Modern Miracles- Can You Bless and Not Revile?

If I’m honest, it’s easier for me to believe Jesus walked on water....

I mean, walking on water is divine. But what about us—human beings who are told to bless people who mistreat us, show kindness when we’re slandered, and yield for the sake of God’s glory?

That feels like a miracle of a different kind.

And yet that’s exactly what we’re called to do and who we are called to be!.

Peter lays it out plainly:

1 Peter 3:8–12
Finally, all of you, have unity of mind, sympathy, brotherly love, a tender heart, and a humble mind. Do not repay evil for evil or reviling for reviling, but on the contrary, bless—for to this you were called, that you may obtain a blessing.

“Whoever desires to love life and see good days,
let him keep his tongue from evil and his lips from speaking deceit;
let him turn away from evil and do good;
let him seek peace and pursue it.
For the eyes of the Lord are on the righteous,
and His ears are open to their prayer.
But the face of the Lord is against those who do evil.” (Psalm 34:12–16)

Read that slowly. Don’t skip past the middle. Peter doesn’t just say not to retaliate—he says we should bless those who revile us.

Bless them.
Speak well of them.
Pray good for them.

How are we doing with that? If I’m grading myself—honestly, I flunk. If someone slanders me, I want to defend myself. If I’m mistreated, I want to fight back or at least set the record straight. It’s in my bones.

But Peter is serious. This isn’t a suggestion. He’s not just waxing poetic about Christian ideals. He’s laying out the DNA of the Spirit-filled life. This is the road of Jesus—and if we’re following Him, this is the map.

The Christian life isn’t about impressing others or preserving our reputation. It’s about being rooted in the gospel—transformed by Christ’s death and resurrection—and letting that truth shape everything.

Our hope is alive. Our salvation is secure.
And our lives are now the evidence of that grace.

Peter gives five traits that should mark us:

• Unity of mind – not uniformity, but shared direction.
• Sympathy – entering into others’ joys and sorrows.
• Brotherly love – a family kind of care, even when it costs.
• Tender hearts – soft, not cynical.
• Humble minds – quick to listen, slow to assume.

That’s not just a nice list. It’s a command.

And if we cultivate these traits, Peter says the result is a radical posture: we will not repay evil with evil. Instead, we’ll bless. Not because people deserve it, but because we have been called to it.

I love that Peter backs this up with Scripture. He quotes Psalm 34—David’s words centuries earlier—as a timeless reminder:

Do you want to love life and see good days?

Of course we do.

Then here’s how:

Speak no evil.
Be honest.
Turn from evil and do good.
Seek peace and chase it.

And here’s the reward:


“The eyes of the Lord are on the righteous, and His ears are open to their prayer.”

It’s as if God stands at your door and asks, “Do you want joy? Fulfillment? Real life?”
And then He hands you this call to mercy, to purity, to blessing others—especially when it’s hard.

Let’s be honest—this life won’t win you the applause of the world. You might even face hostility for it. You’ll feel misunderstood, overlooked, or even attacked.

Peter knew that personally.

He once cut off a man’s ear trying to protect Jesus with a sword. He boasted loudly and failed publicly. He denied Christ. He had to be corrected by Paul for hypocrisy.

So when Peter says, “Don’t repay evil for evil,” he’s not preaching from a pedestal. He’s writing as a man who learned this the hard way—through failure, grace, and a Spirit-renewed heart.

 
Following Jesus Is Sweet… But Not Safe

This road isn’t about looking holy for others.
It’s about glorifying God when no one else is watching.

It’s about living a life that smells like Christ—to a world that may not understand it.

It’s not comfortable. But it’s beautiful.
It’s not popular. But it’s powerful.
It may not satisfy the crowd, but it pleases the Lord.

And that’s the only reward worth aiming for.

So let’s keep going. Let’s keep blessing. Let’s keep becoming what He’s already called us to be.

This isn’t flattery, manipulation, or some religious form of brown-nosing. It’s not “blowing smoke” or “kissing up” to keep the peace. No—this is a sincere, Spirit-born desire to bless your enemies and detractors. In a world fueled by snarky, jaded one-liners and canceling anyone who offends us, that’s not just rare— and if you, me, or others do this.........it’s a modern miracle.

The Fire That Drives Us: Earnhardt, David, and the Pursuit of Something More

It started, as these things often do, with a bit of a rabbit hole. I turned on the Prime documentary series Earnhardt expecting some high-octane nostalgia—but I didn’t expect to feel so much. It was incredibly well done, a compelling look at a man who was equal parts myth and mystery, all wrapped up in black paint and grit.

Dale Earnhardt was fascinating. Tough, relentless, carved out of steel and sweat. A man with that rare inner drive—the kind that doesn’t need permission, doesn’t care who’s watching, and doesn’t know how to quit. His rise was legendary. But what lingered for me was something quieter: the echoes of a generational pattern. A father who was hard on him. A son who became like that father. That stubborn gravity we all feel—that pull to repeat the wounds we never fully processed.

I couldn’t help but notice how Dale ended up treating his children in ways that mirrored how he had been treated. Not with malice, but with that familiar mix of distance, drive, and demand. You see it all the time: men who only know how to love through pressure. Men whose worth is tied up in performance. It’s not cruelty—it’s inheritance.

Then, only a few days later, I found myself sitting in the darkened theater at Sight & Sound in Branson, watching David. What a contrast. Here was another man of fire, another fierce competitor, another name etched into the world’s memory. But this time, the story wasn’t just grit and glory—it had God in it.

David, like Earnhardt, was a fighter. Ambitious, courageous, flawed. But his story didn’t just echo with victory—it pulsed with repentance. It sang with longing. His psalms pulled heaven close, and even at his lowest, you sensed he was reaching for something greater than his own name. And that’s the phrase that won’t leave me alone: a man after God’s own heart.

Two men. Two fires. One burned for greatness. The other burned for God.

And that’s where I feel the tension rise—not between them, but inside me.

How do I know what I burn for?

Because if I’m honest, a lot of the fire in me feels aimed at... me. I get so focused on what I want to achieve, how I want to be seen, what I hope to become. It’s subtle sometimes. Dressed up in good intentions. But underneath, there’s that familiar ache for validation. A need to be respected. A hunger for meaning that wears the mask of ambition.

Sometimes I wonder: is that what’s really driving me? Not purpose. Not love. Not even God. Just... me.

There’s a part of me—and maybe it’s in many men—that’s drawn toward the glory story. Toward stacking wins, collecting admiration, building a reputation that says, 'A Man Who MATTERS'. We chase legacy like it’s salvation. The pleasure of being known, respected, even envied—it’s addictive. But it’s also a trap. Because none of those things love you back. They smile for the cameras, but they vanish when the lights go out.

I remember when I was burning to win a state title—I wanted it so badly. And when we did win, I looked around to make sure my faith, my family, and my friends were still beside me. Thankfully, they were. But that wasn't a PINNACLE event, in fact as time goes on, I'm not sure if it even is a milestone. I have championship rings gathering dust in a case on my desk downstairs, but the achievements don''t necessarily signify success. The old memories are special between the people who did it together - but no one else- not much more value than trivia.

But I’ve been asking myself lately: where’s the fire now? And what is it burning for?

The sobering truth is, the more we chase things like pleasure, fortune, power, or fame, the less they satisfy. They're hollow echoes of the real thing. The world hands us trophies for our shelves, but it cannot fill the ache in our soul.

So I ask again: how do we know what I burn for?

Maybe the answer isn’t in what we chase. Maybe it’s in what we keep chasing, even after we’ve been disappointed. Maybe it’s what we go to in our solitude, what we pray about when no one’s listening, what we still ache for when we’re too tired to impress anyone.

And maybe the point of all this—Earnhardt’s story, David’s story, even mine—isn’t to shame the fire in us. It’s to name it. To look at what drives us and ask the harder, braver question:

Is it worth the chase?

Because some fires make you famous. But there is no one in the ashes to love you back.
And some fires make you whole. A refining fire, that leaves healing, healthy relationships, and a more holy journey.

One last side note- not many men "WIN" at the level of those we write stories for. Most men fail.

When you fail in the 'glory story', it creates a lot of negative momentum, shame, and very little esteem. But maybe that is a blessing in disguise.

When you fail chasing God's path, it isn't permanent- it is even kind of expected. The Bible says, Get up and keep walking.... and the march is to a tune of grace.

“Whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake will find it.”
—Matthew 16:25