling a good work ethic.

My life now is easier in a lot of ways than Grandma and Paw Paw’s ever was. But because of them, I recognize blessings differently now.

I know wealth isn’t always measured in money. Sometimes it looks like a freezer full of beef, a garden out back, parents who showed up every day, and grandparents who taught you how to work without ever calling it a lesson.

Sometimes it smells like diesel fuel and fresh-cut hay.

Sometimes it sounds like your Mama calling from the back porch that supper’s almost ready.

And sometimes, the richest parts of your childhood are the things you don’t fully appreciate until years later.

Paw Paw told me before he passed that I had a great family and to “keep it up.” That meant more to me than he probably knew. I think he and Grandma would say I’ve grown into a good man. Not because life’s been easy but because their legacy taught me how to live well, love hard, and never forget where I came from.

I want my kids to carry that with them. I think they are. They say thank you a lot. They notice when things are fixed or meals are made. They know things don’t just show up—they take effort.

And maybe one day, when my kids are raising kids of their own, they’ll look back and realize what I’ve come to know for sure:

Hard isn’t bad. Sometimes it’s just holy.

When I think about the most important mothers in my life, two words come to mind.

My Mama was foundational.

Karen is the template.

The Bible talks about a woman who “opens her mouth with wisdom and loving instruction is on her tongue.” Book of Proverbs 31:26

That’s my Mama.

She always knew the right thing to say. Not just to me, but to everyone. Our house was never just our house. It was everybody’s house. Friends came over, ate supper with us, went on vacations with us, and somehow always felt like they belonged. When they started calling her “Mama Sharon,” I remember feeling proud. I knew she was great, but hearing other people say it? That meant something.

A normal evening at our house looked a lot like a meat-and-three restaurant.

Three growing boys running around outside until the sun started going down. Then the back door would open and we’d hear, “Supper’s almost ready.” That was our cue. We’d come in hungry and sit down like kings. At least that’s what it felt like.

After supper, Mama would sit in her chair with a lamp hanging over her shoulder and cross-stitch. Night after night. Making something for someone else. That’s just who she was. Still is.

To this day, some of the things she’s made are my most prized possessions. I’ve got a Christmas tree skirt she made that means more to me than anything you could buy in a store.

She built the foundation of who I am.

I remember when I turned sixteen, she went with me to get my first car. It was a first for both of us. She had never bought one on her own either. But we figured it out together. I was proud of that car…but looking back, I’m more proud of her.

Home, because of her, felt like this quiet promise:
You’ll always have what you need.

And then there’s Karen.

Proverbs 31 says, “Her husband is known at the city gates…” and on the surface, that sounds like it’s talking about me. But if I’m being honest, the only reason I have the confidence to lead, to step out, to be known in any space I walk into…is because of her.

Karen is the engine that makes our home run.

Most of what I do is visible. What she does? It happens behind the curtain. And if I tried to list it all, we’d hit a character limit before I got halfway through.

Her brain is like a financial app. She knows prices, interest rates, terms—things I didn’t even know were things to know. I’ve learned to at least be part of the conversation, but more often than not, the right answer is, “Whatever you think, Karen.” And she’s usually right.

But what she really does is make people feel seen.

When Brighton turned 11, she started something that’s now become a tradition. Each of our kids gets a one-on-one trip to Universal Studios, complete with a Hogwarts letter to kick it off. No distractions. Just time with Mama or Daddy. And when you’re there, the whole day is simply, “What do you want to do?” or “Where do you want to go?”

It’s not just a trip. It’s a memory they’ll carry forever.

And that’s who she is.

She looks for ways to create those “wow” moments.

She surprises me with glass bottle Sun Drops. She lets me buy Batman costumes that are probably overpriced. She cooks my favorite meal when I’ve had a long day.

And then there are the things nobody sees.

She prays for me. For our kids. For our family.
She stays in her Bible consistently. And whether she knows it or not, it pushes me to stay in mine too.

You know how on an airplane they tell you to put your oxygen mask on first?

I’ve told her that applies to her too.

She just smiles and says, “I’ve got to take care of my babies first.” We don’t always agree on that part…but I understand her heart.

Because I saw that same kind of love growing up.

After my parents divorced, there were times I knew my Mama wasn’t fully appreciated. And somewhere along the way, I made a quiet decision: I wanted a wife like my Mama…but I wanted to love her the way my Mama deserved to be loved.

And God didn’t just answer that prayer.

He exceeded it.

Karen takes care of me in a way that’s obvious to anyone who watches us for five minutes. We still hold hands walking through the grocery store. We fall asleep the same way. Yes, we’re those people.

And I’m not even a little bit sorry about it. Not one bit.

My kids get the best of both worlds.

An amazing grandmother.
An incredible mother.

And I tell them sometimes, I might be the one doing a little chiseling as they grow…but their Mama is the polish. She’s the one who makes them shine.

My Mama made me shine.

Karen is doing the same for them.

If you asked my kids about my Mama, they’d say, “MeeMee is awesome.”

If you asked them about Karen, they’d say, “We have the best Mama in the world.”

And honestly…they wouldn’t be wrong.

Both of them would give their last dollar for those kids without thinking twice.

So today, I just want to say this:

Mama, thank you for the foundation you built. I see it now more than I ever did before. I would not be the man, husband, and father I am today without you.

Karen, when I prayed for a wife and a mother for my future children, I never imagined God would check every box. He not only gave me what I asked for, but He gave me what I needed.

And I’m better for it. And so are my kids.

Happy Mother’s Day to you Sharon Wiegand and Karen Wood. The world is a better place because the both of you are in it.

Especially mine.

Ephesians 2:1–5 (CSB)

And you were dead in your trespasses and sins in which you previously lived according to the ways of this world, according to the ruler of the power of the air, the spirit now working in the disobedient. We too all previously lived among them in our fleshly desires, carrying out the inclinations of our flesh and thoughts, and we were by nature children under wrath as the others were also.

But God, who is rich in mercy, because of his great love that he had for us, made us alive with Christ even though we were dead in trespasses. You are saved by grace.

OWN IT

One of the clearest pictures of “But God” in Scripture is the story of Joseph.

Joseph’s life reads like one long setback after another. He was betrayed by his brothers (Genesis 37), sold into slavery, falsely accused out of spite (Genesis 39), and forgotten in prison after helping someone who promised to remember him (Genesis 40). Years passed before he ever stepped into the role God ultimately had for him as Pharaoh’s right-hand man (Genesis 41).

Scripture doesn’t record Joseph complaining, but I find it hard to believe there weren’t moments of discouragement, confusion, anger, or loneliness. He was human. And yet, through every season, he remained faithful.

Looking back, it’s clear that God wasn’t punishing Joseph. He was shaping him. Each chapter of Joseph’s life was molding him into the person God needed him to be for what was coming next. The waiting wasn’t wasted. The delays weren’t accidental.

I’ve seen something similar play out in my own life.

There was a season when I wanted a job badly and truly believed God and I were on the same page. We weren’t. When it didn’t work out, I didn’t feel betrayed as much as I felt unseen and forgotten. It wasn’t a pit like Joseph’s, but it was a low point.

At the time, I couldn’t understand why the door stayed closed.

But God.

He eventually placed me in a much better situation. One that allowed me to be more present with my family and more aligned with what mattered most. What felt like a setback turned out to be protection and provision.

That’s one of the hardest lessons to learn.

God won’t place us in positions we aren’t ready for yet.

Growth often happens long before clarity does. It reminds me of the old hymn, “Have Thine Own Way, Lord.” Those words hit differently when you’re in the waiting.

Ephesians 2 tells us that before we ever responded to God, He was already at work. We were sinners, but God loved us anyway. We were headed for death, but God made us alive. We were powerless, but God stepped in with mercy.

Joseph eventually summed up his entire story with these words:

“You planned evil against me; God planned it for good to bring about the present result—the survival of many people.”
— Genesis 50:20 (CSB)

Those two words change everything.

Before improvement.
Before understanding.
Before effort.

But God.

And that’s where new life begins.

LIVE IT

Today, take a moment to reflect on a season of your life that felt confusing, disappointing, or unresolved.

Thank God for being at work even when you couldn’t see it. Trust that His mercy is still active in places that don’t yet make sense.

GO DEEPER

1. Where in your life do you need to remember a “But God” moment?

2. How does Joseph’s story help you trust God during seasons of waiting?

3. What does it change when you remember that grace meets you before effort ever begins?

DINNER TABLE DEVOTIONAL

1. Have you ever had something not work out the way you hoped, but later realized it was for the best?

2. Why do you think waiting is such a hard part of trusting God?

3. How can we encourage each other when things don’t make sense yet?

PRAY IT

Father, thank You for meeting me with mercy before I ever knew to ask for it. Help me trust You in the waiting and believe that You are still at work. Remind me today that my story doesn’t end in disappointment, but in Your grace.
Amen.

READ IT

Ephesians 1:7–8 (CSB)

In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses, according to the riches of his grace that he richly poured out on us with all wisdom and understanding.

OWN IT

When I owned my first house, I ran into a plumbing issue with the bathroom sink. The fix seemed simple enough. Just replace the water supply line. Easy job. Five minutes. No big deal.

In one of my not-so-bright moments, I decided I could just take the old line off and put the new one on real quick.

Why would I need to turn the water off?
It’s basically like a hose, right?
Some water might spray out, but that’s it.

Yeah…no.

The moment I took that line off, water shot out in a high-pressure stream about two feet from the wall. I panicked. I ran around like a tornado, grabbed a bucket, and started bailing water like a madman.

Then I did the most logical thing my flooded brain could think of.

I grabbed the phone and called my pharmacy. Why the pharmacy? I worked there on Saturdays at the time, and that was the only phone number I could recall quickly. When water is shooting out of the wall that fast, your brain tends to not work right.

Anyway, thankfully Alice answered, and I pleaded with her to call the water department and have them turn my water off. I had known Alice for a long time. When I was little, my Mama and Daddy would take my brothers and I over there to hang out after church. I was so glad she answered. She didn’t ask what I did. She didn’t lecture me. She just helped. And thankfully, the water department showed up quickly and shut my water off.

Once the water stopped, I went outside to talk to the water guy. We knew each other, so of course he asked what happened. I told him. I felt stupid. He got a good laugh and probably a good story to tell back at the department.

But I also learned something.

I never made that mistake again.

I always turn the water off before doing any plumbing work now.

Because sometimes what we think is going to be a small issue turns into a big problem really fast.

Growing up in church, I used to say my testimony was boring. I didn’t have some dramatic story with huge turning points or wild moments. But a pastor once reminded me of something I needed to hear:

Being saved by Jesus is amazing all by itself.

Redemption doesn’t require chaos to be meaningful.

Just like Alice helping me when I called her in a panic, Jesus doesn’t stop to ask where you’ve been, how you got there, or why you made the mistake in the first place. He shows up to rescue you.

So often in home improvement, we patch things or do temporary fixes. We do it because we’re in a hurry or we just need the problem handled right now. And sure, it works for a while. But eventually, that same issue comes back. Sometimes worse than before.

I’ve learned that sometimes the only real solution is to tear it down and rebuild it the right way.

That’s what redemption is like.

God doesn’t just patch our sin. He doesn’t slap on a quick fix and hope it holds. He redeems us completely and makes us new. The old is gone. A new creation takes its place.

And this time, the foundation actually holds.

LIVE IT

Today, resist the urge to patch something God wants to fully rebuild.

When shame, temptation, or regret surface, don’t rush to cover it up or minimize it. Bring it honestly to God and thank Him for already providing redemption through Jesus.

Live like the problem has been handled — because it has.

GO DEEPER

1. Where are you tempted to settle for a temporary fix instead of trusting God with full restoration?

2. Why do you think it’s easier to accept forgiveness than to believe God has truly made you new?

3. How does remembering your own redemption shape the way you respond to other people’s mistakes?

DINNER TABLE DEVOTIONAL

1. Have you ever tried to fix something quickly and made it worse? What happened?

2. Why do you think people sometimes hide their mistakes instead of asking for help?

3. What does it mean to be “made new” rather than just “patched up”?

PRAY IT

Father, thank You for redeeming me completely through Jesus. Help me stop settling for quick fixes when You offer full restoration. Remind me today that I am not defined by my past, but by Your grace. Make me new where You need to rebuild.
Amen.

READ IT

Ephesians 1:13–14 (CSB)

In him you also were sealed with the promised Holy Spirit when you heard the word of truth, the gospel of your salvation, and when you believed. The Holy Spirit is the down payment of our inheritance, until the redemption of the possession, to the praise of his glory.

OWN IT

When my wife was pregnant with our second child, we received the kind of news that drops your heart straight to the floor.

At a routine appointment, the ultrasound tech couldn’t find a heartbeat.

There’s no preparing for that moment.

We held hands in silence.
We prayed.
We begged.
We tried to keep breathing.

The doctor referred us to a specialist. We didn’t ask many questions. We couldn’t. The fear was too loud.

I remember the drive there, holding Karen’s hand and whatever faith I had left, repeating the same words over and over:

“God’s got this. He’s going to take care of it.”

Karen went into the small building while I waited in the car because there was not enough room in the office.

Those were the longest minutes of my life.

I sat there staring at the windshield like it had answers, praying so hard I didn’t even know what words I was saying anymore.

I’m a planner by nature. I think in checklists and contingencies. So while I waited, my mind ran through every possible outcome.

What if they don’t find the heartbeat?
What if we leave this parking lot with a hole in our hearts?
What do I say to Karen?
What should I do?

Then the door opened.

I watched her walk toward me, searching her face for any clue. She opened the car door, sat down, let out a long breath, and through tears said words I’ll never forget:

“She’s okay. They found the heartbeat. Everything’s good.”

I don’t remember what I said next.

I just remember the tears.

Tears of relief.
Tears of joy.
Tears of overwhelming gratitude.

At that moment, we knew her middle name would be Faith.

Because that’s what carried us through.
That’s what we held onto when everything felt like it was slipping away.
And that’s what we prayed she would carry with her — faith in something bigger, steadier, and stronger than anything this world can throw at her.

That day reminded me of two things I never want to forget.

Faith doesn’t always mean you’re not scared.
Sometimes it just means you trust anyway.

And the quietest sound in the world, a tiny heartbeat, can be the loudest reminder that God is good.

That’s what faith sounded like to us.

And I want to say this gently, because I know not every story turns out the same way.

What if God hadn’t answered our prayer the way we hoped?

I don’t believe that would’ve meant He wasn’t good.
I don’t believe it would’ve meant He wasn’t present.
And I don’t believe it would’ve meant we weren’t sealed.

Being sealed with the Holy Spirit doesn’t mean God promises us the outcome we want.
It means He promises us His presence no matter the outcome.

God didn’t prove His faithfulness that day by fixing everything.
He proved it by being with us in the waiting.

And that same presence holds us. Whether the answer is yes, no, or not yet.

Ephesians tells us that when we believe, we are sealed with the Holy Spirit. We are marked, protected, and claimed by God Himself. That seal doesn’t mean we won’t face fear. It means we never face it alone.

God was with us in that parking lot.
He didn’t leave us in our waiting.
He sealed us with His presence.

And He does the same for you.

LIVE IT

Today, when fear or uncertainty creeps in, pause and remind yourself:
I am not alone. God is with me.

Invite the Holy Spirit into that moment, not to erase the fear, but to steady your heart through it.

GO DEEPER

1. When have you experienced fear and faith at the same time?

2. How does knowing you are sealed with the Holy Spirit change the way you face uncertainty?

3. What situation in your life right now needs the reminder that God is present and faithful?

DINNER TABLE DEVOTIONAL

1. Have you ever been scared but trusted someone anyway? What helped you trust?

2. What do you think it means that God is always with us?

3. How can we remind each other of God’s presence when things feel overwhelming?

PRAY IT

Father, thank You for sealing me with Your Holy Spirit. When fear rises, remind me that You are near. Give me faith to trust You even when I’m scared, and peace that comes from knowing I am never alone.
Amen.

It’s not lost on me that I’m sharing this again almost a year into writing here. When I first hit publish, I didn’t know who would read it or if anyone would. A year later, I still don’t have all the answers, but I’ve seen enough to know this: God shows up in the waiting. In the quiet moments. In the prayers that don’t have polished words.

Thank you for reading, for sticking around, and for letting me share these stories with you. If you’re in a season of waiting right now, you’re not alone. He’s there too.

I was about twelve years old, riding along with a friend and her family to something in Nashville. I don’t even remember what the event was supposed to be. At the time, it sounded like an adventure. But somewhere between leaving home and pulling into that restaurant, the excitement wore off. I was out of my element, surrounded by people I barely knew. The noise, the unfamiliar conversation, and the storm outside all started to close in at once.

I didn’t want to be there anymore. I didn’t want to explain myself or make a scene. I just wanted to go home.

So I slipped away to a payphone. There were no cell phones back then, no easy way out. Just a receiver, a number, and a little bit of hope. I dialed home first, but no one answered. Then I called my grandma Pauline.

I don’t remember exactly what I said. It was probably rushed and awkward, the kind of thing a nervous twelve-year-old blurts out when he doesn’t know how to explain himself. But I remember what she said clearly. She didn’t hesitate. She didn’t ask questions. She simply said, “I’ll come get you.”

I hung up and went back to my seat, still nervous and unsure, but something had shifted. I wasn’t alone anymore. Help was on the way, and that changed everything about how that moment felt.

A little while later, through the rain-streaked windows, I saw that familiar Buick with headlights on pull into the parking lot. She had come. In the middle of a thunderstorm, she got in her car and drove to get me.

I remember stepping out into the rain and climbing into her car. The door shut, and just like that, the storm didn’t feel quite as loud. Everything felt steady again. She looked over at me with a small smile and said, “You needed Grandma, didn’t you?” I shrugged and said, “Yeah,” but the truth was, I really did.

Years later, she told that story again in a letter she wrote to me when I turned eighteen. She mentioned that someone at the restaurant had asked her, “You came out in this rain to get him?” Her answer was simple.

“Of course. He needed me.”

That moment stayed with me, not just because I got out of an uncomfortable situation, but because of what it showed me. I mattered. I didn’t have to earn that ride home. I didn’t have to explain myself perfectly or justify why I wanted out. I just had to call, and she came. No questions asked.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized that’s exactly how God meets us. We find ourselves in places we thought we wanted to be, situations we chose, moments that slowly become overwhelming. And when we finally admit we don’t want to be there anymore, we start to wonder if we’ve gone too far or waited too long to ask for help.

But God doesn’t respond with a lecture or questions. He responds with presence. Scripture reminds us that He is near to the brokenhearted and that He hears us when we call—not because we have it all together, but because we belong to Him. (Psalms 34:18)

That afternoon in the storm, I learned something I didn’t fully understand at the time. Being “somebody” isn’t about what you accomplish or how well you handle life. It’s about knowing that when you call, someone will come.

My grandma showed me that. And ever since, I’ve tried to live that same way—to be the kind of person who shows up, the kind of person others can call, the kind of presence that reflects the love God has shown me.

Because sometimes the most powerful thing you can do for someone is simply come get them.

No questions asked.

Not dramatic.
Just…heavier.

Bad attitudes. Short fuses. Weird tension. Technology misbehaving like it has a mind of its own. Things not going as planned.

I don’t panic when that happens.
I pause.

I believe, as Christians, we are in a battle.

Scripture is clear about that. We don’t wrestle primarily against flesh and blood. There is an enemy. There are spiritual forces at work. Ignoring that would be naïve.

But here’s the other side of the coin we don’t talk about enough:

Not everything that goes wrong is spiritual warfare.

Sometimes people are just tired.
Sometimes schedules are overloaded.
Sometimes kids are cranky because they didn’t sleep.
Sometimes life just…happens.

And if we blame the devil for every bad moment, we miss the wisdom God gives us for dealing with our own humanity.

Jesus tells His disciples to be wise as serpents and innocent as doves. That balance matters. We’re called to discernment, not paranoia.

Awareness, not obsession.

We watch ourselves without losing the purity of our spirit.

In our house, things get loud—emotionally and literally.

Four kids. Three schools. Multiple schedules that feel like they were designed to humble us. Calendars fill up fast. Sometimes too fast. And sometimes the most spiritual thing we can do is say, “No, we are not going to be able to do that.”

We’ve had to own our limitations. We cannot do everything. We were never meant to.

When we don’t sleep enough, our patience gets thin. When we’re stretched, our humanity shines a little brighter—and not always in flattering ways. That’s not the devil. That’s simply being human.

Humility forces us to look inward first.
Am I tired?
Am I overloaded?
Am I expecting more than I’m capable of giving right now?

That kind of self-examination isn’t a lack of faith. It’s maturity.

That said…there are patterns you can’t ignore.

When I’m working on something that points people toward Jesus—writing, teaching, obedience in general—things tend to get noisy. Small irritations grow teeth. The kids seem to clash more. Karen and I can find ourselves fussing over things that don’t deserve airtime.

I’ll go back to parenting.

The moment you ask your kids to do something important, suddenly they’re exhausted. Or you get a long explanation about why now isn’t the right time. Obedience has a way of revealing resistance.

Anything done for God has the potential to lead someone to Christ. Why wouldn’t the enemy want to disrupt that?

But here’s the key: being aware is healthy. Being fixated is dangerous.

If we focus too much on Satan, we miss the smaller things—and in my opinion, those smaller things can be more dangerous. Subtle division. Lingering irritation. Quiet discouragement.

It’s like I tell my kids all the time. If you look for the bad stuff, you will find the bad stuff every time.

For me, discernment starts with one simple question:

What am I doing right now?

If I’m actively working toward something Kingdom-minded and everything feels unusually heavy, I take notice. If Karen and I are both feeling off at the same time, I pause.

But I also ask practical questions:

• Am I sleeping enough?

• Am I caring for my body?

• Have I been rushing too much?

• Is this a real issue, or just life pressing in?

Then I pray.

Prayer is never the wrong response. Ever.

I ask God to protect me if it’s spiritual—and to strengthen me if it’s not. Either way, He’s present. And I lean heavily on Karen. Often, if one of us feels under attack, the other does too. That’s not accidental. We take the time to pray with and for each other.

We don’t jump to conclusions.
We pray.
We stay in Scripture.
We laugh—a lot.

Our house values humor. Inside jokes. Lightness. Grace. We believe laughter deflates fear, and grace keeps our eyes on Jesus.

We extend grace to our kids because God extends it to us daily.

If I were speaking to someone new to the faith, I’d say this gently but honestly:

You’re on the radar now.

Before, the enemy didn’t care. Now, you’re dangerous—because you can point others to Christ. Sometimes that means opposition. Sometimes it just means life gets messy.

The constant isn’t the attack.
The constant is God’s presence.

Scripture says the devil prowls like a lion. But anyone who’s spent time outdoors knows this: sometimes a twig snapping is just a twig snapping.

But sometimes…it’s not.

That’s why we’re told not to be anxious about anything—but to pray about everything. Discernment doesn’t come from fear. It comes from staying close to God.

And when you do that—whether it’s warfare or just a hard day—you never walk it alone.

A Few Scriptures That Help Me Hold the Tension

• Ephesians 6:12 (CSB)
  “For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers of this darkness…”
  → The battle is real. Ignoring it isn’t faith. It’s negligence.

• Ecclesiastes 9:11 (CSB)
  “The race is not to the swift or the battle to the strong…but time and chance happen to them all.”
  → Not every hard thing has a spiritual villain. Sometimes life just happens.

• Matthew 10:16 (CSB)
  “Be wise as serpents and innocent as doves.”
  → Discernment without cynicism. Awareness without fear.

• 1 Peter 5:8 (CSB)
  “Be sober-minded, be alert. Your adversary the devil is prowling around like a roaring lion…”
  → Alert, not obsessed. Watchful, not anxious.

• Philippians 4:6–7 (CSB)
  “Don’t worry about anything, but in everything, through prayer and petition with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.”
  → Whether it’s warfare or just a hard day, prayer is always the right move.

Because discernment is tricky—and because I don’t pretend to have a monopoly on wisdom—I asked a few trusted voices to speak into this.

Here’s what they shared.

Thomas Hamilton from The Narrow Path Collective

I really appreciated this article—especially the mention of Ephesians 6:12. Scripture is pretty clear here. There’s a spiritual battle happening, and everyone is involved, willing or unwilling.

As a father, I notice the spiritual warfare more when I’m trying to walk in obedience. And honestly… it isn’t always pleasant. Kids get cranky, emotions run high, everyone’s tired. Sometimes arguments pop up out of nowhere. So when Maury says obedience invites friction, he’s not exaggerating.

We actually worked together on an article recently titled “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through Me.” Was Jesus being inclusive or exclusive? That piece took me longer than expected to finish. Why? Simple. The enemy does whatever he can to keep God’s Word from being shared. He knows our triggers and weak spots. And in a family household, men often feel that pressure first.

So what do we do? Maury gives solid advice: pray. Sounds simple because it is simple. But before that, the questions he asks himself really stood out to me:

• Am I sleeping enough?

• Am I caring for my body?

• Have I been rushing too much?

• Is this a real issue, or just life pressing in?

Those questions matter. Yes, God calls us to obedience—but He also calls us to care for our bodies. They’re His temples. Sometimes the most spiritual thing we can do is slow down. Staying busy for God can quietly replace intimacy with God if we’re not paying attention.

Sleep matters too…even if that’s easier said than done with kids. Prioritizing and organizing helps. Ask yourself: Can this wait? Is this really urgent? Should I pray about this first? Have I talked to God about it yet? Does this actually please Him?

I try to pay attention to the quiet nudges—the mix of the Holy Spirit and that deep internal “hey, slow down” feeling. Then I act.
If God nudges me toward rest, the articles can wait.
If He nudges me toward family, the laptop closes and the phone goes down.

Here’s the point: walking in obedience isn’t easy, and the enemy loves wearing people down and draining their energy. So prioritize, organize, pray and put on the full armor of God.

Ephesians 6:10–11
“Finally, be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his might. Put on the whole armor of God, that you may be able to stand against the schemes of the devil.”

Julie West Worth Remembering

For my husband and I, when we seem to be facing battles outside the home at the same time, it has often been that the Lord is preparing us for transition. In these moments, we could call for justice and demand our rights. Instead, when we’ve gotten quiet and asked the Lord to show us what He is doing, more than once we’ve discovered a door opening and a desire to leave a place we expected to be forever.

2 Chronicles 20:17

Exodus 14:14

Pete from The Apprentice Discerner

Solid, Solid piece. I absolutely agree with you on the tendency for people to attribute negative moments in their life to the enemy. The truth of course is that the world was good until the enemy brought sin into it and corrupted things. So although we are not necessarily being spiritually attacked at a particular moment. Our own sin causes the bad situations we are in. I guess I would suggest perhaps making the point that being vigilant takes energy.

When we are tired, and our reserves are low, that’s when our own humanity and the sinful nature inside of us often comes out. Our defenses are down and the enemy sometimes doesn’t need to do anything, for we do it ourselves. The cross words we say, the snapping at our kids, the lack of joy we bring to a family gathering, all usually down to our fatigue. Sure, we don’t mean it, but it is out of choices that we make, choices that perhaps we wouldn’t make if we had a clear head and a full tank. Linking this back to Romans 7:15-20 - where Paul even expresses how he does not do the things he desires to do because of his sinful nature.

The advice to pray - super solid - turning this all back to Jesus to point out the errors of “our” ways, helps us to grow and be more alert to it in the future.

Paul from The Salt & Light Daily Substack

Good job Maury on making this post relevant and relatable. While I’ve learned to watch for external patterns of resistance, I’ve found that the most vital discernment often happens right within the walls of my home. I’ve come to realize that my wife, my kids, and the Holy Spirit serve as my primary “guides,” consistently pointing out the specific areas in my heart that are in need of correction. Whether it’s a gentle conviction during everyday tasks or going to a church or ministry event, prayer or a humbling moment of tension with my family, these interactions act as a mirror for my soul. It reminds me of the wisdom in Proverbs 15:31–32: “One who listens to life-giving rebuke will be at home among the wise. Anyone who ignores discipline despises himself, but whoever listens to correction acquires good sense.” By leaning into the observations of those closest to me and staying sensitive to the Spirit’s prompting, I can distinguish between a simple bad day and a genuine call to grow in character. Often I find the Holy Spirit guiding me daily to strengthen my relationships with the Lord and with others in my own family.

Matt Mylin from On Purpose

Big idea: Words in the Home

The home is a daily classroom for wisdom. It should be a safe place where healthy relationships grow between husband and wife, parent and child, and between siblings. One of the quickest ways to build or destroy that culture is with our words. What is spoken in a home shapes trust, security, and identity.

Scripture shows us that the battle around our words is deeper than we often realize.

Revelation 12 identifies the red dragon as the ancient serpent called the devil, Satan, the deceiver. The name Satan means accuser. His strategy is to accuse and slander. He has been defeated by the death and resurrection of Jesus, yet he continues slandering God’s people continually until his final destruction.

To slander someone is to speak false or damaging statements that intentionally harm their reputation. Slander poisons relationships because trust is hard to build once it is broken.

Once of the accuser’s strategies is to tempt people to speak this way about one another. What better place to attack than inside families where relationships are closest and words carry the most weight?

Revelation 12:11 shows how the accuser is overcome. “They have overcome the accuser by the blood of the Lamb and the word of their testimony. And they did not love their lives so much that they were afraid to die.”

The cross settles the accusation of sin. Every person falls short and needs grace. When Jesus shed His blood, He answered the accusations that stand against us. Instead of living under accusation, God’s people point to what Jesus has done.

Your testimony becomes the evidence of God’s work.

This creates the foundation for relationships built on trust. Accusation loses its power when people live under the grace of Jesus.

Don’t participate in slander. That is the language of the accuser.

Answer accusations with humility.

Imagine a family where that becomes the culture. It starts with mom and dad living it first. Then that pattern becomes the environment where wisdom grows.

We laid her to rest this past weekend. My brother and cousins spoke at the funeral, and they did a great job putting into words the impact she had on all of us.

It was beautiful.
It was honest.
It was everything she deserved.

With that being said, shortly after she passed away, I visited my 93-year-old Grandaddy’s house. For the first time in my forty-eight years of life, I have one grandparent.

Karen and I bought him a new desk because the one he had was leaning hard. Pressed wood and carpet don’t mix well. Somebody tried to scoot it, and cheap craftsmanship and gravity did the rest.

He was in good spirits when we got there. Sitting there eating a piece of bologna sandwich, no doubt from the store across the road, flipping through pictures of Grandmama to display at the funeral home.

I wouldn’t take a dime from him for the desk. He argued with me like I knew he would, but he ultimately lost that argument. I owe him more than money can cover.

On the drive home, I started thinking about the tribute I wrote about Grandmama.

Then I started thinking about everything I would say about him one day.

And that’s when it hit me.

Why do we wait?

Why do we wait until someone is gone to say all the things we’ve been carrying for years?

Why do we give detailed, heartfelt tributes to a room full of people…
but not to the person while they’re still sitting across from us eating a bologna sandwich?

So I’m not waiting.

Why wait until he can’t read it…
when he’s still sitting across from me?

When I think of Duke Hamilton, I don’t think of a job.

I think of a man who works.

Not worked. Works.

As long as I can remember, he’s been moving. Wrecker service. Dirt and rock excavation. Gas stations. Clearing snow covered parking lots. If something needs doing, he’s doing it.

I got to ride in bulldozers and dump trucks with him growing up. That felt like riding with a king.

One time I took my car to his old garage to change the oil. I wanted him to show me how.

He ended up doing it himself.

Not because I couldn’t…
but because he enjoyed doing it.

I just stepped back and let him work.

That’s who he was and who he is.

Even now, just a week after his wife of 74 years passed away, he bought himself a used truck.

A project truck, he called it.

“I’m going to take the bed off and build a flatbed. I can do that.”

He says it like he’s talking about making a peanut butter and banana sandwich (his favorite).

And the truth is…I have no doubt he probably can.

He’s consistent.

You always know what you’re getting with him.

The name Duke Hamilton means something where I grew up. I remember when I would meet older people. When trying to connect dots for them, I would say, “I’m Duke Hamilton’s oldest grandson.” I was proud to say, “That’s my Grandaddy.” That name carries weight.

Still does.

Family matters to him. Taking care of your people matters. Doing what you say you’re going to do matters.

When I wouldn’t take money for the desk, he told my Mama, “He’s grown up, hasn't he?”

I don’t know if he realizes it, but that means more to me than anything he could hand me.

When I was sixteen, I had a fender bender and broke a taillight. I didn’t have the money to fix it, so I borrowed it from him. I was making $4.25 an hour, so I had the means to pay it, just not all at once.

I paid him back slowly, check by check.

When I gave him the last one, he went into his bedroom and came back holding every check I’d written. He handed them to me and said, “Tear them up.”

“You paid it back. That means a lot,” he said.

It was not about money.

That was about becoming a man.

He taught me more than he ever said out loud.

Work hard.
Take care of your family.
Keep your word.

I remember him playing softball with us in his backyard, running the bases like he’s one of us. I have never seen him as old.

Now I’m almost fifty, still out there playing with my kids, trying to squeeze every inning I can out of these legs.

If I’m honest…that comes from him.

“I’m going to work until I can’t.”

That may not be something he ever said directly, but he lives it every day.

Life hasn’t been easy on him.

In 1991, he lost his youngest son, Tracy.

Now he’s walking through life without his wife.

And yet…he keeps going.

Not because it’s easy.

Because his family still needs him.

That’s strength.

That’s grace.

That’s a man.

When I look at my own life, I see pieces of him everywhere.

The way I work.
The way I show up for my family.
The way I try to love my wife well.

People might call it old school.

I call it right.

So let me say this while you can hear it.

You’re a good man, Duke Hamilton.

I’m better because I got to watch you up close my whole life.

I know you’d probably say you’ve had your missteps.

But I see the corrections.

I see the effort.

I see the consistency.

And it matters.

It all matters.

And for the rest of you reading this…

Don’t wait.

Don’t save your best words for a funeral home.

Don’t say it to a room full of people who already agree with you.

Say it to the person.

Tell them why they matter.
Tell them what they do right.
Tell them how they shape you.

Give them the evidence.

They might need it more than you realize.

She was 93 years old.

Ninety-three years of life. 74 years of marriage. Seven kids. Twelve grandchildren. Over twenty great-grandchildren. One great-great grandson.

That’s not just a life. That’s a legacy.

The first thought that hit me wasn’t about numbers or years. It was simple.

I can’t go to Grandmama and Grandaddy’s to see her anymore.

She won’t be standing on that back porch, waving as we pull out of the driveway.

I felt sad…but also calm. Like my heart knew something my head was still trying to catch up to. It’s still trying to catch up.

The last time I saw her was at Grandaddy’s 93rd birthday party. As we were leaving, I gave her a side hug.

She said, “Today was a good day.” I said, “Yes it was.”

I told her I loved her.

She said, “I love you, too, Maury D.”

And somehow, without knowing it, that was enough.

If you grew up like I did, you know some houses don’t just hold people…they hold memories.

Holidays meant going to Grandmama and Grandaddy’s.

Easter Sunday lunches with Kentucky Fried Chicken. Thanksgiving meals with huge platters of turkey and the stove and oven filled with so much food. Christmas Eve suppers and decorations all over the place. Birthdays, anniversaries, and just family get-togethers.

Most of the best parts of my childhood had her right in the middle of them.

Her house even had a smell.

She loved perfume, so there was always a hint of whatever scent she was wearing. In the summer, you could smell that window unit air conditioner the moment you walked in. My brothers and I would climb up on a chair and stick our faces right into the vent trying to cool off.

I’m sure she thought we were crazy. She let us do it every time though.

She would always get up from the living room and try to meet us halfway when we came in. As we got older, I would walk a little faster, so she didn’t have to walk as far.

But when it came time to leave…she walked all the way.

Out the door. Down the steps. And she’d stand there, waving and smiling until we were gone. I’d stick my hand out the window and honk the horn. She’d wave one more time.

I think I’m going to miss that the most.

Grandmama was the kind of person who made sure you felt at home the second you walked in.

You hungry? She’d fix you a sandwich.

Want something sweet? Vanilla wafers were on the bottom shelf in the pantry to the left of the refrigerator.

Thirsty? There were RC Colas or Pepsis in that little self-feeding rack, always ready for the next person.

She didn’t just open her home. She opened herself.

And you felt it.

She also loved to write.

Which, now that I think about it, feels like something she passed down without ever making a big deal about it.

She helped me write scholarship essays in high school. She helped me write my student council speech. She even helped me write my farewell speech when my term was over.

Looking back now, I realize she wasn’t just helping me find words.

She was helping me find my voice.

One of the clearest memories I have of her is from when I was a kid.

I was spending the night at a friend’s house and got scared in the middle of the night.

Mama and Daddy weren’t available, so Grandmama and Grandaddy came and got me.

My stomach was in knots. She gave me some Pepto Bismol, and I ended up spending the night there. And just like that…I was fine.

That’s how her house always felt.

Safe.

No matter what was going on outside those walls, everything settled down when you got there.

Even now, that’s what I keep coming back to.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized something.

I want our house to feel like that.

Not just for my kids, but for anyone who walks through our door.

Welcoming. Safe. Full of love.

The kind of place people don’t just visit…they remember.

I’ve told my kids how blessed they are to have known their great-grandmother.

Not everybody gets that. Not everybody gets to be shaped by someone like her.

But we did.

And we’re better because of it.

When I think about her life, I can’t help but think about Proverbs 31.

“Her children rise up and call her blessed…
Give her the reward of her labor,
and let her works praise her at the city gates.” (CSB)

That’s what this is.

This is her work praising her.

Not just in words…but in people.

In generations.

In a house that still lives in all of us.

If I could hear her one more time, I think she’d say something simple.

“Love on your kiddos.”

And she lived that.

Every single day.

Today was a good day, Grandmama.

And a good life.

I love you.

During this journey, James has challenged us to endure trials, ask God for wisdom, build a life rooted in lasting identity, and recognize the quiet pull of temptation.

Today, he brings us back to something foundational:

The goodness of God.

When everything else feels uncertain, this is where we anchor.

READ IT (CSB)

James 1:16–18

¹⁶ Don’t be deceived, my dear brothers and sisters. ¹⁷ Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, who does not change like shifting shadows. ¹⁸ By his own choice, he gave us birth by the word of truth so that we would be a kind of firstfruits of his creatures.

OWN IT

The older you get, the more you realize life’s best gifts have nothing to do with money.

A loving marriage.
Kids who laugh loud and hug tight.
Friends who show up.
Work you enjoy.
A home full of life.

These are blessings straight from God’s hand.

Every morning, His mercies start fresh.

Sometimes the simplest prayer is, “Thank You, God, for another day.”

James warns us not to be deceived: God doesn’t shift like shadows. He doesn’t change with moods or seasons.

He is steady.
Faithful.
Constantly good.

Think about the disciples in the storm — panicked, certain the boat would sink.

Jesus wasn’t panicked.

He simply stood up, spoke, and the storm obeyed.

What terrified them didn’t rattle Him.

That’s the God who walks with you.

If you’ve ever felt far from God, it likely came during a season when prayer faded and Scripture drifted to the background.

But the moment you turn your heart back toward Him, He’s right there — unchanging, unmoved, unwavering.

Maybe something in your life feels uncertain right now.

God invites you to bring every fear and every hope to Him.

Let His faithfulness steady you.

Gratitude has a way of clearing the fog.

It helps you notice His kindness woven through ordinary days.

Even in hardship, God’s goodness remains.

You only see a few steps ahead.

He sees the whole road.

And every good thing in your life — every breath, every blessing, every little joy — is evidence that His goodness is holding you fast.

LIVE IT

Pause today and list five gifts God has given you that money can’t buy.

GO DEEPER

1. Where have you noticed God’s goodness in small but meaningful ways lately?

2. What part of life feels uncertain, and how does God’s unchanging character speak into it?

3. What habit helps you stay anchored when life shifts?

DINNER TABLE DEVOTIONAL

1. What is a “good gift” from God that isn’t a physical object?

2. When did you feel God take care of you this week?

3. How can we help each other remember God is good — even on hard days?

PRAY IT

Father, thank You for every good and perfect gift. Thank You for being steady when life feels unsteady. Anchor my heart in Your goodness today. Help me notice Your kindness and trust You in uncertainty. Keep me grateful, grounded, and close to You. Amen.

That’s the end of Week 1.

But don’t miss this:

Everything James has walked us through this week — trials, wisdom, identity, temptation — all of it rests on one truth:

God is good.

And He doesn’t change.

🧰 Week 1 Study Guide (Bonus)

If you’re walking through this with your family, a small group, or even just want to go a little deeper, here are a few simple ways to process Week 1 together:

WEEK 1 — LEADER NOTES

Stronger Than You Think

James 1:1–18

WEEKLY THEME SUMMARY

James opens his letter with a call that feels upside-down:
Trials don’t weaken faith—they strengthen it.

This week focuses on helping your group:

• see trials as tools, not punishments

• recognize where endurance is being built

• understand God’s unchanging goodness in the middle of hard moments

• reject the lie that God tempts us or abandons us

• trust that spiritual maturity grows through consistent, honest obedience

Your goal as a leader is to help people reframe their trials and see God’s work beneath the surface.

OPENING QUESTION (Pick One)

Keep it simple. Choose one:

• “What’s one small challenge from this week that stretched your patience?”

• “Did anything in this week’s devotionals hit home for you?”

• “Where did you feel God strengthening you recently?”

This isn’t therapy—just a warm start that invites honesty.

SCRIPTURE FOCUS

James 1:1–18

If possible, have two people read it aloud—one reading verses 1–12, the other 13–18.
Hearing it in two voices highlights the shift from trials to temptations.

DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

(You don’t need all of them—3–5 is plenty.)

1. Trials & Perspective

James says to consider it great joy when we face trials.

• Why do you think he started the letter this way?

• What makes “joy in trials” feel impossible at times?

2. Endurance in Real Life

Where have you seen God use a difficult season to grow endurance in you—even if it felt messy in the moment?

3. Temptation vs. Testing

James says God never tempts us.

• Why is that distinction important?

• How have you seen temptation come from desires rather than circumstances?

4. God’s Goodness

Verse 17 says, “Every good and perfect gift is from above.”

• What good gifts has God given you in or through trials?

• How does remembering God’s goodness help you endure?

5. Maturity

James emphasizes becoming “mature and complete.”

• What does spiritual maturity look like in everyday life?

• Where do you feel God inviting you to grow right now?

6. Real-Life Application

Which part of this week challenged you the most—joy, endurance, temptation, or trusting God’s character?

OPTIONAL GROUP ACTIVITY (5 minutes)

“Two Lists” Exercise

Have everyone take 60 seconds and silently list:

• a trial they’re facing

• one possible thing God might be forming through it (faith, patience, humility, trust, compassion, endurance)

Then invite volunteers to share (if comfortable).

This helps reframe trials as opportunities rather than only frustrations.

LIVE IT TOGETHER

Reinforce the week’s “Live It” step:

Choose one trial—big or small—and ask God to build endurance in it instead of removing it instantly.

Encourage the group to name that trial privately and pray over it daily.

PRAYER PROMPTS

Close with focused, specific prayer:

• “Lord, help us see our trials with fresh eyes.”

• “Grow our endurance when we want escape.”

• “Guard us from temptation and lies about who You are.”

• “Shape our character to look more like Jesus through daily obedience.”

If appropriate, invite group members to pray short, one-sentence prayers.

LEADER INSIGHT (For Your Eyes Only)

• Many people feel shame admitting struggle—your tone sets the tone.

• Watch for people who minimize their pain. Trials don’t have to be dramatic to matter.

• Don’t let the conversation drift into “who has it worse.” Bring it back to what God is shaping.

• The goal isn’t to fix anyone—just to help them see God’s presence in their process.

If you’d like to continue the full 7-week journey through James — including daily devotionals and leader guides for each week — you can find Faith With Work Boots On here:

[Amazon link]

I hope you have enjoyed this peak into my first book. It has been such a blessing to hear stories of how it has helped those who have read it. Thanks again and God bless you and your family!

—Maury

So far James has challenged us to endure trials, ask God for wisdom, and build a life anchored in something deeper than success or status.

Today he gets very practical.

He talks about temptation — not the dramatic kind we sometimes imagine, but the quiet kind that slips in when we’re tired, discouraged, or distracted.

READ IT (CSB)

James 1:12–15

Blessed is the one who endures trials, because when he has stood the test he will receive the crown of life that God has promised to those who love him. No one undergoing a trial should say, “I am being tempted by God,” since God is not tempted by evil, and he himself doesn’t tempt anyone. But each person is tempted when he is drawn away and enticed by his own evil desire. Then after desire has conceived, it gives birth to sin, and when sin is fully grown, it gives birth to death.

OWN IT

Temptation doesn’t always charge in shouting. Most of the time, it slips in quietly — patient, subtle, almost polite, like it brought its own doormat and said, “No rush, I’ll just wait here.”

James is clear: temptation doesn’t come from God.
It comes from desire — not the good desires God gave you, but twisted versions the enemy loves to exploit.

The desire to provide becomes pressure.
The desire to succeed becomes comparison.
The desire to rest becomes escape.
The desire to feel secure becomes control.

And temptation almost always shows up when your guard is down — tired, discouraged, stressed, or spiritually drifting.

But temptation is not sin.
Agreement with temptation is.

There is always a moment — tiny but real — where you still have a choice.

A moment where obedience leads to peace, and indulgence leads to regret.
A moment where temptation roars… and then suddenly whimpers.

I’ve learned that temptation gets far louder when I’m distant from God. But when I’m rooted — praying, reading Scripture, walking with others — it loses strength. It becomes manageable. Resistible. Small.

Here’s one strategy that has shaped my walk:

Every time temptation hits, pray for someone who doesn’t know Jesus.

It turns Satan’s attack into God’s opportunity.

Trust me — he hates that.

Each time you resist, God strengthens you. And when you fall? His forgiveness isn’t slow or reluctant. It’s immediate. He doesn’t fold His arms — He opens them.

Temptation may whisper, but God’s grace shouts louder.

LIVE IT

When temptation hits today, pause and pray:

“Lord, show me the desire underneath this… and give me strength to choose You.”

GO DEEPER

What temptation grows loudest when you’re tired or discouraged?

What good desire might be hiding underneath it that the enemy is twisting?

Who can you pray for each time temptation appears?

DINNER TABLE DEVOTIONAL

What temptations do kids and adults both face?

Why does temptation get stronger when we’re not close to God?

What practical “escape route” can our family commit to this week?

PRAY IT

Father, thank You for providing a way out when temptation comes. Help me recognize the desire underneath it and choose obedience. Strengthen me, steady me, and remind me of Your grace when I stumble. Amen.

That’s Day 4 of Week 1.

Tomorrow we close out the first week as James turns our attention to the goodness of God and the kind of life that grows from it.

If you’d like to walk through the full 7-week journey through James — including daily reflections and leader discussion guides — you can find Faith With Work Boots On here:

Faith With Work Boots On on Amazon

James has already talked about endurance in trials and asking God for wisdom. Today he shifts our focus to identity.

In a world that measures worth by success and possessions, James reminds us that everything temporary eventually fades. What lasts is faithfulness.

WEEK 1 - DAY 3 - A LEGACY THAT LASTS

READ IT (CSB)

James 1:9–11
Let the brother of humble circumstances boast in his exaltation; but let the rich boast in his humiliation because he will pass away like a flower of the field…

OWN IT

Where do you find your identity?

Most of us spend our lives measuring ourselves by success, stability, or status. When we’re young, we believe the right accomplishments — or the right paycheck — will finally make us “somebody.” But James reminds us none of that lasts. Wealth fades. Achievements fade. Applause fades.

God is shaping us to live for something eternal.

This passage pulls us back to center:
Your value isn’t determined by the world but by the One who made you.
Your worth isn’t measured in possessions or titles but in faithfulness lived out daily.

And for me, faithfulness runs deep in my family story.

Growing up in my small Tennessee community, mentioning my grandparents’ names was like a password. People lit up and said, “Oh, they’re good people.”

My Paw Paw Bruce Wood.
My Granddaddy Duke Hamilton, who turns 93 this coming weekend.
My Grandmama Billie Hamilton, who just turned 93.
My Grandma Pauline Wood.

Hardworking. Kind. Steady. Faithful.

I grew up knowing the Wood boys had a reputation to live up to — and honestly, I was proud of that.

One moment from my teenage years still hits me hard. I was sixteen and needed money for a car repair, so I asked Granddaddy Duke for a loan. I paid him back over time, little check by little check. When I handed him the final payment, he left the room briefly, then returned with every check I’d written.

He placed them in my hand and said:

“Rip these up. You paid your debt.
And I’m proud of you.”

I’ll never forget that moment — not the money, not the repair, but the pride in his eyes.

That’s legacy.

Not possessions.
Not popularity.
Not achievements.

Legacy is faithfulness and character passed down.

Both sides of my family lived that way — long marriages, hard work, loving well, showing up when it mattered. Karen and I now carry that same baton, modeling faithfulness our kids can feel and learn from.

James says life fades like a flower.
But faithfulness?
That lasts.

Your identity isn’t what you accumulate — it’s who you’re becoming in Christ and the footsteps you leave behind.

LIVE IT

Ask God to help you measure your worth by His love, not by your accomplishments. Choose one action today that builds eternal legacy.

GO DEEPER

1. What earthly things are you most tempted to measure your worth by?

2. Which qualities of your family (or spiritual family) do you hope to pass down?

3. What intentional step could you take today to build a Christ-centered legacy?

DINNER TABLE DEVOTIONAL

1. What do you want our family to be known for?

2. Who has modeled faithfulness in your life?

3. What habit can we build this week that strengthens our family’s legacy?

PRAY IT

Lord, help me build a life that outlasts me. Shape my identity in You. Strengthen my character and deepen my faithfulness so my life points the next generation toward Jesus. Amen.

That’s Day 3 of Week 1.

Two more devotionals remain in this opening week as James continues shaping a faith that lasts longer than success, status, or possessions.

If you’d like to walk through the full 7-week study through James — including daily reflections and leader discussion guides — you can find Faith With Work Boots On here:
https://a.co/d/0cVHa8e1

Karen and I just got back from a trip celebrating our twentieth anniversary, and one of the things I was excited to get back to was continuing the work on my upcoming book, Built to Last.

Most of us spend a lot of time trying to figure out what we should do with our lives. We ask questions about purpose, calling, leadership, and responsibility. But before the Bible ever talks about what we do, it talks about who we are. The book of Ephesians begins there. Before Paul tells believers how to live, he reminds them who they already are in Christ.

It’s a six-week journey through the book of Ephesians focused on identity before activity, who we are in Christ.

Over the past couple of weeks I quietly started forming a launch team for the book, and I’ve already had 12 readers volunteer to be part of it. That encouragement means more than you know.

I’m capping the launch team at 40 readers so it stays manageable and intentional.

Here’s how it works:

Launch team members receive early access to an online draft preview (view-only PDF) of the book. In return, they read through it, offer honest feedback, and post a review on Amazon during launch week.

Those first 48 hours after a book releases make a bigger difference than most people realize, and early readers help carry the book further than I could on my own.

If you’d like to be part of the launch team, just reply to this email and I’ll send the details.

To give you a sense of the tone of the book, I’ve included the introduction below.

INTRODUCTION TO BUILT TO LAST

Before You Ever Build a House…

I was almost 23 years old, still living with my Mama and Tom, and by most measures, I was a good guy.

I had a job.
I stayed out of trouble.
I paid my bills.

But I still felt like a kid.

Part of that had to do with the fact that I was still being treated like one. Some nights I’d come home late, and Mama would be sitting there waiting. Not mad. Not lecturing. Just…waiting. I’d reassure her that everything was fine, and she’d remind me, kindly but firmly, that she was my Mama, and that worrying was part of the job.

Eventually, she gently suggested that it might be time for me to look for my own place.

She wasn’t wrong.

I didn’t feel completely ready, but I felt ready enough. And sometimes, that’s how life moves forward.

So I started looking at houses.

The first one I seriously considered was $65,000. That sounded like an astronomical amount of money to a 22-year-old who still felt surprised when adults asked his opinion. Walking through someone else’s house while a realtor talked to me, not past me, not over me, was surreal. At one point I remember thinking, “Oh…she’s asking me what I think.”

The house wasn’t fancy, but it was mine. It had a covered patio, a carport, a big wooden storage barn out back, and a little shed by the side door that I jokingly called “the guard shack.” I signed the papers. I got the keys. And then I walked into an empty house.

No furniture.
No appliances.
Nothing.

I bought a bed and a dresser. Family friends donated furniture that didn’t match in any way, shape, or form. I didn’t care. I had a house. For the first week, I didn’t even sleep in the bedroom. I fell asleep on the couch most nights, watching British comedies on Channel 8, half-excited and half-overwhelmed.

Then reality showed up.

About a month in, I came home and the house felt like an oven. The thermostat read 92 degrees. That didn’t seem right. I called my Uncle John, and he confirmed what I suspected—the central unit’s thermostat was shot. Thankfully, I had purchased a home warranty. The repair cost me $90 instead of hundreds.

That was my first lesson in homeownership.

Owning a house wasn’t a sit-and-wait situation.
Things broke.
Things needed attention.
Small issues could turn into big ones if ignored.

I learned quickly that responsibility had shifted. The house wasn’t just something I lived in—it was something I was responsible for.

At the time, I thought buying a house was a rite of passage and a financial milestone. What I learned instead was that anything worth having requires work and ownership means responsibility.

And here’s the thing,

A lot of people feel the same way about faith.

The Turn Toward Ephesians

Many of us come to Christ and receive something far greater than a house. We’re given forgiveness, identity, inheritance, purpose, and belonging. Scripture tells us we are adopted, sealed, and made alive in Christ.

But then we stand there, keys in hand, wondering:

• What do I do now?

• How do I live in this?

• Am I even ready for this responsibility?

The book of Ephesians was written to believers who had already been given everything…and were still learning how to live like it.

That’s where this book comes in.

Setting Up the “Big Toolbox”

Think of this book as a big toolbox. Not something you read once and put on a shelf, but something you return to as needed.

Inside, you’ll find:

• daily Scripture readings

• reflections that connect faith to real life

• practical “Live It” steps

• deeper questions for growth

• dinner-table devotionals for families

• leader guides in the back for small groups or classes

You’ll also find sections for:

• salvation (because you don’t have to be “ready” to begin, God already paid the price)

• rededication (because sometimes things pile up and the house needs work)

• next steps (because faith is meant to be lived, not stored away)

Whether you feel like you’re building from the ground up, moving into something new, or renovating what’s been neglected, you’re not alone.

God doesn’t just give us keys.
He teaches us how to live in the house.

And He’s really good at renovations.

As we walk through Ephesians together over the next six weeks, we’ll begin where Paul begins — with identity. We’ll look at what God has done for us, what He says is true about us, and how those truths shape the way we live every day. Along the way you’ll find Scripture, reflection questions, and practical prompts designed to move faith from theory into practice.

You don’t have to rush through this study or get everything perfect. Just show up, open the Word, and take the next step.

Because faith that lasts isn’t built in a single moment.

It’s built one faithful step at a time.

And when identity is anchored in Christ, the life built on it is built to last.

Thanks for being part of this community. Your encouragement, prayers, and conversations around these posts are a big reason these books exist in the first place.

Let’s build something that lasts.

— Maury

We’re continuing Week 1 from Faith With Work Boots On.

James doesn’t just tell us to endure trials — he tells us what to do when we feel unsure in the middle of them.

If you’ve ever prayed for wisdom…and then second-guessed the answer five minutes later, this one will feel familiar.

DAY 2 — ASK BOLDLY, TRUST FULLY

READ IT (CSB)

James 1:5–8
Now if any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God—who gives to all generously and ungrudgingly—and it will be given to him. But let him ask in faith without doubting. For the doubter is like the surging sea, driven and tossed by the wind. That person should not expect to receive anything from the Lord, being double-minded and unstable in all his ways.

OWN IT

Wisdom is one of the clearest signs of spiritual maturity — but also one of the things we hesitate to ask God for. Not because we don’t need it, but because we secretly hope we can figure things out ourselves. James doesn’t leave room for that. If you lack wisdom — and we all do — ask God. And ask believing He’ll answer.

I’ve learned that asking boldly and trusting fully are two different challenges. I don’t have trouble asking. My trouble comes when I lay a question at God’s feet…and then try to sneak back and pick it up again like a toddler grabbing a toy they “weren’t done with yet.”

There was a season when we were considering moving into a new home. We had a baby on the way, a shift in income looming, and about twelve different spreadsheets that all gave me slightly different answers — none of which felt completely safe. I prayed, “Lord, give me wisdom,” and for about five minutes I felt confident. Then doubt crept in.

What if I was making a mistake?
What if I misunderstood God?
What if the numbers lied?

That’s double-mindedness.
And I lived there longer than I care to admit.

But God provided. Not instantly. Not in the way I expected. But faithfully — in the exact way He always has. Looking back, I can see His fingerprints all over that season.

In the moment, though, it felt like I was being tossed by every fear that popped into my mind.

The truth is, wisdom isn’t just about getting answers. It’s about getting anchored. When God gives wisdom, He steadies you.

Wisdom doesn’t remove the need for faith — it invites it.

It teaches you to say:
“God, I don’t just want clarity. I want Your clarity.”
“I’m not asking You to bless my plans — I’m asking You to guide them.”
“I’ll ask boldly — and I’ll trust fully.”

God doesn’t shame you for needing wisdom. He delights in giving it. He just wants a heart that believes He knows what He’s doing.

LIVE IT

Choose one place where your heart feels divided and ask God for wisdom — without reaching back for control.

GO DEEPER

1. What decision or situation is making you feel “tossed by the waves” right now?

2. Where do you struggle most to trust God’s wisdom over your own?

3. What would it look like to leave this request fully in God’s hands?

DINNER TABLE DEVOTIONAL

1. What’s something you’ve been asking God to help you understand or decide?

2. When is it hardest for you to trust God’s wisdom instead of your own plan?

3. How can we help each other stay steady when doubt tries to shake us?

PRAY IT

Father, thank You for being generous with wisdom. I’m asking boldly today. Steady my heart where it feels divided. Help me trust Your timing and Your leadership. When doubt rises, remind me of Your faithfulness. I lay this request at Your feet, and I choose to leave it there. Amen.

James doesn’t promise a life without waves. He promises a God who gives wisdom generously.

If this encouraged you, the complete 7-week study is available here:
Faith With Work Boots On: A 7-Week Journey Through the Book of James

My prayer is that it helps you ask boldly — and trust fully.

Faith sounds strong until life tests it.

Over the next several weeks, I’m sharing Week 1 from my devotional Faith With Work Boots On, a 7-week journey through the book of James.

Day 1 starts where James starts — not with comfort, but with trials. And a surprising kind of strength.

DAY 1 — STRONGER THAN YOU THINK

READ IT (CSB)

James 1:1–4
James, a servant of God and of the Lord Jesus Christ:
To the twelve tribes dispersed abroad.
Greetings.
Consider it a great joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you experience various trials, because you know that the testing of your faith produces endurance. And let endurance have its full effect, so that you may be mature and complete, lacking nothing.

OWN IT

Trials don’t usually show up looking like “joy.”
Most of the time, they look like frustration, fear, inconvenience, or insecurity. But James isn’t telling us to enjoy suffering — he’s telling us to recognize what it produces.

Early in my teaching days, I spent recess as the all-time quarterback for a group of sixth graders. That’s when I noticed Jackson — a smart, quiet kid who always stood off to the side. He wanted to play football but didn’t see himself as athletic.

So I invited him in.

At first, Jackson dropped every single pass.
The first attempt? Dropped.
The second? Dropped.
The next? Also dropped.
But the boy kept trying. Every recess. Every day. And little by little, effort turned into small victories.

Then came the moment.

Jackson ran a short route toward the corner of the end zone. I threw the ball.
He caught it — clean. Touchdown.

The field erupted with sixth-grade celebration.
Both teams ran to him with high-fives. Kids were shouting his name.
Jackson’s face was pure shock, then joy.

No coaches were there. No parents were there.
But had they been, they would’ve been cheering louder than anyone.

Fast-forward a few weeks to the parent-teacher conference.
Jackson’s dad pulled me aside and said:

“Thank you for getting him into football at recess. He’s been asking me to throw the ball with him at home. He’s never wanted to do that before. I’ve waited years for that.”

Right there — that’s endurance having its full effect.
Not perfection. Not instant talent.
But growth that came through resistance, encouragement, and trying again.

Sometimes your trials feel exactly like those early recess catches…dropped, frustrating, embarrassing, exhausting. But God sees what you’re becoming. He knows endurance is forming in you even when you don’t feel it.

One small step of courage, repeated consistently, becomes maturity.

You’re stronger than you think because God is stronger than you realize.

LIVE IT

Choose one area of struggle — a fear, insecurity, habit, or responsibility — and commit to showing up again today. Not perfectly. Just faithfully.

GO DEEPER

1. Where are you currently experiencing a trial that feels more frustrating than fruitful?

2. What do you think God may be forming in you through it?

3. What’s one way you can “show up again” today?

DINNER TABLE DEVOTIONAL

1. What’s one thing you kept practicing until you finally got better at it?

2. Why do you think God uses difficult moments to grow us?

3. What “touchdown moment” would you love to see come from something you’re struggling with right now?

PRAY IT

Father, thank You for the strength You’re building in me through trials. Help me see Your purpose even when the process feels slow. Grow endurance in my heart and maturity in my faith. Give me the courage to show up again today. Amen.

If this encouraged you, there are four more days in Week 1 that continue building this foundation of endurance and lived-out faith.

The complete 7-week study, including leader helps for every week, is available here:

Faith With Work Boots On: A 7-Week Journey Through the Book of James

My prayer is that it helps you put faith into motion.

1. Electric fences are not to be trusted.

2. Confidence without clarity will absolutely knock you flat.

What started as a simple farm chore turned into a flying lesson, a lifelong respect for electricity, and a surprising connection to Peter walking on water.

This one made me laugh while writing it—and pause a little too.

I grew up on a farm. My grandfather, uncle, and father milked cows for a living. That meant my brothers and I spent a lot of time on tractors, counting cows, bottle-feeding calves, and driving at an age most people would’ve called "wildly unsafe."

We fixed fences, moved cattle, and worked gardens before “organic” was trendy. My wife loves to tell people I grew up eating organic before it was a thing. She’s not wrong.

Our farm wasn’t where the cows got milked. That happened at my grandparents’ place. Ours was the in-between: a holding ground for heifers and the occasional steer who was...well, future supper. (Quick side note: heifers are young female cows that haven’t had a calf yet. It’s farm-speak that you learn early out there.)

One summer day, we were fixing an electric fence. It wouldn’t hit too hard—my brothers and I used to test fences by touching them with blades of grass. The first pulse was nothing. The second? A quick light zap to let you know it meant business. We’d moved the heifers out of the way and were about to start repairs. My grandfather told me to go into the barn and turn off the electric box.

“Hit the black knob,” Pa Pa (sounded a lot like Pawl Pawl) said.

I was probably about seven, give or take. Already working on my lifelong commitment to figuring things out myself instead of asking for help. So I walked in the barn, found the box, and started looking for that black knob.

And there it was: a big, round, black thing on the front of the box with a metal wire coming out of it.

I hesitated. Something about it felt…dangerous. Like, maybe this is where the actual electricity is.

But Pa Pa was hollering from outside, “You got it off yet, Maury D?”

So I did what any self-assured, farm-raised seven-year-old would do: I grabbed it.

And got blasted.

I don’t remember much in that moment, other than flying backward four feet like I’d been flung by the hand of God Himself. It didn’t hurt as much as it threw me. I remember thinking, “Is this what happened to the people in the Bible when they touched the Ark of the Covenant?”

I stumbled outside, dazed. Pa Pa asked what happened. I told him.

He laughed.

“Why’d you grab that? That’s where the power goes!”

“It was the only black knob I could see!”

Turns out, the real switch was hidden behind a post, tucked in like a secret you only know if someone shows you. It wasn’t black. It wasn’t a knob. It was a light switch.

A normal light switch.

But I hadn’t asked. I just assumed. And I learned a valuable lesson: sometimes, knowing what you’re doing is less important than knowing when to ask someone who actually does.

What a Cow Feels Like

The good news? The fence got fixed. The heifers stayed in. Supper still happened.
And I got a story.

To this day, I have a healthy respect for electricity and for asking questions before grabbing potentially dangerous things.

But I also gained something else: empathy. Because after that moment, I knew what it felt like to be a cow that got a little too close to the fence. Not just theoretically. Viscerally.

Sometimes, the best lessons stick with you because they literally knock you off your feet. And sometimes, growing up means learning the hard way, learning on your own, and learning that just because you think you know what you’re doing doesn’t mean you should grab the nearest black knob and hope for the best.

Walking on Water (and Getting Zapped)

That moment in the barn makes me think of Peter walking on water.

Peter gets a lot of grief for sinking, but I think we miss something important. He wasn’t being foolish. He wasn’t showing off. He asked Jesus first.

“Lord, if it’s you,” Peter answered him, “command me to come to you on the water.”
“Come,” he said.
— Matthew 14:28–29 (CSB)

Peter stepped out of the boat. And for a moment, he actually did it. He walked on water.

It wasn’t until he noticed the wind that everything unraveled.

That day in the barn, my wind wasn’t danger. It was pride. I didn’t want to look clueless. I wanted Pa Pa to be proud that I could handle it on my own. So instead of asking what the switch looked like, I grabbed the first black thing I saw and hoped for the best.

Different setting. Same mistake.

And just like Peter, the moment my focus shifted, I went down.

But here’s the part I love most:

Immediately Jesus reached out his hand, caught hold of him, and said, “You of little faith, why did you doubt?”
— Matthew 14:31 (CSB)

Jesus didn’t let Peter drown. He pulled him up, then taught him.

That’s what Pa Pa did for me. He made sure I was okay, then showed me where the switch really was.

From the Writer

When I look back now, I don’t see a reckless kid. I see a kid trying to be responsible, trusted, and capable. I also see a pattern I still fight as an adult. I don’t mind asking others if they need help. I struggle asking for it myself.

Marriage has taught me grace after failure. Parenting has taught me the same thing, sometimes daily. Faith has taught me that confidence isn’t the enemy. Losing focus is.

Sometimes faith isn’t about stepping out bravely.
It’s about keeping our eyes on our Savior.
Our Pa Pa.
And knowing when to ask for help before grabbing the nearest black knob and hoping it all works out.

A Question to Sit With This Week

Where in your life are you stepping out with good intentions—but not asking first?

What’s your wind right now?
Pride?
Impatience?
Not wanting to let someone down?

And what might it look like to pause, look back at the boat, and reach out instead?

If this story made you laugh, wince, or think of your own “electric fence” moment, I’d love to hear about it in the comments.

And if you want more stories about family, faith, and learning the hard way (with humor), you know where to find me.

Just…maybe don’t grab the black knob.

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“Children are a gift from the Lord; they are a reward from him.”
— Psalm 127:3 (CSB)

“Let the little children come to me, and don’t stop them, because the kingdom of God belongs to such as these.”
— Luke 18:16 (CSB)

I’m blessed to have a job that gives me a choice on snow days.

I can take the day and be fully present, or I can work and bank it for a warmer, sunnier day down the road.

But anytime snow is in the forecast, there’s one question my kids always ask:

“Are you taking the day?”

And my answer usually depends on one very serious factor.

“Can we build a snowman?”

If the answer is yes, then I’m taking the day. No hesitation. We take snowman building seriously in our house.

If the answer is no, then we talk it through.

“Do you want Daddy for a cold day inside, or do you want Daddy to save a day for later when it’s warmer?”

That conversation alone tells me everything I need to know about how fleeting this season is.

I remember growing up and my brothers and I just going outside and playing. As our family has grown—four kids now, ages 8, 11, 12, and 17—I know my snow days are numbered. Every time we’re all working together to build a snowman or I see them attempting to turn a pile of snow into an igloo, I know I’m standing in a moment I’ll miss someday.

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Inside, it looks a little different now too.

The two youngest disappear into the bonus room to build forts. This time it was an entire city called Tentessee—houses, stores, restaurants, the works.

The older two want games. Not kid games. Real games. Games where they can finally hang with Mama and Daddy without feeling like they’re slumming it.

Karen makes soup, because of course she does, and we play Outsmarted and Sequence until things get very competitive. And honestly, I love that part. I love that they still want our attention.

We’ve been home together for over a week now, and it’s been really good. I’ll admit, though, these kids need to stretch their legs. The ice has kept us in, partly because I don’t want them falling…and partly because I fell myself this morning. My leg hurts a little, but not nearly as much as my ego.

Thank goodness the Ring camera caught it all in its full glory. (You are not getting that video unless you pay for it, lol.)

What really gets me, though, are the conversations.

My youngest wants all my attention. The older ones need less of it, and that’s not a bad thing. They’re stepping closer to whatever comes next. They don’t need Mama and Daddy for everything anymore.

But I’m not sad about it.

I turn 49 this year, and I still need my Mama sometimes.

Needs change. Love doesn’t.

I don’t live in the past wishing I’d done more, and I don’t live in the future grieving what hasn’t happened yet. I try to live right here…in gratitude. Karen and I work well together, and I thank God often for that. This family is a gift, and I want to steward it well.

Work matters. My kids know that. They understand responsibility. They know Daddy works so we can have what we need.

But when I clock out, the day is over.

I’ve seen parents bring bad days home, and that weight lands on kids whether we mean it to or not. My kids only get me for a little while. I don’t want that time filled with frustration and leftovers from work.

Snow days help me unplug and plug back into my kids.

Time is precious. When one of my kids sits next to me on the couch, I pull them close. Almost every time, they lean in further. Just today, I had one kid on my left shoulder and another stretched across my lap on the right.

I could make a million dollars and still raise kids who feel poor.

So I’m trying to teach them the value of time, not things.

That’s part of why we started a birthday tradition this year.

My brother-in-law has always taken his daughters out for a day on their birthdays. I loved that idea, so I asked my kids if they wanted to try it.

I started with my youngest daughter. I pulled her out of school, and we had a full daddy-daughter day. She picked where we ate. She picked what we did. We went to the mall. We went to the library. I was just her escort while she window-shopped and checked out her favorite authors.

When I told her I was taking a day off work just for her, she lit up.

“You’re taking off work for me?”

That sentence says everything.

Later, I asked her what the day meant to her.

That’ll preach.

A Faithful Use of Time

The Bible tells us children are a gift from the Lord. Gifts aren’t something we manage later when life slows down. They’re something we receive with gratitude and care right now.

I think time works the same way.

God gives it to us, and we decide how to spend it. In that sense, time is like currency. And I don’t want to waste my “time money” on things that won’t matter when the snow melts.

Jesus never treated children as interruptions. He stopped. He noticed. He made room.

I want my kids to know how important they are—not just by what I say, but by how I spend my days.

Gratitude keeps me present. Urgency makes me miss details. I’d rather worship God by loving my family well than rush past the moments He’s already put in front of me.

I’m not trying to step on toes, but if we keep saying we’ll make time later, we’ll just keep saying it—until later runs out.

As I write this, my youngest son is leaning hard against my arm, making it difficult to type. I could ask him to move. Instead, I’m letting him stay right where he is. The couch is empty except for me and him. He could sit anywhere on this L-shaped couch, but he chose right here…next to me.

Future me will be grateful for that.

I once saw massive tapestries hanging on a wall in Ireland. So large it told several stories at once. That’s how I think about family. Our tapestry is already big, and it keeps growing.

What does yours look like right now?

If it feels a little empty, that’s okay. You can start today. It doesn’t have to be a birthday. It can be a Thursday or a Tuesday. Get up early on Saturday and grab breakfast. Put it on the calendar right now. Be intentional.

God has entrusted us with these families. Steward them well.

Snow melts. Kids grow. Time moves.

But the memories we make together—those hold.

“The Lord is near the brokenhearted; he saves those crushed in spirit.”
— Psalm 34:18 (CSB)

Grayson, our youngest, was around two when he discovered his favorite indoor jungle gym: the heavy metal-legged table we had pushed against the hallway wall.
It wasn’t made for climbing. It was made for adult humans to put things on. It was purchased sans kids.
But try telling that to a toddler with zero fear and a complete disregard for physics.

We had warned him, several times actually, that if he kept crawling under it and weaving between the legs like a rodeo clown, he was going to get hurt.
You already know where this is going.

One evening after dinner, Karen was in the bedroom prepping for the next day. I was sitting on the couch, doing the important work of resting after dinner, when I noticed Grayson bee-lining toward his metal playground.

Then I heard it.

CLANK.

The noise was followed by a cry that I can only describe as one of those sirens in the old police movies. It starts out really soft, but then slowly gets louder and shriller.

I stood up, already preparing my best “I told you so” face complete with my hands on my hips. I saw Grayson grabbing his head and silent crying. You know? The kid looks like they are screaming really loud but are not making a sound.
And that’s when I spotted the blood.

I rushed down the hallway and found him holding his head. He had a small but deep slit just above his eye, right at the eyebrow. It was across the bone, and it wasn’t closing. I knew immediately: this kid was going to need some medical-grade attention.

I grabbed a towel from the kitchen, wrapped it around his head, and shouted, "Karen, I’m taking Grayson to the ER. Be right back!" She caught me before I could get the door.

Cue the "MY BABY! MY BABY!" alarm.
To her credit, Karen didn’t completely panic, mostly because I didn’t let her actually see the cut.
I was trying to keep one parent calm because if Mama and Daddy are calm, then the kids tend to “think” everything is calm, too.

So, Grayson and I loaded up and headed to the ER.

The Emergency Room on a random Tuesday night is its own kind of special.
While we were waiting, a shirtless man, who had clearly been given something strong enough to knock out a grizzly bear, decided that I was his new best friend. He sat down beside me. I was polite, but my body language and my face should have been obvious. He started playing 20 Questions with me about Grayson, about life, about his own multiple injuries (a broken collarbone for one) involving a four-wheeler and what I can only describe as creative decision-making.

Now, I’m a friendly guy.
But inside I was thinking, Sir, I’m holding a bloody toddler. Please save your memoir for someone else.

Finally, we were called back.
And if you’ve ever taken a kid to the ER, you know the routine:
Every person who walked in the room greeted me the same way:

"Oh, poor buddy. What happened here?"
"Oof. What’s the story, Dad?"
"How’d Little Man get banged up?"

The sarcastic part of me wanted to say a different answer each time,

"I'm sorry, but we can't talk about Fight Club."

“He messed around, and then he found out.”

“He said he could sled down the stairs on a cookie sheet. Then, I said, ‘I bet you can’t.’”

Instead, I stuck with the truth, even if it sounded a little less exciting.

Because of where the cut was, stitches weren’t a great option. They decided to glue it shut instead.

If you think toddlers are tough about stuff like that, let me tell you.

They are not.

It took three nurses to hold his arms and legs down, and I held his little head as still as I could.
Grayson stared up at me with those huge, tear-filled eyes, and I almost lost it.
I just kept whispering, "You're okay, buddy. Almost done." Lying is OK if it makes your kids feel better, right?

After three long hours, we were finally discharged.

We rolled back into the house like returning war heroes. Grayson went to bed, ugly gash and all, and woke up the next morning good as new. Like it never happened.

It’s funny how a clank and a little chaos can remind you how fiercely you love your kids. Parenting isn’t about preventing the fall. It’s about being who they look for when they hit the ground. It’s about being there when they fall, scooping them up, and making sure they know they’re never facing the scary stuff alone.
(Also, it’s about carrying an industrial-size pack of butterfly bandages. Trust me.)

Lately, I’ve been asking some of those same questions in quieter moments, just without the ER lighting and butterfly bandages.

Is this writing falling on deaf ears?
Am I making a difference?
Did this thing stall out when I wasn’t looking?

This whole writing journey didn’t start as a side hustle. It wasn’t even an idea for one. I just wanted to write. It was a hobby. A place to put thoughts and stories that wouldn’t sit still. And for a while, it felt like it was moving. Then it didn’t. Or at least, it felt that way.

Karen, in her steady, sees-the-whole-picture way, told me to keep on keeping on. To keep doing the work. If this was something I truly felt God was calling me to do, then He would show me the way. I’d just have to trust His timing. That part has never been my strength.

As I’ve gotten older, though, I’ve learned something important about God. He doesn’t usually walk us around the hard stuff. He walks with us straight through it. Storms are where the real lessons live. And in this uncertain season with writing, I’ve been asking God for what I call whispers, little nudges that say, You’re headed in the right direction.

Some days, though, I need a 2×4 to the face. Something a little less subtle. Something that gets my attention.

And the message has been consistent:
Just keep going. Be faithful.

That ER night reminded me why calm matters so much. With my kids, I have to show calm even when I’m absolutely not calm on the inside. I’ve heard them say it. I’ve heard Karen say it. “If Daddy is calm, then everything must be okay.”

That’s my job.

Kids don’t borrow our explanations. They borrow our calm.

I’m always planning. Always watching exits. When we sit down at a restaurant, I sit where I can see the front door. My kids know why. “Daddy wants to see if things ever go sideways.” I don’t want them panicking unless there’s a reason to panic. They make fun of me for it, but they also know not to sit in that chair.

I’m impatient by nature. I want answers now. Results now. Clarity now. But I also know this: God has never failed me. Not once. He always shows up and works through it, even when I can’t see how in the moment.

With God, I always have the majority.

That’s what I was doing in that ER room, holding Grayson’s head still, whispering reassurance I wasn’t fully sure I believed yet. Staying calm so he could stay calm. Trusting that we’d get through it, even if it was uncomfortable.

Maybe that’s parenting.
Maybe that’s faith.
And maybe that’s writing, too.

Just keep going. Be faithful. Stay present. And trust that calm, steady obedience still matters, even when the room is quiet.

Parenting isn’t for the faint of heart. Or for those who faint at the sight of bloody gashes.
It will test your nerves, your patience, and your ability to play "20 Questions" politely with strangers.
And let me tell you: taking the fourth kid to the ER feels very different than taking the first-born to the ER at around the same age.

But Brighton’s ER saga because that's exactly what it was…
That’s for another day.

“Let us not get tired of doing good, for we will reap at the proper time if we don’t give up.”
— Galatians 6:9 (CSB)

Own It

We have a step five problem in our house.

Let’s pretend for a moment that every task in the Wood household takes five steps to complete. You know—start to finish, A to Z, full send. Well, somewhere along the way, my kids declared a silent mutiny on step five. They’ll take a frozen breakfast sandwich out of the freezer. They’ll microwave it. They’ll eat it. They’ll even throw away the wrapper.

But clean up the plate? Why, that’s step five. No thank you.

They’ll come home from school, unlock the front door, remove their shoes, take off their backpacks, unload their folders. But those shoes? Backpack? Papers? Left like breadcrumbs through the living room or in the floor in the foyer.

Step five has become the Bermuda Triangle of responsibility.

We’ll ask them to clean their rooms, and suddenly they turn into attorneys arguing case law.

And if I’m being honest, when I open a closet and find 57 socks, three hoodies, a Jack o’lantern half full of candy and empty wrappers, and a sandwich bag of Goldfish crackers they definitely did not get in their lunch last week, I’m not sure I have much of a legal case myself.

But here’s the thing.
I keep showing up.

Not because I’m a perfectionist.
But because I believe something happens when we aim for completion, even when we don’t always reach it.

One of my favorite quotes is

“In the pursuit of perfection, we find excellence.”

Completion requires consistency.
Consistency requires effort.
And effort often feels exhausting.

But Scripture reminds us that faithfulness isn’t measured by how perfectly we finish every task. It’s measured by whether we keep showing up, especially when we’re tired of pushing toward step five.

One day, the backpacks won’t be in the living room or the hallway.
We won’t be having conversations about the definition of a cleaned room.
They’ll be about college decisions. Moving out. Weddings.

And I’ll wish we were still arguing about step five.

So to the tired parents, the frustrated spouses, the humans doing their best in a house full of chaos, keep pushing for step five. Keep pursuing the standard.

It won’t always be perfect, but it might just be excellent.

And in the process of trying — really trying — maybe we won’t be perfect.

But we’ll be better. Together.

Live It

Keep pursuing the standard, even when it feels repetitive or thankless.
Keep showing up, even when progress feels partial.
Keep pushing toward step five, not because perfection is the goal, but because faithfulness always is.

Go Deeper

1. Where in your life are you tempted to stop at step four?

2. What would faithfulness look like if you kept showing up anyway?

3. How might God be using your consistency to shape something you can’t yet see?

If this hit close to home, I’d love to hear your story.

Ephesians 3:18–19 (CSB)
may be able to comprehend with all the saints what is the length and width, height and depth of God’s love, and to know Christ’s love that surpasses knowledge, so that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.

OWN IT

Growing up, my parents made sure we were in church every Sunday. I remember so many stories from Mrs. Martha Penfield during Sunday School that I still apply to my life today. The story of the prodigal son in Luke 15 is one that many people have heard more than once.

When I first heard it — probably in elementary school — the focus was always on the son who left. He made bad choices. He wandered. He came home ashamed. And the father forgave him. Forgiveness was the headline.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized there’s more going on in that story.

In Luke 15, Jesus tells us about a father with two sons. One demands his inheritance early, leaves home, and squanders everything. Eventually, broken and desperate, he returns, hoping to be treated as a servant. The father does something unexpected. In verse 20, it says “he ran to his son.” No hesitation. No interrogation. No lecture. Before the son could explain anything, the father had his arms wrapped around him.

That father was motivated by love.

We tend to focus on one of the sons. Either the one who left and needed forgiveness, or the one who stayed and felt overlooked. But the heart of the story is the father — the one who never stopped watching the road.

That truth became very real to me a few years ago.

Our family of six went to Walt Disney World, and like any parents in a crowded place, we repeatedly reminded our kids how important it was to stay together. One day, walking through one of the parks, we got separated from Chloe for a brief moment in a sea of people.

I could see her — but she couldn’t see me.

I moved fast. Borderline running. When I reached her, the look of relief on her face said everything. I hugged her, and she kept repeating that she got separated and couldn’t find us. She was scared. I reassured her that my eyes never left her. I could see her the whole time.

She even apologized — though it really wasn’t her fault. The crowd had forced us apart, and once she realized it, she was overwhelmed and couldn’t make her way back. I wasn’t upset. I wasn’t concerned with blame. My only priority was getting to her — quickly.

That’s when it hit me.

We may wander. We may get turned around. Sometimes life crowds us, pushes us, overwhelms us. But God’s eyes never leave us. He’s not surprised by where we end up, and He’s not waiting with crossed arms when we turn back.

He runs.

That’s the length, width, height, and depth of God’s love. A love that surpasses knowledge. A love that doesn’t wait for explanations. A love that moves toward us at full speed.

The Creator of the universe is not standing still, hoping you find your way back. He’s running straight toward you. All He asks is that you open your arms and receive the embrace.

LIVE IT

Take a moment today to reflect on where you might be hesitating to come fully to God. Instead of rehearsing explanations or excuses, simply turn toward Him and trust His love. Let today be about receiving — not earning — the fullness of God’s love.

GO DEEPER

1. Why do you think Jesus emphasized the father’s movement toward the son rather than the son’s apology?

2. Paul says Christ’s love “surpasses knowledge.” What makes God’s love hard to fully grasp with our minds alone?

3. Read Luke 15:20 again slowly. What words or images stand out to you today?

DINNER TABLE DEVOTIONAL

1. Have you ever been lost or separated from someone you love? How did it feel when you were reunited?

2. Why do you think it’s sometimes hard to believe God runs toward us instead of away from us?

3. How can we remind each other this week that God’s love is active, not passive?

PRAY IT

Father,
Thank You for being a God who runs toward us in love.
Help us stop hiding, explaining, or delaying — and simply come home.
Open our hearts to receive the fullness of Your love,
and teach us to live each day confident that Your eyes never leave us.
In the mighty name of Jesus, Amen.