Subscriber Update

Learning as I Go

This morning’s Saved clarified something for me: I am over-prepared.

That is not a complaint. It is simply the truth of the season. Speaking online is not the same thing as preaching to a gathered congregation, and the silence afterward can feel louder than the room ever was. I finished this morning’s work feeling discouraged in ways that did not match what I had actually proclaimed. That mismatch is familiar now. It is part of the discipline of this hour.

For those of you who watch and listen and are encouraged—know this clearly: I do this for you.

Much of what I have been writing lately about patience, load, and endurance has not come out of nowhere. For years I trusted that the mercy of Jesus Christ would sustain His people, including me. I still believe that. But belief is sometimes tested not by opposition, but by endurance without relief.

Keeping the house swept clean is its own labor. Trusting that His grace is sufficient is another. Both are required.

That is why your subscription and support matter more to me now than I can easily say. For a long time, my work here was built with the intention of giving it away, supported by a separate vocation. That arrangement no longer exists. I am working where work is available, trusting that Jesus Christ is teaching me obedience in the ordinary and patience under uncertainty.

None of the current paths in front of me announce themselves as the path. They simply say: “do the work set before you today, and trust that My grace is sufficient.”

Rockford, Illinois has opened my eyes. In recent weeks I have met more men hungry for a word, wounded by the Church, disoriented by the culture, and unsure where they belong. Until God opens the way back into a pulpit, I am convinced that this is where I am meant to be—fishing for men without branding, without pressure, without spectacle. Just good soil and a word fitly spoken.

I am certain it is the same where you are. The streets are ready for the Red Letters to do their work. The Proverbs still awaken hearts. The Psalms still feed souls. In a season of fog and strain, Jesus Christ has reminded me that the real work of His Church is often quiet, unseen, and given one encouragement at a time.

Thank you for supporting this work. Your subscription may seem small to you, but it is foundational to my vocation. Your decision to say, “Keep going,” carries more weight than you know.

Last week’s subscriber livestream—Covenant Faithfulness—is now fully available after some technical interruptions. The complete study of Ephesians 5 is up on Spotify, and you can also watch it on Rumble.

I am continuing to think carefully about how to use these updates as a stable teaching platform. Different spaces offer different reach, but confidence—not exposure—is the present battle. I may sound certain at times, but the deeper work has always been resisting self-erasure and standing firm without retreat.

That remains my commitment: to keep writing through grief because that is who I am; to keep confessing Christ because that is who He is; and to trust that the final casting of the lot rests in His scarred hands for the good of all.

This week I am preparing a Saved release focused on the book of Acts within the Four-Year Lectionary, moving slowly and deliberately rather than trying to cover too much ground. I am also trusting that Christmas—though quieter and more distant from my family than I would wish—will still be a day for rejoicing with the angels in the certainty of the restoration Jesus Christ was born to secure.

The absence of a settled income is a weight any man would feel, especially in this season. The path forward is long, but reconciliation in Christ matters more to me than any shortcut. Some things must be endured rather than fixed. Sometimes repentance looks like stillness, not action.

Life is complex. Not every road is the same. If you have been reading along this year, you have felt the strain in the air. The enemy delights in teaching men and women to despise one another, to harden their hearts, and to trade the cross for blame.

Jesus Christ knows. From the ash heap, the lesson is not to demand answers, but to refuse bitterness and to turn away from voices that preach division and shame.

I ask you, then, to remember my family in your prayers this Christmastide: Meridith, Chloe, Anastasia, Trinity, Fides, and Alleluia. If my voice or writing has been a help to you, this is the most meaningful way to invest in our future—by lifting their names before Jesus Christ and trusting Him to provide what only He can.