People who reject God can still demonstrate real wisdom. They may live prudently, exercise discipline, show patience, act courageously, give generously, and practice restraint. They may build stable families, operate ethical businesses, and live peaceable lives. They do not possess saving wisdom, but they are wise nonetheless.

      Why? Because wisdom is embedded in the structure of reality itself.

      To live wisely is to live with the grain of God’s world. To reject wisdom is to live against the grain of creation. Just as ignoring gravity carries consequences regardless of one’s theology, ignoring God’s moral and relational design produces damage no matter who does it.

      It is no surprise, then, that Proverbs often reads like observations about how life actually works.

  The most fruitful moments in ministry come when a church member says, “I’ve heard that word for years, but I never understood its meaning.” When we take time to bring people along, we honor the priesthood of believers and affirm that theological growth is not reserved for experts. We strengthen the whole body when we work to lovingly define terms rather than assuming there’s understanding.

      Churches don’t need pastors who talk over their heads. For that matter, pastors don’t need churches that are perpetually shallow. Shared understanding is built upon patient teaching, honest dialogue, and mutual grace.

Time and experience have helped me to find the people who are really growing. My prayer is that I could help you find them in your life, too. Look for the people who are humble and willing to learn. The people who have it figured out hardly ever know half as much as they think they do. Look for the people who can talk honestly about their failures and their wins. The people who can’t admit their failures normally want to play pretend. The people who downplay reasons for celebrating are play-actors aiming for humility. Look for the people who take criticism well. Those are the people whose identity is in Christ rather than public opinion.

        Instead of chasing after people who look like a finished product, look for fellow travelers who are still learning.

Western missions and church revitalization are necessary expressions of the Great Commission. They represent the church breathing in so that she may breathe out again. They call for leaders who will tend the trellis — strengthening doctrine, discipleship, and gospel clarity — so that the vine may continue to grow.

      Christ’s command has not changed. The fields remain vast. The need remains urgent. Faithfulness today means rejoicing in what God is doing around the world while responding humbly to the gospel vacuum in our own cultural backyard.

Grief dissolves the gilded images we create for ourselves. Loss creates a rare moment when the carefully constructed facades people wear crack open, revealing the raw and tender humanity and faith beneath. The composure, pride, hope, faith and insistence that everything is “under control” lay scattered among anger, confusion, fear and longing. In these moments, more than any other, friends, neighbors and colleagues see the substance of a person’s faith (or lack of it).

      The world attempts to comfort the grieving with placations that “death is natural.” The absurd assertion that “death is a part of life” ventures to address the universality of grief. While such statements acknowledge sorrow, they fail to redeem it. Broken hearts grow accustomed to despair when they’re offered explanation without hope.

      Those who grieve without Christ know only a sorrow that cannot penetrate the depth of questions that have eternal power like “Why?” and “What now?”

When we discuss church history, it’s important to remember that what we call the “modern missions movement” is indeed just that — modern. The church has always carried the gospel, but the organized, global missionary efforts we know today have not always been around.

      For centuries, the work of missions was sporadic and localized. Bright moments shine as we look to the shadows of the past. Boniface brought the gospel to Germanic tribes. The Moravians sold themselves into physical bondage for an opportunity to see spiritually imprisoned people set free. What we think of with global missions today (boards, societies, sending networks) is a recent development.

I’ve heard well-meaning Christians try to make sense of sorrow by saying, “The world is broken. Evil exists because of human disobedience. God has nothing to do with it.” I understand their intentions to defend the goodness of God. Nevertheless, in doing so, they unintentionally push Him out of the place where we need Him most — our pain.

        Our God is not absent from our grief. He is not wringing His hands in Heaven, wishing things had gone differently. The God of the Bible isn’t navigating a chess game against wickedness. He remains in control even over the darkest valleys we walk through. That truth sustains hope.

One of the greatest treasures God has given us is our heritage. We are the heirs of a legacy forged in sacrifice and seasoned with prayer. Ours is a story of men and women who believed the gospel enough to live for it, and in some cases, to give their lives for it.

      People with such a legacy live in a kind of tension. Heritage can be a root system that nourishes fresh growth and keeps us firmly planted in the truth. But, if we hold onto only the outward form of what once was, it can also become something menacing, tangled roots that choke out gospel vitality.

      I have seen both extremes. Understood heritage becomes a living testimony, a foundation for mission, evangelism and discipleship. Boilerplate nostalgia preserves memories while losing momentum.