The Last Stretch Matters
“He moved slower than last week—not just in his knees, but in the way his eyes scanned the room as if he were unsure whether he belonged there anymore.”
“He moved slower than last week—not just in his knees, but in the way his eyes scanned the room as if he were unsure whether he belonged there anymore.”
“In Christ, you don’t retire. You remain faithful until the departure comes.”
“The world sells romance,” Jeremiah said, “but Scripture trains us in agápē—love that chooses the good of another, even when it costs.”
“God does not forget. People forget. God doesn’t.”
“Elijah didn’t speak in slogans. “We’re going to pray for local, state, and federal authorities,” he said, “because God uses people, and people need wisdom when the trail is cold and the stakes are high.”
“If you don’t choose stillness on purpose, the world will choose your pace for you.”
Training defined
“Spiritual exercise isn’t mystical. It’s repeated obedience—especially when you don’t feel like it.”
The Crisis
“‘We are in the middle of a mental health crisis,’ Elijah said. ‘Not a slogan—measurable.’ Jeremiah slid the pages forward, and the numbers landed like a weight: anxiety, depression, hopelessness—rising year over year. ‘This isn’t a phase,’ Barbara whispered. ‘It’s a fire.’”
“That word,” she said, tapping once. “That’s the hinge. We’ve been using the language like it’s all the same—tithes, offerings, giving—when the Spirit chose different words for a reason.”
“Let’s pray like we mean it.”
Elijah slid a napkin into the middle of the table and wrote four lines like he was driving nails into wood: protection, justice, courage for leaders, endurance for congregations.