Striving to Rest? (Hebrews 4)

Hebrews 4:11 – “Let us therefore strive to enter that rest, so that no one may fall by the same sort of disobedience.”

The book of Hebrews is dense and layered, and sometimes I feel like I’m just plodding along phrase by phrase. But in Hebrews 4, one line stopped me in my tracks: “Let us strive to enter that rest.”

Strive… for rest?
That feels backward. Rest should be effortless, shouldn’t it? Yet the writer of Hebrews insists that true rest takes effort. The more I sat with that paradox, the more sense it made.

Weary Souls

First, let’s be honest: without Jesus, there is no peace, no rest. Sin wears us out. It complicates everything—our relationships, our thoughts, our hopes. The noise of the world, the constant letdowns, the disappointments… it leaves us drained. Depression itself can be described as exhaustion, a heaviness that sinks deep into the bones. If ever we needed rest, it’s now.

As I write this... I feel exhausted- not physically tired, just worn down on a quiet Labor Day morning.

Fighting Rest

But rest doesn’t come easily. In fact, we fight it. I remember when my oldest daughter was little—she was a master at resisting naps. She had a thousand excuses and requests. Even when I finally rocked her, she kicked her legs and squirmed until, under gentle and loving pressure, she finally surrendered to sleep.

Aren’t we the same with God? We kick, resist, and argue—even when He is offering us peace. To rest in Him means to stop striving in our own strength, and that surrender feels like loss of control.

Striving to Enter

So what does Hebrews mean by striving for rest? It means rest in Christ is not passive. It doesn’t come by drifting. We must actively set aside unbelief, pride, and disobedience. We must seek Him in prayer, steep ourselves in His Word, lift our hearts in worship, and soften our hearts to His correction.

Rest is not laziness—it’s trust. It’s an active laying down of our burdens at His feet.

 Eternal Rest

And one day, the striving will end. Even our final rest—death—is something people fight against, kicking and screaming. Yet for the believer, death is not defeat. It’s graduation into the eternal Sabbath of God.

Heaven is not an endless sleep—it’s the joy of God’s presence, freedom from the pain and frustrations of this broken world. It’s rest at last, the fulfillment of every longing.

The most human thing is rest, and yet it’s the hardest thing for sinners. But in Christ, God invites us:

“Come to Me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matt. 11:28).

Our striving, then, is simply this: to keep clinging to Him until the day He brings us safely home.

So let me STRIVE to REST .... as ironic as REST on LABOR DAY.

Strive to Rest (Hebrews 4)

"God Loathes You and Offers a Terrible Plan for Your Life"- Hebrews

Sorry for the 'jarring' title- I hope you read ALL the thoughts here before firing off an angry response...

When I was a junior in high school, Benny Parks (now a pastor at Briarwood) took time one evening to walk through with me me a little yellow booklet called The Four Spiritual Laws. I took it home, read it, and that night dropped to my knees and asked God to save me.

As I began reading the Bible, going to studies, talking to others- it didn't take long for some of my more "truly reformed" friends to attack the booklet- some even went as far to warn me I was brought to Jesus by a 'false gospel message'- and they told me to stop using it. It's funny because as I stopped using it, I also stopped evangelizing...hmmmm.

These memories came alive again this morning as I read Hebrews 4:2: “For good news came to us just as to them, but the message they heard did not benefit them, because they were not united by faith with those who listened.”

When you link that with what I read and posted about from Hebrews 3 (which linked to Psalm 95)..

 For forty years I loathed that generation

and said, “They are a people who go astray in their heart,

and they have not known my ways.” (Psalm 95:10 ESV)

So that is the juxtaposed title- Law #1 in the 4 Spiritual Laws booklet is "God loves you and offers a wonderful plan for your life"- and then you have this unhelpful skirmish of whether God loves some or all- and we go to theological war. What a waste.

But here is what the critics sometimes miss. The true power of that tract wasn’t the marketing hook. It was the confrontation it forced: a self-directed life that leads to chaos or a Christ-directed life that enters rest. The Spirit used that simple picture to pierce my heart. And the tract itself did not end with a shallow promise. It contained a follow-up plan: urging the reader to join a community of believers, to begin discipleship, and to grow under the whole counsel of Scripture.

Look at the image below—it was the picture of two circles. One represented a self-directed life, with self on the throne and chaos in every corner. The other showed a Christ-directed life, with Him on the throne and the pieces of life in order. I didn’t need to be convinced; I knew which circle was mine. My life was already unraveling under the weight of my sin and selfishness. For the first time, I saw clearly that what I longed for—rest, peace, wholeness—was only found in Christ.

Let's go back to Hebrews now- the writer trying to warn us from the failings in the past to NOT MISS THE REST!

The writer is thinking of Israel at Kadesh-Barnea. Twelve spies entered the land. Ten came back with fear and negativity; two—Joshua and Caleb—believed God’s promise. The people listened to the majority report and grumbled, and they never entered God’s rest. The good news was proclaimed, but it wasn’t mixed with faith, nor united with the faithful.

Hebrews 4 reminds me that the call of the gospel is not merely to hear good news, but to be “united by faith with those who listened.” Faith is not private possession; it is joining my voice to the minority report of Joshua and Caleb, standing with the faithful, and walking into God’s promises together. That is discipleship. That is the circle of rest.

So yes, the yellow booklet was limited. No single pamphlet could ever carry the full depth of the gospel or the sovereignty of God. But the very criticism that it presents a “false gospel” underestimates the sovereignty of God Himself. If God can use Balaam’s donkey to speak truth, He can use a small booklet to awaken faith.

So today, I am thankful for that little yellow booklet. Not because it was perfect, but because God was sovereign to use it. And I am thankful for the community of believers who have since surrounded me, teaching me, correcting me, and keeping me among “those who listened.” The real “wonderful plan” is not a painless life, but a Christ-directed life—united with His people, resting in His finished work.

The call ultimately isn't just a call of salvation but a call to "Follow" Jesus in discipleship- where we learn over time the truth in God's Word.

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Chat GPT provided some information to help we write this blog- See the added info below:

Bill Bright (Campus Crusade for Christ, later Cru) wrote The Four Spiritual Laws in 1952, and it became one of the most widely distributed gospel tracts of the 20th century.

It starts with the line: “Just as there are physical laws that govern the physical universe, so there are spiritual laws which govern your relationship with God.” Then it lays out:

1. God loves you and has a wonderful plan for your life.

2. Man is sinful and separated from God. Therefore, he cannot know and experience God’s love and plan for his life.

3. Jesus Christ is God’s only provision for man’s sin. Through Him you can know and experience God’s love and plan for your life.

4. We must individually receive Jesus Christ as Savior and Lord; then we can know and experience God’s love and plan for our lives.

It was massively influential—millions came to faith or were at least introduced to the gospel through it. But as you said, it sparked debates:

• Some saw it as too formulaic or reductionistic.

• Others worried the opening line—“wonderful plan for your life”—could mislead people into a prosperity or comfort-driven faith.

• Reformed voices often critiqued it as man-centered, too light on God’s sovereignty and the cost of discipleship.

And yet, it was also a clear, earnest attempt to help ordinary believers share the gospel confidently.

Take Care- Hebrews 3

 

I’ve been reading R. Kent Hughes’s commentary on Hebrews, and he offers a sobering biblical trail on the danger of a hardened heart. Drawing from Psalm 95, he traces the words “rebellion” and “testing” back to Meribah and Massah—those wilderness flashpoints in Exodus 17 and Numbers 20 where God’s people quarreled and tested Him despite His faithful provision.

What grips me is the jarring refrain in Psalm 95: “For forty years I loathed that generation.” Those are not light words. The Lord looked at His redeemed people and saw hearts that were perpetually bent toward unbelief.

Hughes notes the repeated characteristics of that generation:

• Negativism – always seeing what they lacked, never what God provided

• Grumbling – murmuring dissatisfaction instead of offering gratitude

• Quarreling – quick to stir up disputes rather than pursue peace

• Disobedience – ignoring clear commands in favor of self-will

• Rebellion – resisting the very God who rescued them

• Resistance – stiffening their necks against God’s leading

All of these flow from one poisoned root: unbelief. A heart that refuses to trust God inevitably grows cold in love, thankless in spirit, and closed off to His voice.

The writer of Hebrews, quoting Psalm 95, presses the warning directly into the life of the church: “Today, if you hear his voice, do not harden your hearts.” The danger is not just Israel’s danger; it is ours.

And here is where I must pause to preach to myself. It is easy to shake my head at the wilderness wanderers, but their sins are not alien to me. Negativity, grumbling, resistance, a thankless spirit—those can creep into my life whenever I stop trusting God’s goodness in the present moment.

The warning of Psalm 95 and Hebrews 3 is meant to keep us awake: We just can’t go there. The call of God is urgent and present—Today. The antidote is trust, gratitude, and soft hearts that respond to His voice.

May we learn from their failures, not repeat them. May we walk by faith, not by sight. And may our lives be marked not by hardened unbelief, but by tenderhearted trust in the God who saves.

TAKE CARE

COLD LOVE

Too Fast to Listen, Too Slow to Tell

Shakespeare was not wrong when he sketched the “seven ages of man.” The image of the “lean and slippered pantaloon” with spectacles on nose and a world grown deaf to his words feels uncomfortably close these days. I catch myself wanting to “tell the tale”—a story from long ago that still burns in my memory, one bought with blood, sweat, tears, and sometimes humiliation. In my mind, these stories are not entertainment but warnings, lanterns on a trail, hard-earned lessons I would spare another if I could.

But the world has sped past the storyteller. Young men and women live in a torrent of content, voices, and noise. A story, even a short one, can feel to them like an intrusion on already fractured attention. I can feel their eyes glaze as I begin, and I ask myself: is the fault mine, for not knowing how to speak in their dialect of brevity, or is it theirs, for not knowing how to listen?

There is a tension here. I don’t want to be the tedious sage who drones on about “back in my day.” Nor do I want to keep my mouth shut when experience has carved out truths in me that could save someone else years of heartache. How do you honor the past without becoming a bore? How do you steward the wisdom of scars without pressing it where it is unwanted?

Sometimes I think the balance is not to insist on being heard, but to wait for the question. The younger generation often doesn’t need a lecture, but they may someday need a companion who has been through the fire and lived. A story offered at the right moment—short, sharp, and humble—may go further than a library of long recollections.

So I live in this in-between. Too old to tale the tale with the expectation of rapt attention, but not too old to keep the lantern lit, waiting for when someone needs to borrow its light. Shakespeare’s pantaloon may shuffle and sigh, but perhaps he still has a role: not to demand the stage, but to be a quiet keeper of stories until the world slows down enough to ask for one.

click to hear:
Too Fast to Listen, Too Slow to Tell

Verse 1

I’ve got a pocket full of stories, Bought with blood and tears and years, But when I open up my mouth, The room has tuned to other gears. The world is scrolling, flying by, I stumble searching for the word— The silence says it all: They’ve no time to hear what I’ve endured. Chorus Too fast to listen, too slow to tell, I’m caught between the wisdom and the wishing well. I’ve got a lantern, but they’re chasing the sun, By the time I strike a match, the moment’s gone. Too fast to listen, too slow to tell, The stories fade before they’re ever spelled. Verse 2 I don’t want to be a burden, Or the fool in slippers worn, But I know a scar can be a teacher Better than a page that’s torn. So I hold my words like embers, Waiting for the night to fall— If the question ever rises, Maybe then they’ll hear it all. Chorus Too fast to listen, too slow to tell, I’m caught between the wisdom and the wishing well. I’ve got a lantern, but they’re chasing the sun, By the time I strike a match, the moment’s gone. Too fast to listen, too slow to tell, The stories fade before they’re ever spelled. Bridge Maybe it’s not my fault, Maybe it’s not theirs, Maybe truth is only heard When the heart is ready to care. Chorus Too fast to listen, too slow to tell, I’ll keep the stories burning where the old ones dwell. And if the silence breaks, I’ll be ready to share, The lessons carved in sorrow, the burdens we bear. Too fast to listen, too slow to tell... But the tale still lives, and I carry it well.

Trump, Watters, and Questions of Salvation

Yesterday’s news cycle offered one of those fascinating moments where politics, personality, and theology all collided on live TV.

On Fox & Friends, Donald Trump was reflecting on his desire to end wars and save lives. Then he said this:

“If I can save 7,000 people a week from being killed... I want to try and get to heaven if possible. I'm hearing I'm not doing well... I hear I'm really at the bottom of the totem pole.”

Later that evening on The Five, Jesse Watters offered commentary on Trump’s words:

“He has this childlike spirit… that if you just do good things, there's a chance... I read a little bit about Christianity this afternoon. Apparently you actually can't just do good things to get into heaven. There has to be more about faith.”

Both of these reactions are revealing, and they both orbit around the same common misunderstanding: salvation by merit.

Trump’s Fear: Too Bad for Heaven

Trump’s worry is that he’s “at the bottom of the totem pole.” He imagines heaven as a ranking system where some saints sit on the top rung and others barely hang on at the bottom. His concern is that he’s done too much wrong, that he’s too bad to qualify for eternal life.

That instinct is common. When people feel the weight of sin and failure, they assume the bar is too high and they’ll never clear it.

Watters’ Hope: Good Enough for Heaven

On the other hand, Jesse Watters voices the opposite instinct: maybe if you do enough good, you’ll get in. He admits he skimmed some Christian teaching and learned that it’s not quite that simple—but his reflex shows the “default mode” of the human heart: work hard, do good, try to tip the scales in your favor.

That too is common. Many people don’t feel crushed by guilt—they feel buoyed by their own decency.

The Real Issue: God’s Holiness

Both perspectives make the same mistake: comparing ourselves to other people. Trump fears he’s worse than others; Watters assumes he’s better than most. But the Bible doesn’t measure us against other sinners—it measures us against God’s holiness.

And against His perfect standard, no one passes muster:

• “All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” (Romans 3:23)

• “By works of the law no human being will be justified in his sight.” (Galatians 2:16)

The standard is perfection. None of us make it. Not Trump. Not Watters. Not me. Not you.

Two Roads of Salvation

When you boil it down, there are only two possible plans of salvation:

1. Works. Live perfectly, never sin, meet God’s standard on your own. (Spoiler: impossible.)

2. Grace. Admit your inability, cry out for mercy, and receive the righteousness God provides through Jesus Christ.

That’s why Paul could say: “For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God—not a result of works, so that no one may boast.” (Ephesians 2:8–9)

The Good News for Both Trump and Watters (and Us)

The good news is that Christ came for both types of people—for the one who feels too bad and the one who feels good enough. He came for the guilty conscience and the self-confident spirit alike.

The real issue is not our relative standing on a “totem pole,” but our desperate need for a Savior. And in Christ, God has provided one.

Take some time to pray today, read Scripture, speak to someone who knows the Bible well enough to walk you through understanding and receiving the gift of eternal life.

The Gift

Another Great 'Oun' — The Logic Chain of Hebrews

I’ve been reading through Hebrews, and that powerful, one little Greek word keeps jumping out at me: οὖν (oun), usually translated “therefore.”

I like to smile and say to myself: “Another great oun.” Because in Scripture, the “therefores” are never filler words. They are hinges. And every time the writer of Hebrews uses one, it swings open a big door: since this is true about Jesus… therefore, this is how I live.

When I slow down and trace them, a pattern emerges:

• Hebrews 2:1 — Jesus is greater than angels. Therefore pay close attention; don’t drift.

• Hebrews 3:1 — Jesus is greater than Moses. Therefore fix your thoughts on Him.

• Hebrews 4:1 — God’s promise of rest still stands. Therefore fear unbelief; strive to enter His rest.

• Hebrews 4:14, 16 — We have a great High Priest. Therefore hold fast and draw near with confidence.

• Hebrews 6:1 — The foundation is laid. Therefore press on to maturity.

• Hebrews 10:19–22 — Jesus has opened the way into God’s presence. Therefore draw near, hold fast, stir one another up.

• Hebrews 12:1 — We are surrounded by a cloud of witnesses. Therefore run with endurance, eyes fixed on Jesus.

• Hebrews 12:12 — God disciplines for our good. Therefore strengthen weak hands and keep walking straight.

• Hebrews 12:28 — We are receiving an unshakable kingdom. Therefore worship with reverence and awe.

• Hebrews 13:13, 15 — Jesus suffered outside the camp. Therefore go to Him, bear His reproach, and offer Him continual praise.

It’s like the author is building a staircase of logic. Step after step:

Christ is supreme → Christ is sympathetic → Christ is sufficient → Christ’s kingdom is sure.

And every step ends with a “therefore.”

I find that powerful. It reminds me that the Bible doesn’t just give me abstract theology; it gives me a living Savior and a living call. Every “therefore” is a summons. Every “oun” points me back to Jesus and pushes me forward in faith.

So now when I read Hebrews (or anywhere in Scripture) and bump into a “therefore,” I stop and whisper—“another great oun.” Because it’s one of the Spirit’s favorite ways to move me from truth to obedience.

Here is an interesting way to consider these:

All the “Ouns” Together

• Pay close attention so you don’t drift.
• Fix your thoughts on Jesus.
• Fear unbelief and strive to enter His rest.
• Hold fast your confession and draw near with confidence.
• Press on to maturity.
• Draw near, hold fast, and stir one another up in love.
• Run with endurance, eyes fixed on Jesus.
• Strengthen weak hands and keep walking straight.
• Worship with reverence and awe.
• Go to Him outside the camp, bear His reproach, and offer Him continual praise.

'HAD TO' Be Made Like His Brothers (Hebrews 2:17-18)

[17] Therefore he had to be made like his brothers in every respect, so that he might become a merciful and faithful high priest in the service of God, to make propitiation for the sins of the people. [18] For because he himself has suffered when tempted, he is able to help those who are being tempted. (Hebrews 2:17–18 ESV)

I can’t get away from those two words in Hebrews 2:17: “He had to.”

Jesus had to be made like me—fully human in every respect. Not just taking on flesh, but stepping into the weakness, the weariness, the limitations of human life. He grew tired, He grew hungry, He asked questions, He wept. He didn’t walk through this world with a pretend humanity. He truly shared in mine.

And He did this for a reason: so He could be the sacrifice for me. Hebrews says He became like His brothers “to make propitiation for the sins of the people.” That word, propitiation, is weighty but precious. It means that Jesus Himself turned aside the just wrath of God. In the Old Testament, the Hebrew word kaphar carried the idea of covering sin through sacrifice. When the Hebrew Scriptures were translated into Greek (the Septuagint), the translators often used the word family built on hilaskomai. One of those words, hilastērion, was the name for the mercy seat—the golden cover of the Ark of the Covenant, where the high priest would sprinkle blood on the Day of Atonement. That place, the hilastērion, was where God’s wrath against sin was satisfied and His mercy was revealed.

But I have to admit—this doesn’t always strike me the way it would have struck a first-century Jewish convert. They knew the smell of sacrifices, the sight of blood, the weight of the temple rituals. They felt, in a way I don’t, the seriousness of sin and the wrath of God against it. I can grow dull to it, even weary of hearing about the cross. A man suffered, bled, and died so I did not have to. A holy man died like a criminal, so that I—the criminal—could live free. I need to keep that reality before me, because without it, the message of propitiation feels abstract. With it, it becomes the most urgent truth in the world.

And because of that, He is now merciful, faithful, and able to help me in every way. Verse 18 drives it home: “Because He himself has suffered when tempted, He is able to help those who are being tempted.” That means when I cry out in weakness, He doesn’t look down on me with detached pity. He comes alongside as one who has been there. The One who “had to” become like me is the same One who now helps me, faithfully, mercifully, without fail.

In some ways, all of this comes full circle to the beginning of Chaprer 2- I need to 'pay much closer attention'... So I don't drift.  

This latest journey though Hebrews illustrates how dull I can become to this incredible gospel message I first heard so clearly as an 8th grader in 1977 and again more clearly in 1980... and all these 45 years later- after reading, telling, studying, teaching..... sadly, I can grow dull to Jesus.

And the crazy thing is, He understand that. He loves me as a merciful and faithful brother.

May we all pay much closer attention lest we drift.....

Deliverance: Hebrews 2:14–17

This passage hit me hard today:

Since therefore the children share in flesh and blood, he himself likewise partook of the same things, that through death he might destroy the one who has the power of death, that is, the devil, and deliver all those who through fear of death were subject to lifelong slavery. — Hebrews 2:14–15

I realized something I’ve known in theory, but not always in practice — slavery to fear is real. The writer isn’t talking about a metaphorical fear that occasionally visits. This is a deep, binding reality: we can spend our whole lives letting the inevitability of death rob us of the joy of life.

I’ve done it. I’ve let that shadow creep into my thoughts — sometimes in obvious ways, sometimes in subtle ones. It shapes decisions. It whispers, “Hold back. Play safe. Protect yourself.” That’s slavery.

And last year when I turned 60- time turned up the volume on that reality for some reason- 

But the Lord was so gracious to walk me through that... and truth is a big part of it- don't be a slave... be free!

Jesus doesn’t just comfort me in my fear — He destroys the source of it.

He stepped right into my condition — flesh and blood, weakness and pain — and then went all the way to the grave. And by doing that, He took the weapon out of the enemy’s hand. Death is still real, but it has no claim of terror anymore. The sting is gone. The verdict is reversed.

When I remember this, I feel lighter. I breathe differently. Fear is not my master. I’m not bound by the dread of “non-life” — I’m free to actually live, love, risk, and serve without that storm always looming in the distance.

That’s true freedom. Not pretending death doesn’t exist, but knowing it has been defeated. And that changes everything about how I live today.

So here’s my question — if Jesus has broken our chains, why keep wearing them?

Here is a truth- if we waste time agonizing over the inevitable reality of death- aren't we wasting a precious commodity called life.

Be free-

When you play- play hard

When you work- work hard

When you pray- pray hard

Swim in the ocean of beautiful grace!

Song Link: Deliverer

Deliverer — You broke the chain of fear
The grave can’t hold me here
You stormed the night and the tyrant fell
Deliverer — You tore the veil apart
You put courage in my heart
Now I’m living like I’ll never die
Because You’re alive

I won’t bow to the shadows anymore
The cross is my freedom, the grave is no more
The war is over, the chains are gone
I’m running in the light where I belong

Bringing MANY Sons to Glory (Hebrews 2:10)

“For it was fitting that he, for whom and by whom all things exist, in bringing many sons to glory, should make the founder of their salvation perfect through suffering.” —Hebrews 2:10

Hebrews 2:10 is one of those verses that can easily slip by if you're not paying attention. It’s a densely packed theological stick of dynamite—exploding with implications about God’s justice, suffering, salvation, and ultimate glory.

In this one sentence, we are invited into the profound mystery of theodicy—the justice of God in the face of evil and suffering. It’s not just a philosophical puzzle—it’s the question that haunts every hospital room, battlefield, funeral, and sleepless night:

“If God is good and all-powerful… why is there so much pain?”

The skeptics paint it in much darker declarations when looking at suffering and evil-

Either He is NOT good or He is NOT God 

Hebrews doesn’t give us a simple answer. Instead, it gives us something far better: a Savior who suffers.

What Is Theodicy?

The word theodicy comes from two Greek words: theos (God) and dike (justice). It refers to the attempt to understand how a just and loving God can allow suffering in the world.

Rather than sidestepping the problem, Hebrews 2:10 places suffering right at the center of salvation history—and shows us that God’s justice is not compromised by pain. In fact, His justice is revealed in how He enters it.

“It was fitting…”

The verse opens with a staggering phrase:

“It was fitting…”

Not just necessary. Not just unavoidable.
But fitting—appropriate, right, consistent with the very character of God.

This turns theodicy on its head. We usually ask, “Why would God allow suffering?” But Hebrews says: This is what makes God so beautifully just and good—He doesn’t exempt Himself from suffering. He embraces it.

The God who is “for whom and by whom all things exist” could have redeemed us any way He chose. And yet He chose to suffer—not because He had to, but because love demanded it.

“He, for whom and by whom all things exist…”

Ok- this is what REALLY made this verse jump off the page to me.... The God of salvation IS the God of creation... He just SPOKE and the universe was created -... BOOM- why couldn't He just speak SALVATION?

And I actually had to wrestle with this.....

Let’s remember who we’re talking about.

This is the Creator—the One who spoke the universe into being. Stars, galaxies, time, space, energy—all at His command.

He created everything by a Word.
But He didn’t speak salvation into being.
He became salvation.

The same power that said “Let there be light” could have said “Let them be saved.” But He didn’t. Instead, He entered into time, pain, and death itself.

That takes us deeper into the mystery—and deeper into the heart of God.

And it made me think... this is a REALLY important verse....

“In bringing many sons to glory…”

Now we arrive at the why. This is the destination of redemption.

God is bringing us—not sending us—from brokenness to glory.

• Bringing — implies leadership, presence, guidance. He walks with us, not just ahead of us.

• Many sons — this is family language. Not just a lone hero on a cross, but a whole family being rescued and restored. Right after this we read the word "brother" or "children" 6 times in just 6 verses.

• To glory — this is not just survival or forgiveness. This is full restoration. The radiance of God’s image in us—renewed, healed, and eternal.

You and I are the recipients of this beautiful salvation.
We’re not climbing to glory. We’re being brought.

“Should make the founder of their salvation perfect through suffering.”

Here lies the core mystery.

Jesus is the founder (Greek: archēgos)—the trailblazer, the pioneer, the one who leads the way.

But what does it mean that He was made “perfect through suffering”?

Not that Jesus lacked moral perfection—but that through suffering, He became the fully qualified Savior. He didn’t save us by remaining above the pain. He saved us by stepping into it.

He wept. He was betrayed. He was pierced. He died.
And in doing so, He showed us what love actually means.

Again, just kept reading this small little verse, pondering it, praying and then it just materialized.

Saying “I Love You” — and Proving It

Saying “I love you” is powerful.
But proving that love—especially through pain or sacrifice—is where love becomes real.

In any deep relationship, we know this:
It’s one thing to say the words.
It’s another thing to give your time, energy, even your life for someone else.

“But God demonstrates His own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” —Romans 5:8

He didn’t just say it.
He proved it—with thorns, nails, and blood.

Creation came by a Word.
Salvation came by wounds.

I'm sorry, but if you are rejecting God because you feel any place to judge Him over "theodicy" - you are totally lost in your elite pride.....

Yes- suffering is still a mystery....

It leaves us not with an answer, but with a person.

Jesus doesn’t explain suffering—He enters it.
He walks with us through it.
And ultimately, He leads us out of it.

He is bringing many sons and daughters to glory.

That includes you.
That includes your pain.
That includes every unanswered question and every sleepless night.

And if you are still mad at the God who in your mind even isn't there (kind of strange isn't it?) it is never to late to be 'brought' to glory.... all it takes is a bowed knee and an honest cry.. 'Jesus I need you'... come home today my son.

Link: Heart for Home

In the Cusp: Still Young at 61

August 6, 2025

I just turned 61, and I can’t think of a better way to mark the moment than the trip I just returned from—Colorado, to see my daughter. It was more than a visit; it felt like a pilgrimage.

We hiked three unforgettable trails:

• Thunderhead Trail at Steamboat Springs Resort: 3.6 miles climbing 2,244 feet—straight up into the sky.

• T-Bar Trail via the Blackmer trailhead: 3.88 miles, 964 feet of vertical grit and beauty.

• And finally, the crown jewel: the Zirkel Circle—11.43 miles with a 2,680-foot elevation gain, winding past alpine wonders like Gold and Gilpin Lakes. It was majestic. Soul-satisfying. The kind of hike that makes your legs scream and your heart sing.

We also took on a 60-mile gravel bike ride from Hayden to Craig and back—an unrelenting 3,576 feet of elevation gain. My e-bike battery gave out at mile 40. That last 20 miles? All me, a heavy frame, and a headwind that wouldn’t quit. I rolled into town spent—and strangely proud. The rental shop didn’t even charge me. They said, “You’ve paid enough.” I believed them.

But here’s what I came away with: this was a birthday season, not just a day. One full of beauty, effort, family, and awe. And it got me thinking—not just about where I was, but where I am.

I was born on August 6, 1964, in Birmingham, Alabama—a city still smoldering from the civil rights fires, both literal and spiritual. I don’t remember those early years, but the atmosphere lingered. My earliest memories—maybe 1969 or 1970—were shaped by echoes of unrest. The air carried tension, hope, and fear.

We were a blue-collar family. We didn’t shape the headlines—we lived beneath them.

By the numbers, I’m a Baby Boomer. But I’ve never quite felt like one.

I wasn’t born into post-war prosperity. I didn’t grow up in the glow of Leave It to Beaver—I just watched reruns and wondered if anyone actually lived like that. My experience was more like Gen X: skeptical, restless, raised on the edge of institutions that seemed solid… until they cracked.

I’ve come to learn there’s a name for people like me: “cuspers.” Born in the in-between. Not quite Boomers, not quite Gen X. We borrowed language from both sides but never quite found a home.

We remember rotary phones and typewriters, but we’ve outlived them all. We were taught to respect authority—then watched Watergate, Vietnam, and televangelist scandals undo that trust. We were promised stability, then handed reinvention.

Sometimes I feel like I’m holding a translator’s pen—explaining one generation to another, while not fully belonging to either. And now, at 61, I still ask: Where is my voice? Where is my place?

To be honest, I worry that my own brand of stoicism and selfishness is the worst of both labels. That in the cusp, the danger is inheriting the shadow without the shine.

You’d think I’d have found the answer by now—carved out a niche, felt settled in my skin. But I still wake up with questions:

Am I doing what I’m called to do?

Have I used my time well?

Is my voice making any difference?

Am I declaring with my life that Jesus is Lord of All?

There’s an ache in still searching at 61. But I’m learning not to despise it. In a world noisy with opinion and echo, maybe those of us who’ve lived in both silence and sound are uniquely positioned—not to shout, but to sing something true.

I don’t want to find my voice just to leave a mark. I want to use it to build a bridge. Between generations. Between the world I inherited and the world I see coming. Between the faith I was handed and the faith I’ve wrestled with in the wilderness.

Maybe being lost in the cusp is exactly where I need to be. Maybe that edge is the place where poets speak, where tension gives birth to traction, and where a clearer perspective grows.

So here I am. Still hiking. Still writing blog posts and lyrics for songs, Still wondering. Still trusting that God isn’t finished with me yet. And loving life because of God's promises and His presence.

If you feel caught between eras, ideas, or expectations—welcome. There’s room in the cusp. And maybe, just maybe, we’re the ones who get to build something lasting. Because we’ve lived through so many shifting sands.

I’m still searching.

But the search?

It keeps me young.
It keeps me moving.
And it keeps me hoping.

What would be a good birthday present? Just visit this blog and read. Find my songs on SoundCloud and see if you hear the message- it is all designed to proclaim that God is good and I am a sinner saved by grace. Then write a note and tell me what you think, even if you hate it. Let's talk about it. Ask me dangerous.......

Watch me long enough and I will disappoint you- but Jesus never will.

Music: Jayopsis

Blog: Jayopsis.com

YouTube: Winning Edges

The Illusion of Insignificance (Hebrews 2)

(note: This material is inspired by the R. Kent Hughes commentary on Hebrews- it is such a powerful read!)

Hebrews 2:5–9

[5] For it was not to angels that God subjected the world to come, of which we are speaking. [6] It has been testified somewhere,

“What is man, that you are mindful of him,

or the son of man, that you care for him?

[7] You made him for a little while lower than the angels;

you have crowned him with glory and honor,

[8] putting everything in subjection under his feet.”

Now in putting everything in subjection to him, he left nothing outside his control. At present, we do not yet see everything in subjection to him. [9] But we see him who for a little while was made lower than the angels, namely Jesus, crowned with glory and honor because of the suffering of death, so that by the grace of God he might taste death for everyone. (ESV)

We live in a world obsessed with influence, clout, visibility, and control. If you're not trending, if you're not powerful, if you're not rich, you're probably not noticed—and definitely not admired. It’s easy to feel small, invisible, even insignificant.

But Hebrews 2 gently peels back the illusion.

It starts with an interesting line:

“For it was not to angels that God subjected the world to come…”

In other words, God’s plan wasn’t to hand over the universe to angels. His design has always involved us—flawed and fragile as we are.

The writer quotes Psalm 8:

“What is man, that You are mindful of him? Or the son of man, that You care for him?”

This is David stargazing, humbled by the size of the cosmos. The moon and stars seem eternal and glorious—while we seem fleeting and forgettable. Yet, somehow, God is mindful of us. Not just aware. He cares. He designed us to rule and reflect His glory.

But we all know something’s off.

Hebrews 2:8 admits it:

“At present, we do not yet see everything in subjection to him.”

That’s a biblical way of saying—“Look around. The world’s a mess.” Humanity is supposed to be crowned with glory and honor, but it doesn’t feel that way. Most days, it feels like the world is stomping on us, not the other way around.

Now imagine being a Hebrew Christian in the first century. You’ve lost everything to follow Jesus—your standing in the synagogue, your business, maybe even your family. You walk the streets of Rome or some Italian town, poor, mocked, maybe still carrying the bruises of persecution. You're nothing in the eyes of the world. Just a joke to the people around you.

Meanwhile, the Emperor sits on a golden throne. Surrounded by marble pillars and the applause of the Senate, he has wealth, power, pleasure, fame. His word can command armies. His likeness is on every coin.

Who looks like they’re winning?

But the gospel tells a different story. Hebrews says it’s actually the exact opposite.

The emperor may seem majestic now—but decay and dust are coming. The believer may seem pathetic now—but resurrection and glory are on the way. The only difference is time.

Then comes the turn:

“But we see Him…”

We don’t yet see everything rightly ordered—but we see Jesus.

He stepped into our condition. Lower than the angels, for a little while. Bruised, rejected, acquainted with sorrow. But crowned with glory and honor because He tasted death for everyone. And by His suffering, He restores the lost glory and brings “many sons to glory.”

That’s the core of it. Jesus reverses the fall by entering into it. And because of that, our suffering isn't meaningless. Our smallness isn't final.

I’ve lived long enough now to see little flashes of this upside-down reality play out in real life.

I’ve seen the overlooked athlete who worked in anonymity for years and then, when the time came, rose up and became All-State. I’ve seen the quiet eighth-grader—mocked, overlooked—grow and mature until the same people who laughed at him weren’t laughing anymore.

And I’ve seen the opposite.

Mighty men who built their lives, their names, their companies—who once walked in confidence and controlled boardrooms—slowly fade. Illness takes its toll. Memory slips. Hands shake. They become shadows of the strength they once had, stirring a coffee cup with effort, and quietly disappearing from the stage.

If that’s where the story ends, it’s all so heartbreakingly sad.

But it doesn’t end there.

Not for the one who is in Christ.

The believer may look small, worn out, irrelevant—but God is not done writing the story. The glory of Psalm 8 will be fulfilled. The crown is coming. The image of God will shine again, fully restored.

So when life feels heavy and the world tells you that you don’t matter, remember:

You are not insignificant.
You are not forgotten.
And your end is not fading—
Just wait and see.

Song: What is Man? (Psalm 8)

What Would Rush Say Today?

I miss Rush Limbaugh. There were national voices who helped me make sense of the chaos and noise in my late teens and early 20's. Rush Limbaugh and Billy Graham had optimistic messages that resonated with people. So here is what I think his monologue would sound like today......

"My friends…

I want to speak directly to the young people tuning in—those who are trying to make sense of this chaotic, upside-down world we’re living in. And I know, I know—it feels like the center isn’t holding. Like the system is rigged. Like nobody’s listening.

And let me tell you—you’re not crazy.

But you are being lied to. You're being manipulated. You're being pushed into little ideological boxes that make you useful to someone else's agenda.

So let me give it to you straight.

America is the greatest country in the history of the world.
No footnote. No apology. The greatest. Not because of conquest. Not because of luck. But because we were built on ideas. Dangerous, revolutionary ideas: that government should be limited… that individuals are made in the image of God… that liberty matters more than control… and that truth is not a social construct.

Now, I know the cultural left wants to tell you otherwise. They’ll say capitalism is evil. The Constitution is outdated. Faith is oppressive. History is shameful. Gender is fluid. Speech is violence. And borders? Don’t even get them started.

But here's the dirty little secret, folks: they don't want to fix the system.
They want to replace it—with something darker, something top-down, something global, green, woke, and unaccountable.

And who gets hurt the most?
Not the elites in their gated compounds.
You.
You, the young person trying to buy a home. Raise a family. Speak your mind. Find your place in a country that seems to be losing its soul.

Now, don't misunderstand me—I’m not here to sugarcoat things. The Right has its problems too. Weak knees. Shallow messaging. And yes, some people who take it too far.
But the immediate danger—the clear and present threat—is coming from the radical, unhinged Left. They riot. They rewrite. They cancel. They corrupt. And they call it “progress.”

But I want you to hear this loud and clear:

You are not powerless.
You are not voiceless.
And you are not alone.

The older generation? We haven’t always listened. That’s true. You’ve been handed a heavy burden: inflated costs, digital confusion, moral chaos. We told you to work hard, and then we changed the rules mid-game.

But this country—this idea called America—still belongs to you.
And it can still be saved. Not by rage. Not by mobs. But by clear thinking. Courage. Faith. Conviction.

Look beyond the hashtags. Question the slogans. Open your mind—and guard your heart.

Because when the storm really comes—and it will—the only thing that will hold is truth. And the only thing that will matter… is who has the guts to stand for it.

And that, my friends… is the undeniable truth of life.

[Cue bumper music, fade out with signature chuckle.]
“Talent… on loan… from God.”

Rejecting and Neglecting — Hebrews 2

There’s a line in Hebrews 2 that stops me cold every time I read it:

“Therefore we must pay much closer attention to what we have heard, lest we drift away from it.”
— Hebrews 2:1

It’s not a shout. It’s not a threat. It’s more like the quiet warning of a friend on the shore: “You’re drifting.”

Then verse 3 presses the weight home:

“How shall we escape if we neglect such a great salvation?”

What gets me is that word: neglect. It doesn’t say reject. That would seem easier to spot. But neglect is quieter, subtler. John Calvin saw the danger and wrote, “It is not only the rejecting of the gospel, but even the neglecting of it that deserves the severest penalty in view of the greatness of the grace which is offered in it.”

Rejecting the gospel is obvious. It’s a closed door, a hardened heart, a voice that says, “No thanks.” Neglect, though, is more dangerous in its subtlety. You don’t fight it—you just drift. No big decision. No scandal. Just slow inattention. A soul that slips into sleep. A heart that still sings on Sundays but no longer stirs.

The word "drift" here paints the picture of something slipping past—like a ring sliding off a finger, or a boat slowly pulling away from its anchor. Sometimes it happens on calm waters. Life is easy, distractions are many, and we slowly lose our grip. Other times the sea is stormy, and we drift not from laziness but from weariness. That may have been the case for the original audience of Hebrews. A small church under pressure. Not renouncing Christ, just tempted to let go. Drifting under duress.

Either way, it’s the same call: Pay much closer attention to what we have heard.

It’s a tension, because it’s the Lord who saves us and sustains us. He is the author and perfecter of our faith. We don’t cling to Christ in our own strength. But we’re still told to stay alert, to stay anchored, to stay awake.

So how do we do that?

We meditate on the value of what we’ve been given. This isn’t ordinary news—it’s a great salvation. A rescue we didn’t earn, a grace we couldn’t buy.

We think on the cost. Jesus didn’t die to make us comfortable. He suffered, bled, and bore our sin. When we remember what it cost Him, we’re less likely to treat it lightly.

We saturate ourselves in the Word. The Bible isn’t just a book—it’s a lifeline. When we fill our minds with truth, we build spiritual muscle memory. We begin to hold fast without even realizing it.

We reflect on what the Lord has done. Look back. Remember. Recall His goodness, His provision, His rescue. Don’t let spiritual amnesia take root.

And sometimes, yes, we imagine the regret if we were to drift away. That isn’t fear-mongering. That’s honest self-examination. What would it cost my soul, my family, my witness, if I slowly slipped away from Christ?

This isn’t an easy topic. But Hebrews doesn’t back away from it—and neither should we. The same letter that warns us also comforts us: He is able to save to the uttermost those who draw near to God through Him. He will hold us fast.

But part of His holding is His warning.

So let’s pay attention.

Not to earn anything.

But because grace this great should never be ignored.

The Plumb Line in His Hand: Zerubbabel and the Day of Small Things

“For whoever has despised the day of small things shall rejoice, and shall see the plumb line in the hand of Zerubbabel.”
— Zechariah 4:10

This verse has stirred my heart for years. I return to it often—especially in seasons of discouragement, waiting, or when the work seems too small to matter. But lately, I've been thinking more deeply about it. I want to explore the scene behind it—the historical story of exile and return, the fragile hope of restoration, and the quiet power of seeing the right person with the right tool in hand.

To fully grasp what’s going on in Zechariah 4:10, it helps to walk through the history that brought us here.

The Story Behind the Plumb Line: Return and Restoration

In 586 BC, Jerusalem fell. The Babylonians destroyed the temple, razed the walls, and carried off Judah's people into exile. But God was not done with His people. Through the prophets Jeremiah and Ezekiel, He promised a return, a rebuilding, and a restoration.

Fast-forward to 538 BC: the Persian king Cyrus the Great, stirred by the Spirit of God, issues a decree allowing the Jewish exiles to return to Jerusalem and rebuild the temple (Ezra 1:1–4). This is the first wave of returnees, led by Zerubbabel (a descendant of David, appointed governor) and Joshua the High Priest.

Their mission: rebuild the temple of God in a city still in ruins.

But it wasn't easy.

The foundation is laid, but opposition quickly halts the project. For 16 years, the site sits silent. The people grow distracted, discouraged, and disillusioned. “Small things,” they might have called it. Little progress. No glory. Nothing worth shouting about.

But then—God raises up Haggai and Zechariah, two prophets who speak life and urgency back into the remnant.

A New Sight: The Plumb Line and the Spirit

In a series of visions, Zechariah sees a lampstand and two olive trees—images of divine supply and partnership. Then comes this striking image:

“This is the word of the LORD to Zerubbabel: Not by might, nor by power, but by My Spirit, says the LORD of hosts. Who are you, O great mountain? Before Zerubbabel you shall become a plain. And he shall bring forward the top stone amid shouts of ‘Grace, grace to it!’”
— Zechariah 4:6–7

And then, the moment that gives me chills:

“…They shall rejoice when they see the plumb line in the hand of Zerubbabel.”
— Zechariah 4:10

Why rejoice at this?

Because the right leader now holds the right tool. It means something is finally going to happen. The work of rebuilding will be aligned, grounded, and guided—not by guesswork or human ambition, but by a plumb line and the Spirit of God.

What Is a Plumb Line?

A plumb line is an ancient building tool—a simple weight on a string that uses gravity to establish true vertical. Just as a compass finds magnetic north, a plumb line helps a builder establish a perfect 90-degree line, ensuring a straight wall and a solid structure. You can’t build without fixed standards. Our eyes deceive. We need truth to align our work.

And in the hands of Zerubbabel—God’s chosen governor and restorer—it becomes a symbol of hope. People aren’t rejoicing over the tool alone. They’re rejoicing because the work will now proceed rightly, under the hand of a faithful leader and by the Spirit of the living God.

 Coaches and Leaders: You Hold the Plumb Line

This is where I want to speak directly to coaches, mentors, and teachers—those who build lives, not walls.

You hold the plumb line.

Your athletes, your students, your team—they rejoice when they see you lead with fixed standards and faithful love. You mentor not just by discipline, but by aligning that discipline with truth. You hold the whistle not as a symbol of power, but as a plumb line—a reminder of what’s right, what’s straight, and what’s possible through the Spirit of God.

You may feel like what you’re doing is small. Early mornings, film sessions, character talks, quiet prayers. But these are not “small things” to God.

If you're holding that plumb line with faithfulness and humility—your work matters eternally.

 And What About the Mountain?

Don’t miss this: there’s still a “great mountain” in front of Zerubbabel—massive obstacles. But the Word says:

“Before Zerubbabel you shall become a plain.” (Zech. 4:7)

The mountain will fall. The top stone will be set. The project will be completed—not by might, nor by power, but by God's Spirit.

So coaches, teachers, mentors—pick up the plumb line again. Let your young men and women see it in your hand. Lead with clarity, consistency, and love. And let them rejoice—not just because of what you're doing—but because of what God is doing through you.

Historical Markers and Scripture Trail 

Here’s a brief guide to place all this in context:

Year	Event	Scripture
586 BC	Temple destroyed, exile begins	2 Kings 25
538 BC	Cyrus’s decree; Zerubbabel & Joshua return	Ezra 1–2
536 BC	Temple foundation laid	Ezra 3
520 BC	Haggai & Zechariah begin prophesying	Haggai 1–2; Zech. 1–8
516 BC	Temple completed	Ezra 6:14–15
458 BC	Ezra returns with the Law	Ezra 7–10
445 BC	Nehemiah rebuilds Jerusalem’s walls	Nehemiah 1–6
430s BC	Final reforms (Nehemiah, Malachi)	Neh. 13; Malachi 1–4

 God loves to begin in small, humble, overlooked ways.

A whisper from a prophet. A remnant holding tools. A plumb line in a governor’s hand.
A whistle in a coach’s hand.
A lesson. A prayer. A practice done with excellence.

Don't despise the day of small things.
God is still building.
And the world will rejoice when they see His Spirit working through you.