A reminder to speak life, not destruction

Some people in the Bible only appear once—just a brief mention in a few verses.
And yet, the lessons from their lives echo for generations.

Sometimes they stand as heroes of faith.
Other times… they serve as cautionary tales.

Take Diotrephes, for example.

His name shows up only once, in a short letter written by the apostle John. And yet, what we learn from that single mention is powerful—and sobering.

“I wrote to the church, but Diotrephes, who loves to be first, will not welcome us.
So when I come, I will call attention to what he is doing,
spreading malicious nonsense about us…”
— 3 John 1:9–10 (NIV)

Diotrephes had become a leader in the early church—but leadership, in his case, went to his head.

He wasn’t leading to serve. He was leading to dominate.
Scripture tells us he “loved to have the preeminence.” He craved recognition and control. And when anyone else showed up who might challenge his authority—even faithful church leaders like John—Diotrephes responded with hostility.

He refused to offer hospitality to traveling preachers. He discouraged others from welcoming them. And worst of all? He slandered the very people God had sent to shepherd His church.

The Poison of Malicious Words

Diotrephes didn’t just disagree—he actively maligned other leaders.
John calls it “malicious nonsense.”

And sadly, many in the church were either too spiritually immature to recognize the damage—or too afraid to speak out against it.

His gossip sowed division. His pride created fear. His words weakened the very body of Christ he claimed to lead.

And still today, the echoes remain.

Gossip: A Small Spark with Great Power

Gossip is defined as idle talk or the sharing of information—true or not—about someone else’s private matters.
And more often than not, it’s done with questionable motives.

Even if it sounds innocent—“I’m just concerned,” or “I thought you should know”—gossip rarely serves to heal or build up. It tends to wound, divide, and unravel trust.

“A whisperer separates close friends…”
— Proverbs 16:28
“Where there is no wood, the fire goes out; and where there is no whisperer, strife ceases.”
— Proverbs 26:20

Gossip is destructive—even when whispered.
It spreads like wildfire, leaving devastation in its path.

The Fire We Should Spread

The truth is, we’re all faced with sparks every day.
The question is: what are we igniting?

When a juicy piece of news comes our way…
When we’re tempted to speak against someone we dislike or distrust…
When we feel the urge to share what “we heard”…
We have a choice.

We can spread a fire of destruction.
Or we can pass along the only spark that should be contagious:

The warmth of Christ’s love.

That fire?
It doesn’t consume—it comforts.
It doesn’t divide—it invites.
It doesn’t destroy reputations—it restores hearts.

A Final Word

Diotrephes left behind a legacy of control, pride, and toxic speech.
One brief appearance in Scripture—and yet his name is now remembered as a warning.

Lord, let that not be said of us.

Let us be known instead for gentleness, truth spoken in love, hospitality extended freely, and a commitment to unity.
Let our words bring warmth—not wounds.
Let us choose to be a spark of grace in a world full of careless flame.

Father,
Guard my tongue.
Help me to speak only what brings life, not division.
When gossip comes my way, help me be brave enough to stop it.
Let my words reflect Your heart, and let my speech carry the warmth of Your love.
Make me a spark of grace.
Amen.

God is the master of the unexpected invasion.

He knows how to break through our defenses—our excuses, our arguments, our distractions. And He’ll use whatever tools necessary to do it. Personal crisis. Someone else’s suffering. Even a national disaster. Not because He wants to conquer us—but because He wants to free us.

We think we’re building walls to keep pain out.
But more often, those same walls keep Him out… and keep us trapped within.

When a Nation Shook, So Did a Prophet

When King Uzziah died, it marked the end of an era for Judah. It was a time of national grief and uncertainty. But in that moment, Isaiah didn’t just see political instability—he saw heaven.

“I saw the Lord, high and exalted, seated on a throne…” (Isaiah 6:1)

He was reminded: God is still on the throne—even when everything around us feels like it’s falling apart.

Before Isaiah could be sent, before he could speak, before he could serve—he had to see.
Not just the condition of his nation.
But the condition of his own heart.

“Woe is me, for I am undone!” (Isaiah 6:5)

In the holiness of God’s presence, Isaiah was undone.
But he wasn’t rejected.
Instead, grace met him there.

A burning coal from the altar touched his lips—a symbol of cleansing, a sign of forgiveness.
Only then—after confession, after grace—could Isaiah say, “Here am I. Send me.”

Grace Before Mission

What strikes me most is this: In a time of national upheaval, God didn’t begin by giving Isaiah a list of what was wrong with the kings, the laws, or the culture.

He started with Isaiah’s own heart.

God didn’t commission Isaiah to rail against the sins of others until He had first helped Isaiah see his own sin clearly—and understand the depth of God’s grace even more.

Before Isaiah could speak for God, he had to be changed by God.

My Own “Woe Is Me” Moment

I relate to Isaiah’s story more than I used to.

For many years, I pointed at the sins of others. Before I knew Christ, I pointed at the hypocrisy of Christians. After I became one, I still pointed—just at different targets. People who did things differently. Believed differently. Struggled with sin that didn’t match my own.

I wasn’t harsh about it—not openly. But inwardly? There was a quiet, self-satisfied undertone of “Well, at least I’m not like that.”

But then a few years ago, God allowed me to come face-to-face with my own sin. Not just the surface-level struggles, but the deeper issues beneath—the pride, the fear, the judgment, the desperate need for grace.

Like Isaiah, I cried out, “Woe is me. I am undone.”

And like Isaiah, I was met not with rejection, but with grace.

Used Anyway

Now, I find myself struggling with a different question—not “Am I better than them?” but “Can God really use someone like me?”

And here’s what I’m learning:
It’s not about my worthiness.
It’s not about my perfection.
It’s about His grace.
His choice to show strength through weakness.
His ability to use the flawed and the failing for His glory.

A Call for Our Time

We live in a world that’s quick to point fingers.
We talk endlessly about hot-button issues—abortion, sexuality, politics—and yes, these things matter. But they are symptoms.
They point to a deeper need.

What this world needs most is not louder condemnation.
It needs the gospel of grace.

It needs people who love unconditionally.
Who speak kindness.
Who see themselves clearly and still choose compassion.
Who live with the awareness: “I was lost. I was broken. I was far off. And He welcomed me anyway.”

That’s the gospel.
That’s what our nation—and our world—desperately needs.

“For as by one man’s disobedience many were made sinners,
so also by one Man’s obedience many will be made righteous…
Where sin abounded, grace abounded much more.”
— Romans 5:19–21

Grace abounds.
And that’s the only reason I can say:

I come broken to be mended
I come wounded to be healed
I come desperate to be rescued
I come empty to be filled
I come guilty to be pardoned
By the blood of Christ the Lamb
And I’m welcomed with open arms
Praise God, just as I am.

It’s been a long time since I’ve written here.

To be honest, I’ve been in a pretty difficult place the last couple of years—spiritually, emotionally, and even creatively. The words just haven’t come easily. My thoughts have mostly poured out in scattered Facebook posts, bits and pieces of processing. The other day, my husband gently pointed out, “You know, I think you’ve been blogging on Facebook.”

And you know what? He’s right. (Don’t you just love it when that happens? 😄)
So, here I am again, back in this space—for now—with a heart that’s tender and a voice that’s slowly returning.

Learning to Begin Again

There’s a quote I’ve come back to often lately—one that seems to capture where I’ve been and where I’m heading:

“Have patience with all things, but chiefly have patience with yourself.
Do not lose courage in considering your own imperfections,
but instantly set about remedying them—every day begin the task anew.”
— Saint Francis de Sales

That last line—“every day begin the task anew”—has been like balm to my soul.
Because some days, that’s the best we can do.
Begin again.

From Bible Study to Worship… and Wrestling

This morning, we finished our study of Hebrews in our Bible Fellowship group. My husband has been leading this series, and it’s been such a gift. Then during the worship service, we participated in a commitment service—a beautiful time of dedicating ourselves, our resources, and our lives to the Lord.

The orchestra didn’t play this morning. Instead, we stood with the choir, adding our voices to the hymns being sung.

And that’s where everything started to stir.

The first hymn was “Before the Throne of God Above.”
A song I’ve sung countless times.
But today… it undid me.

As the opening line appeared on the screen—“Before the throne of God above…”—Romans 14:10–12 sprang to mind:

“For we shall all stand before the judgment seat of Christ…
Each of us shall give an account of himself to God.”

Suddenly, that familiar undercurrent of unworthiness came rushing in.
My old, legalistic mindset reared its head and struck deep.

Who was I to be standing here, singing in the choir, helping lead worship?
I’m no spiritual giant. I’m a sinner—flawed, broken, failing far more often than I’d like to admit.
Every good thing I’ve ever tried to do still feels like filthy rags compared to His holiness.

I felt like the tax collector in Luke 18, beating his chest in the back of the temple, crying out, “Lord, have mercy on me, a sinner.”

And then… the choir began to sing.

Truth That Sings

Before the throne of God above
I have a strong and perfect plea:
A great High Priest whose name is Love,
Who ever lives and pleads for me.

Tears began to form.

My name is graven on His hands,
My name is written on His heart…
I know that while in heaven He stands,
No tongue can bid me thence depart.

I listened. I sang. I received.

When Satan tempts me to despair
And tells me of the guilt within,
Upward I look, and see Him there
Who made an end to all my sin.

And I remembered:
I do not and will not face the throne of God on my own.

He Lives and Pleads for Me

While we were singing, I could hear my husband’s voice in my mind, reading from Hebrews 4:

“Seeing then that we have a great High Priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession.
For we do not have a High Priest who cannot sympathize with our weaknesses, but was in all points tempted as we are, yet without sin.
Let us therefore come boldly to the throne of grace…”
— Hebrews 4:14–16

Jesus knows what it is to be human.
He understands my struggles—because He experienced weakness and temptation too.
But unlike me, He was without sin.
And now, He stands as my advocate.
He pleads for me.

I don’t have to sneak into the throne room quietly, hoping not to be noticed.
I can approach boldly.
Because of Him.

A Gospel That Still Wrecks Me

Because the sinless Savior died,
My sinful soul is counted free.
For God the just is satisfied
To look on Him and pardon me.

That’s the gospel.
Not that I got it all right—but that He did.
Not that I’ve been worthy—but that He made me righteous.
Not that I’ve earned it—but that He paid for it in full.

One With Himself, I Cannot Die

One with Himself I cannot die,
My soul is purchased by His blood.
My life is hid with Christ on high,
With Christ, my Savior and my God.

Amen.

A Final Thought

So, if like me, you’ve been in a hard place—feeling unworthy, weary, or unsure if you even belong in the room…
Let this be your reminder:

You are not alone.
You are not unredeemable.
And you don’t have to stand silent at the edge of grace.

He lives.
He pleads for you.
And you can come boldly, just as you are.

Praise God, just as I am.

I’ve been learning something lately.
Actually, re-learning might be a better word.

It’s one thing to trust God with my eternal destiny.
To say, “Yes, Lord, I trust You with my soul.”
To believe in heaven, in salvation, in the promises of eternity.

It’s another thing entirely to trust Him with my everyday.

To trust Him with the things that keep me up at night.
With the situations I can’t figure out.
With the pain I don’t understand and the decisions I don’t know how to make.

To trust Him even when I can’t see how anything good could possibly come from what I’m facing.

Trust Beyond Eternity

If I really want to know God’s will—not just for my life in the big-picture sense, but for my actions, my attitude, my next step—I have to start with trust.

Real, day-by-day, detail-level trust.

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart,
and lean not on your own understanding;
in all your ways acknowledge Him,
and He shall direct your paths.”
— Proverbs 3:5–6

This verse has comforted me since I was young. But lately, it’s been confronting me, too.

It reminds me that trust isn’t partial.
It’s not “some of your heart.”
It’s all.

And it asks something hard of me:
To acknowledge Him in all my ways.
Not just the tidy ones. Not just the Sunday morning ones.
But in the messy, confusing, painful, and overwhelming ones, too.

He Cares About It All

If I believe that God is truly good…
If I believe that He is involved, attentive, and loving…
Then I must also believe that He cares about the details of my life—not just my soul, but my schedule.
Not just my salvation, but my sorrow.
Not just my future, but my right now.

He doesn’t promise to do things my way.
(And honestly, I’ve come to be thankful for that.)
He promises to direct my path—to lead, to guide, to be faithful.
Even when I can’t see how.
Even when it doesn’t look the way I thought it would.

Still Learning, Still Trusting

I’m still human.
Still figuring this out.
Still discovering that God is more trustworthy than I ever imagined.

When I’m hurting, He knows.
When I’m uncertain, He’s still in charge.
When I can’t see the way forward, He’s already gone ahead of me.

No, He doesn’t always handle things the way I would.
But He sees the whole story.
He knows the weight of my heart and the work He’s doing in me through every twist and turn.

And that—honestly—is something I’m extremely grateful for. 😊

Years ago, when I turned 40, a friend gave me a coffee mug that made me laugh out loud. Painted on the front were these words:

“In our 20’s we thought we could change the world.
In our 30’s we thought we could rule the world.
In our 40’s we just wish we knew what in the world is going on.”

At the time, it felt funny and true.
Now that decade is behind me, I realize—it was also profoundly insightful.

Especially when it comes to my spiritual walk.

In My 20s: Strong, Capable, and Just Getting Started

I came to know Christ in my 20s. That season of life was full of ambition, passion, and the deep desire to be enough. I wanted to do big things for God. I wanted to be strong, capable, wise, respected. I wouldn’t have said I wanted to be perfect—but in hindsight, I lived like I did.

And if not perfect, then at least perceived that way.

But somewhere along the way, God allowed my life to be turned upside down—more than once.

Not to punish.
Not to shame.
But to teach.

To teach me that the pursuit of perfectionism in my own power was actually keeping me from relying on Him.

To remind me that I need Him—not just for salvation, but for everything.

The Hard but Holy Gift of Dependence

When life unravels, so does our illusion of control.
And in that unraveling, God began showing me the truth:

I can’t do anything apart from Him.
Not really.
Not anything that matters.
Not anything that lasts.

He is the only One who is truly good.
The only One who is perfect.
And the only One who can perfect me—not through effort, but through grace.

When Weakness Becomes a Portal for Power

Paul understood this better than anyone. In 2 Corinthians 12:9, he writes:

“And He said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.’
Therefore most gladly I will rather boast in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.”

It’s not when I feel strong that His power is most evident.
It’s when I’m aware of just how weak I am.

It’s when I realize I can’t hold it all together.
When I finally stop pretending I’ve got it all figured out.
When I fall, confess, cry, and lean fully into Him.

That’s when His strength meets me.
That’s when His grace holds me up.
That’s when the power of Christ begins to rest on me and in me—not because I’m good enough, but because He is.

A Better Kind of Righteousness

There’s such freedom in realizing that I don’t have to produce my own righteousness.
That I don’t have to perform, impress, or strive my way into God’s affection.
That I’m already loved.
Already chosen.
Already covered by the only righteousness that truly matters—His.

“He is all the righteousness I will ever need.”

What a beautiful, humbling, glorious truth.

So Where Am I Now?

I’m still learning.
Still growing.
Still discovering that my dependence on Him isn’t weakness—it’s the way of strength.

And every day, I’m more and more grateful that He didn’t leave me in my perfectionist striving.
That He let things fall apart, just enough, to teach me how to lean.
To show me that His grace really is sufficient.

Not just for eternity—but for today.

There’s a Cherokee proverb that simply says:

“Don’t let yesterday use up too much of today.”

I’ve always loved the clarity of that. And more and more, I’m finding how deeply it resonates with Scripture and with the real-life struggles I see daily—both in others and in myself.

The apostle Paul wrote this in his letter to the Philippians:

“Not that I have already attained, or am already perfected; but I press on,
that I may lay hold of that for which Christ Jesus has also laid hold of me.
Brethren, I do not count myself to have apprehended;
but one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind
and reaching forward to those things which are ahead,
I press toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.”
— Philippians 3:12–14

One thing I’ve seen over and over again through counseling is this:

Too many Christians are still bound by their past—and because of that, they can’t fully live in the present.

Some are stuck because of what was done to them.
Others are stuck in shame for what they’ve done.
And still others are paralyzed by fear, resentment, or regret.

But here’s the truth: We all have a past.
What matters is what we choose to do with it.

What It Means to Let Go of the Past

Letting go doesn’t mean forgetting, minimizing, or pretending the past never happened.
It means learning to live free from its grip.
Here’s what that process can look like:

1. Accepting That What’s Done Is Done

The past can’t be changed. It is what it is.
Even if we had a “do-over,” we’d still be the person we were then—with the same limited knowledge, the same wounds, the same fears.

Letting go starts with accepting what was so that we can begin to live in what is.

2. Forgiving Yourself

This is hard for so many of us.
We replay scenes, wish we’d said something different, done something better.
But ruminating keeps us stuck.

If God has forgiven you, who are you to hold a grudge against yourself?

3. Redirecting Your Thoughts

When old memories or regrets creep in, gently bring your thoughts back to truth.

“Whatever things are true, whatever things are noble… whatever is lovely… think on these things.”
— Philippians 4:8

Healing happens in the small, daily moments when we choose what to dwell on.

4. Trusting the Nature of Time

You will heal.
That deep wound?
It won’t always feel this raw. With time and surrender, it becomes a scar—a reminder of healing, not hurt.

Letting go isn’t instant. But it is possible.

5. Balancing Your Voice

Share your pain. Process your story.
But don’t let your past become your identity.
Let it be a part of your story—not the whole of it. Let others see who you are becoming.

Paul’s Perspective: Looking Ahead

I love that Paul prefaces this passage by admitting he hasn’t arrived.

“Not that I have already attained…”

He knew the power of his past.
He had persecuted believers. He had made grave mistakes.

And yet, he says:

“But one thing I do…”

This wasn’t just an occasional mindset. It was something he had to do consistently.

He intentionally forgot what was behind—not erased it, but refused to let it define him—and he reached forward. Every day. Every step.

Why?
Because he was pressing toward something greater.
The upward call of God in Christ Jesus.

God had a purpose for Paul’s life—and He has one for yours, too.

But you can’t walk into that calling if you’re still clinging to what’s behind you.

Letting Go Is a Process

Friend, if you’re struggling to release the grip of yesterday, know this:
You’re not alone.

Letting go takes time.
It takes grace.
It takes truth.
It takes a daily choice to press forward.

But don’t let your past keep using up your present.
Don’t just exist—really live.

God has a plan.
He has a purpose.
And He is not done with your story.

So press on.
Take the next step.
Keep your eyes on the prize.

A gentle encouragement for today:

Letting go is not a one-time decision. It’s a daily walk of freedom.
Begin again today. And then again tomorrow.

I’ll never forget my first Christmas as a believer.

It was the year I became a Christian, and I was attending my very first Christmas cantata. The music was beautiful, the message clear—but then the choir began to sing O Holy Night, and something deep within me stirred.

I had never noticed the words before:

“Long lay the world in sin and error pining…”

And suddenly, I felt the weight of my sin—not just a vague awareness, but the kind that sinks into your soul and holds a mirror to your heart. It wasn’t shame for shame’s sake. It was a holy sorrow—an ache for how far I had been from the God who loved me.

And then came the chorus:

“Fall on your knees! Oh hear the angel voices!
O night divine, the night when Christ was born…”

It was as if the heavens themselves had opened.
I sat there undone—overwhelmed by the magnitude of what Christ had done.
That moment marked me forever.

When Conscience Weighs Heavy

In the 1800s, someone mailed a few cents to the U.S. Treasury with a note:

“This is for payment for a reused postage stamp. It wasn’t canceled, so I pulled it off and used it again. The money is to ease my conscience.”

That small act birthed what we now know as the Conscience Fund—a place where people could anonymously send money to make up for wrongs they couldn’t undo. Over the years, the fund has collected millions of dollars from people trying to make peace with their guilt.

We all feel guilt at times.
The question isn’t whether we feel it—it’s what we do with it.

Understanding Guilt and Grace

Guilt can be a signal. A wake-up call. A nudge from the soul that something’s not right.

But here’s the difference between Godly sorrow and worldly sorrow:

“For Godly sorrow produces repentance leading to salvation, not to be regretted;
but the sorrow of the world produces death.”
— 2 Corinthians 7:10

Worldly sorrow leaves us in shame.
It keeps us stuck, spinning in self-condemnation.
Godly sorrow, on the other hand, leads us somewhere.

It leads us to Jesus.

What to Do With Guilt

Here’s what I’ve learned—personally, professionally, and through the Word:

• Pay attention to uncomfortable feelings. Guilt is a signal—not the enemy. Let it draw you closer to God.

• Remember you’re human. Punishing yourself serves no one. Correct what you can and move forward.

• If your guilt stems from sin, confess it. Ask God for forgiveness. Accept His cleansing grace. Make things right if possible—and then let it go.

• Keep your confession proportionate. Sometimes we think “telling all” will ease our guilt, but often, it simply deepens our shame and burdens others unnecessarily. Lasting peace comes not from public confession but from God’s forgiveness.

• Don’t let guilt become your identity. Christ came not to condemn, but to set us free.

Yes, guilt can draw us to awareness.
But only grace can set us free.

The Gift of Christ is Freedom

While donations to the Conscience Fund may ease our minds for a moment, they can’t cleanse a heart.
Only Jesus can do that.

He didn’t come to shame you into obedience.
He came to redeem you—completely, eternally, lovingly.

“For God did not send His Son into the world to condemn the world,
but that the world through Him might be saved.”
— John 3:17

That’s what Christmas is about.
That’s what every day in Christ is about.

A Savior who came to bring peace.
A God who invites us not to grovel, but to kneel in awe.
Not to earn, but to receive.

Fall on Your Knees

That night in the sanctuary, as the music swelled, I felt the grace of God sweep over my guilt.

“When Satan tempts me to despair, and tells me of the guilt within…
Upward I look and see Him there, who made an end to all my sin.”

Yes, sin is real.
But so is grace.
So is freedom.
So is the night divine.

Fall on your knees.
Hear the angel voices.
O night divine, the night when Christ was born.

O night divine, the night when Christ was born;
O night, O Holy Night , O night divine!

A snowy morning, a simple question, and a powerful reminder of God’s love

Yesterday, I never got around to checking the weather. So when I woke up this morning to a quiet blanket of snow covering everything in sight, it caught me completely off guard—in the best kind of way.

Still tucked in bed, I grabbed my laptop (as I often do on weekends), and started scrolling and sharing a few light-hearted thoughts on Facebook. Among them, I asked a simple, silly question:

“Do snowmen fall from Heaven unassembled?”

Just a bit of fun. But then, my friend Anne replied. And her response stopped me in my tracks.

Here’s what she wrote:

“I think that is a cool idea. Think how proud we are when we stand back and look at the snowmen we made from snow—and then how sad we are when they melt. Just think—God made us from dust and then gave us the breath of life. Oh, how proud and full of love and joy that must have made Him. And then when we turn from Him and let ourselves melt into our sin… oh, the sorrow that must cause! He is so awesome that He gives us a chance to never have to melt, but to be alive in Him always!”

Let that sink in for a moment.

From Dust—and Never Meant to Melt

Anne’s reflection took a playful idea and turned it into something profoundly meaningful.

God formed us from dust… and breathed life into us.
(Genesis 2:7)

Just like we smile at the snowmen we create—standing back, proud of what we made—I imagine God’s heart was bursting with joy when He formed humanity, shaped in His image, made for relationship with Him.

But then sin crept in.

We melted—slowly, or all at once—back into what we came from.
Not because He failed us. But because we failed Him.

And yet… He never gave up.

Grace That Holds Us Together

The beauty of the gospel is this:
We don’t have to stay melted.

God, in His love, gives us new life in Christ—not just breath in our lungs, but redemption for our souls.

“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation.
Old things have passed away; behold, all things have become new.”
— 2 Corinthians 5:17

We were never meant to live fragmented or fallen apart.
We were meant to be whole, restored, and alive—held together by grace.

Holy Wonder in Everyday Moments

I love how God uses the simplest things to speak to us.

A surprise snowfall.
A whimsical Facebook post.
A friend’s tender-hearted reply.

Sometimes we overcomplicate spiritual insight, when really, God is always present—always whispering reminders of His love through the ordinary details of our lives.

This morning, I was reminded—once again—what an awesome God we serve.

He delights in what He’s made.
He grieves when we melt into sin.
But He offers us life—full and eternal—in Him.

So, do snowmen fall from Heaven unassembled?

Maybe they do.
But more importantly, we were formed from dust—intentionally, lovingly, and with purpose.
And we don’t have to fear melting…
Because we’ve been given new life in the One who holds all things together.

Have you ever wondered what makes God laugh?

I have.
And honestly? I think we do.

As much as we laugh at our children—their antics, their honesty, their surprisingly insightful comments—why wouldn’t God laugh at ours? He is, after all, our heavenly Father. And I imagine there are moments He looks at me with tender amusement and thinks, Oh, my sweet girl… look at you go.

Truth be told, I give Him plenty of material. I can be quite silly. And I’m convinced He delights in it.

Laughter Is Part of the Design

Somewhere along the line, we picked up the idea that holiness means somberness—that reverence is quiet, serious, and straight-faced. But Scripture paints a different picture:

“You will show me the path of life;
in Your presence is fullness of joy;
at Your right hand are pleasures forevermore.”
— Psalm 16:11

“Be glad in the Lord and rejoice, you righteous;
and shout for joy, all you upright in heart.”
— Psalm 32:11

“Well done, good and faithful servant…
Enter into the joy of your Lord.”
— Matthew 25:23

“These things I have spoken to you, that My joy may remain in you,
and that your joy may be full.”
— John 15:11

These verses aren’t about momentary happiness. They speak of deep, enduring joy—the kind that flows from being near to God. Joy is not a distraction from our spiritual life. It is part of our spiritual life.

And laughter? That’s joy in motion.

Laughter as Worship

I believe laughter is one of the purest, most human, and most divine expressions we’ve been given.
It lightens the load.
It brings perspective.
It lifts us from the dust and reminds us that we are alive—and deeply loved.

Colossians 3:23 says:

“Whatever you do, do it heartily, as to the Lord…”

Whatever.
That includes our laughter.

Humor shows the joy, the passion, and even the adventure of the Christian life.
It tells the world that following Jesus isn’t drudgery—it’s delight.

Laughter, like music, is one of God’s great gifts. It gives us a way to express what words sometimes can’t—emotion, joy, gratitude, connection. It bonds us to one another. It reminds us that life is a gift, not just a responsibility.

Laughing Through It All—Even the Hard Stuff

One of the most powerful things about laughter is that it brings perspective—even to suffering. It doesn’t erase the pain, but it invites joy to share the space.

The one who knows Christ can laugh even in the face of death, because we know that death is not the end.

To die with Christ in our hearts is to live—and laugh—with Him forever.

So, Go Ahead—Laugh

Laugh at yourself. Laugh with your people. Laugh at the moments of irony and grace that come out of nowhere. Laugh at life’s absurdities. Laugh in worship. Laugh in healing. Laugh because you’re free.

Enjoy the gift of humor.
Let it remind you of how deeply God loves you.
Let it remind you that joy is not just for heaven—it’s for now.

Put things in perspective.
Let go of what doesn’t matter.
And embrace the truth:
Life is meant to be laughed at.