Our Certain Hope

Image by Joe from Pixabay

Scripture: Job 19:25–27

"But I know my living Redeemer, and He will stand on the dust at last. Even after my skin has been destroyed, yet I will see God in my flesh. I will see Him myself; my eyes will look at Him, and not as a stranger. My heart longs within me." (HCSB) 

Life can be heavy. When hardship comes, it often brings hard questions. Where is God? Why isn't He fixing this? Is my faith not strong enough?

For a long time, I thought being a faithful Christian meant life would mostly go well. I believed that if you trusted God, success and comfort were guaranteed in this life. But life has a way of stripping away easy answers. The truth is that many faithful believers face deep suffering, unfair trials, and silence that stretches on for years. 

When we look at the story of Job, we see a man surrounded by darkness. He lost his wealth, his children, and his health. His friends gave terrible advice, blaming Job for his own pain. Job had honest, painful questions for God. He felt forgotten. 

Yet, right in the middle of his deepest despair, Job declares one of the most powerful truths in all of Scripture. 

A Redeemer Who Lives

Job looks past his present pain and declares, "I know my living Redeemer, and He will stand on the dust at last" (Job 19:25). 

In ancient times, a redeemer was a family member who stepped in to save a relative from debt, slavery, or danger. Job knew he needed someone to rescue him and make things right. Bible teacher Warren Wiersbe explains that this redeemer is none other than Jesus Christ. Jesus took on human flesh to experience our struggles, die for our sins, and represent us before God. One day, He will stand upon the earth and set all things right. 

What makes Job's declaration so amazing is when he said it. Job lived long before Jesus was born, and long before the Bible was fully written. Yet, guided by God, Job knew that his story would not end in the grave. He knew his Redeemer was alive. 

Standing in Resurrected Bodies

Job goes even further in verse 26: "Even after my skin has been destroyed, yet I will see God in my flesh". 

Notice what Job is saying. He knows his physical body will decay and turn to dust. But he also knows that is not the final chapter. He believes that he will stand in a real, physical body again and look at God with his own eyes. 

We often forget this essential part of the Gospel. As theologian Stan Norman notes, the ultimate goal of our salvation is to receive a resurrection body. Our faith is not just about our souls going to heaven when we die. The full promise of the Gospel is that God will raise our bodies to life again. 

Without the resurrection, our faith would offer no true comfort. The apostle Paul reminds us in 1 Corinthians 15 that if Christ was not raised, our faith is useless. But Christ was raised! Because He lives, we know that death and suffering will not have the final word. 

Looking Him in the Eye

Job ends his declaration with words that touch the heart: "I will see Him myself; my eyes will look at Him, and not as a stranger. My heart longs within me" (Job 19:27). 

Think about that promise. When you see God, He will not look at you as an outsider or an enemy. Because of what Jesus did on the cross, you will see Him as your loving Father and Savior. 

In Hebrews 11, we read about many heroes of faith who suffered terribly and died without seeing all of God’s promises fulfilled in their lifetimes. God had a better plan. Their hope was fixed on an eternal home, a city built by God. 

Holding On to Hope

If you are going through a hard season right now, please know this: your current pain is not the end of your story. God does not promise us a life free of trouble. But He promises that every tear will be wiped away, every wrong will be corrected, and every broken body will be made brand new. 

We do not have a vague wish; we have a certain hope. Our living Redeemer will stand on the earth. We will see Him face to face. And we will live with Him forever. 

May this truth give you the calm assurance you need today to keep running the race. 

Strong Unions Need Accountability

Unions have done vital work for generations. They have improved wages, safety, and working conditions, while giving workers a strong voice. That work still matters deeply. 

But fairness must work both ways.

For a workplace to thrive, management has a clear responsibility, and a right, to manage. That means setting standards, supporting the team, and addressing problems when they arise. It also means everyone - managers, union leaders, and employees alike - deserves basic fairness and mutual respect. 

When Due Process Becomes a Shield

Every worker deserves due process. No one should face discipline without cause or a fair chance to respond. Most employees come to work ready to do a good job and support their peers. Problems start when protection turns into avoidance, and accountability is treated like a threat. 

Due process should never be used to cover up:

• Repeated poor performance or chronic misconduct. 
• Bullying, harassment, or workplace intimidation. 
• Weaponized reporting systems used as tools for friction rather than genuine resolution. 

When complaint processes are misused to stall reasonable expectations, it weakens the credibility of legitimate safety and fairness concerns for everyone.

The Impact of Informal Power

This issue becomes especially tough when it involves long-serving employees who hold informal influence. Years of experience and deep workplace relationships deserve recognition, but they should never grant immunity. 

When an employee uses their standing to throw their weight around, the entire workplace culture breaks down: 

• Co-workers and managers face intimidation for simply doing their jobs. 
• Anyone who speaks up is isolated or labeled as "disloyal." 
• Good employees end up carrying the extra workload. 
• Open communication stops, morale drops, and standards slip. 

That is not solidarity. Real solidarity means protecting people from unfair treatment including mistreatment by their own peers. 

A System Built on Mutual Respect

The goal here is not to weaken union representation or excuse poor management. Good management requires holding leaders accountable, too. The goal is to build a fair, responsible system where everyone is held to the same standard of conduct. 

Unions can defend a member’s right to a fair process without defending harmful conduct. Addressing toxic behavior isn't anti-union. It is how we protect hard-working members, uphold workplace credibility, and ensure everyone can come to work feeling safe and respected. 

If Red Bay Counts in Spain, It Should Count in Labrador

What does reconciliation mean if we are prepared to call for it across an ocean, but not here at home, among our own families and communities?

That was the question I was left with after hearing comments from Johannes Lampe, President of Nunatsiavut, during CBC’s coverage of the replica of the 16th-century Basque ship San Juan in Pasaia, Spain.

The San Juan has a deep connection to Labrador. It was a 16th-century Basque whaling ship that sank in Red Bay, in southern Labrador. Its discovery helped tell a broader story about the Basque whaling presence along the Strait of Belle Isle, and about the long and complicated history of European activity in Labrador.

During the CBC coverage, President Lampe spoke about the presence of Basque whalers in southern Labrador, specifically Red Bay. He said he believed there was “evidence enough” for Europeans, the Basque, and the Spanish to discuss an apology to Indigenous groups in Canada, and “most certainly the Labrador Inuit.” He also said reconciliation is difficult, but that “we have to start somewhere.”

I agree with him on that point.

We do have to start somewhere.

But surely that somewhere should include Labrador.

Red Bay is in southern Labrador. The Basque whaling presence there is part of the history of that place. It is also part of the history President Lampe pointed to while in Spain as evidence of harm to Labrador Inuit.

That is important because, here at home, Nunatsiavut has repeatedly taken positions that many Southern Inuit experience as challenges to our identity, history and rights. Southern Labrador has also been described as outside Inuit Nunangat.

So the question is fair.

If the history of Red Bay is evidence of harm to Labrador Inuit when speaking in Spain, why is Inuit presence in southern Labrador treated so differently when NunatuKavut speaks of our own history, families and land?

It cannot be both ways.

Either Inuit history in southern Labrador forms part of this story, or it does not. Either Red Bay helps tell the story of Labrador Inuit, or it does not. It should not count only when it supports a demand for reconciliation from Europe, and then be questioned or dismissed when Southern Inuit ask for recognition and respect here at home.

I say this as a member of NunatuKavut.

My family is from central and southern Labrador. My family still holds land in Natsitok (Sandwich Bay), land we have fished, hunted, and gathered from for generations. Across the way from our family land are Inuit stone houses that remind us our presence is not new, not invented, and not something that can be erased by politics.

For my family, and for many Southern Inuit families, these are not abstract debates. They are not just about maps, titles, governments or political statements. They are about grandparents and great-grandparents. They are about land use, memory, kinship, food, language, place names, family stories, and the quiet knowledge passed down through generations.

They are about belonging.

That is why the lack of reconciliation with NunatuKavut is so painful. It has harmed relationships between people who should be able to see each other as relatives. It has created division where there should be respect. It leaves many Southern Inuit feeling as though our identity is acknowledged in one context and questioned in another.

I do not write this to attack President Lampe or Nunatsiavut. I write it because I believe reconciliation among Inuit in Labrador is necessary, overdue, and possible.

There is enough pain in our shared history without adding more to it. There is enough outside pressure on Indigenous peoples without us turning that pressure inward on one another. Labrador is large enough, and our history is deep enough, to hold more than one Inuit story.

If President Lampe truly believes reconciliation must begin somewhere, then I hope he will consider beginning here, with the Southern Inuit of Labrador.

An apology from Europe may be worth discussing. The history of Basque whaling in Labrador is significant and should be better understood. But reconciliation in Labrador cannot be pursued only overseas. It cannot be something we ask of others while avoiding the harder work among ourselves.

It must also happen here, at home.

It must happen between people who share family connections, ancestral ties, history, land, and memory.

It must happen between Nunatsiavut and NunatuKavut.

We deserve to be respected. We deserve to be self-determining. We deserve to have our history acknowledged.

Most of all, we deserve peace and reconciliation with our Inuit brothers and sisters here at home.

Holy Welcome: Loving the Stranger as Citizens of God’s Kingdom

I recently had the privilege of preaching at my church from Leviticus 19, reflecting on God’s command to love the foreigner and welcome the stranger.

Because this is a passage that continues to work on my own heart, I wanted to share a condensed version here for readers who may find it helpful. A sermon is meant to be heard in a gathered setting, so I have adapted this slightly for the blog while trying to remain faithful to the heart of what I shared that morning.

The Heart of Leviticus

Leviticus may not be the first book many of us turn to when we are looking for comfort, encouragement, or practical guidance. I understand that. It can feel difficult and distant. Many of us have had the experience of beginning the year determined to read through Scripture, moving through Genesis and Exodus, and then slowing down when we arrive at Leviticus with its sacrifices, priests, purity laws, festivals, offerings, and instructions that can feel far removed from modern life.

But if we see Leviticus only as a book of ancient rules, we will miss its heart.

Leviticus is about how a sinful people can live in the presence of a holy God. It is about God graciously making a way for His people to draw near, worship Him, and live as His people in the world. It is also revelation. God’s law does not merely give rules. It reveals His character, His will, and His good purpose for human life.

That is why the repeated phrase “I am the LORD” matters so much. God ties His commands to His own name and character. In effect, He is saying, “This is how My people are to live, because this is who I am.”

Holiness That Reflects God's Character

The command at the heart of Leviticus 19 begins with God’s holiness. God calls His people to be holy because He is holy. This call was not given only to priests, prophets, or a particularly serious spiritual elite. It was spoken to the whole assembly. The entire people of God were called to reflect the character of the Lord.

Holiness certainly includes moral purity. God’s people are called to turn away from sin and live lives that are pleasing to Him. But holiness is bigger than what we avoid. To be holy is to be set apart for God. It means belonging to Him. It means our lives are not simply defined by the values, fears, priorities, and patterns of the world around us.

Biblical holiness is not only seen in what we refuse. It is also seen in what we reflect.

Do we reflect the mercy of God? The justice of God? The generosity of God? The patience of God? The welcome of God?

This is why the command to love the foreigner is not a side issue. It flows directly from the holiness of God. The holy God cares how His people treat the vulnerable. He cares how they treat the outsider. He cares how they treat the person who does not naturally belong to their social circle, family network, ethnic group, language group, or tribe.

Before we ask who the stranger is, we must first ask who the Lord is.

He is holy.

And His holy people are called to make His character visible.

Remembering Mercy

When God commands Israel not to mistreat the foreigner and to love the foreigner as themselves, He gives them a reason: they had been foreigners in Egypt. God does not simply give a command. He reminds them of their story.

Before they had land, they were landless. Before they had a home, they lived in a country not their own. Before they had freedom, they were enslaved. Before they had protection, they were vulnerable.

Israel knew what it meant to be the outsider. They knew what it meant to be treated as a threat. They knew what it meant to be used, oppressed, and made bitter by the power of others.

And the Lord saw them. He heard their cries. He knew their suffering. He delivered them.

So when God reminds Israel that they were foreigners in Egypt, He is calling them to remember mercy. He is saying, in effect, do not forget what it was like to be vulnerable. Do not forget what it was like to need deliverance. Do not receive mercy from God and then refuse mercy to your neighbour.

Israel’s memory of oppression was meant to produce compassion. Their memory of vulnerability was meant to produce justice. Their memory of deliverance was meant to produce generosity.

The same pattern carries into the New Testament. The Church is called to remember grace. Apart from Christ, we were outsiders. We were far off from God, without hope, unable to bring ourselves near. But in Christ, God welcomed us. He brought near those who were far off.

That is the Gospel.

We were strangers, and God welcomed us.

For the Christian, loving the stranger is not rooted only in Israel’s memory of Egypt. It is rooted in our own memory of grace.

More Than Avoiding Harm

The command itself goes further than simply avoiding harm. God does not merely tell His people not to mistreat the foreigner. He commands them to treat the foreigner as one of their own and to love them as themselves.

That is active. It is personal. It is costly.

In the original context, the foreigner was likely a non-Israelite resident living among God’s people. They were not simply passing through. They lived in the land, but without the same inheritance, family networks, social protections, or standing as the native-born. That made them vulnerable. They could be overlooked, exploited, treated with suspicion, or blamed when life became difficult.

And God says no. You must not treat them that way.

Who Is the Stranger in Front of Me?

The passage speaks directly about the foreigner residing among Israel, and we should not ignore that. But the principle reaches further. God is teaching His people how to see and treat those who are vulnerable, unfamiliar, outside their usual circle, and easy to exclude.

So yes, we should think about newcomers, refugees, and people who have come here from other countries. We should think about those learning our customs, navigating a new culture, or speaking a language that may not be the majority language around them.

But we should not stop there.

We should also ask: who is the stranger in front of me?

Who is outside my usual circle? Who is easy for me to overlook? Who do I instinctively keep at a distance? Who is present among us, but not yet welcomed as one of us?

The stranger may be the person from another country. The stranger may be the person from another province or community. The stranger may be the visitor who does not know our church culture. The stranger may be the neighbour whose life is very different from mine. The stranger may be the person whose language, accent, family background, education, income, politics, personality, or struggles make them feel unfamiliar.

The Word of God presses on us with a command: love them as yourself.

Not merely tolerate them. Not merely avoid harming them. Not merely be polite from a distance.

Love them.

Seeing People as People

That begins by seeing people as people, not categories. Not problems to be solved. Not threats to be feared. Not interruptions to our comfort. Not outsiders to be managed. They are image bearers. They are made by God, known by God, loved by God, accountable to God, and valuable before God.

Loving the stranger does not mean pretending every situation is simple. It does not mean every policy question is easy. It does not mean there are no real pressures on housing, employment, health care, schools, language, or public services. Scripture does not call us to be naïve.

But Scripture does call us to be holy.

And holiness sets a boundary around how we think, speak, act, and treat people. We are not free to dehumanize. We are not free to mock. We are not free to exploit. We are not free to scapegoat. We are not free to let fear, frustration, comfort, or tribal loyalty override the command of God.

The people of God answer to a higher law. We belong to a higher Kingdom.

A Public Witness of Welcome

This is also part of the Church’s public witness. The Church is not merely a gathering of people with private beliefs, familiar traditions, and shared routines. In Christ, we are a people called out of darkness and into light. We bear His name. We represent His Kingdom. We are called to make God known.

Public witness is not performance or image management. It is the life of God’s people making visible the character of God.

People are watching. Our neighbours are watching. Our children are watching. Newcomers are watching. Visitors to our churches are watching. People who wonder whether the Gospel is only words are watching.

And they are asking, even if silently: What is God like? What kind of people does the Gospel produce? What kind of Kingdom do these Christians belong to?

If we speak about holiness but treat outsiders with suspicion, contempt, or indifference, what are we saying about God? If we sing about grace but refuse to extend welcome, what are we saying about grace? If we rejoice that Christ brought us near while keeping others at a distance, what are we saying about Christ?

The Church should be a place where the stranger encounters something different. A person who is not from here should encounter welcome. A person who speaks with an accent should encounter patience. A visitor who does not understand our church culture should encounter hospitality. A person outside our usual social circle should encounter genuine love. A person who feels unseen should encounter the dignity of being noticed.

And in all of this, we are not simply being nice.

We are bearing witness.

We are saying with our life together: this is what our God is like. He is holy. He is merciful. He is generous. He welcomes sinners through Christ. He brings near those who were far off. He builds a family out of people who once were strangers.

That is kingdom-shaped holiness.

And kingdom-shaped holiness is public witness.

Holy Because He is Holy

God is holy.

We were strangers.

So we love the stranger.

“Speak to the entire assembly of Israel and say to them: ‘Be holy because I, the Lord your God, am holy…When a foreigner resides among you in your land, do not mistreat them. The foreigner residing among you must be treated as your native-born. Love them as yourself, for you were foreigners in Egypt. I am the Lord your God.’”

~ Leviticus 19:2;33-34 (NIV) 

May we be holy because He is holy. May we be generous because He is generous. May we love the stranger because God has loved us. May we welcome others because, in Christ, God has welcomed us.

Living in the Light of Resurrection

 

There is a thought that grows sweeter to me the older I get: the thought of resurrection.

When we are young, death can feel far away. Aging can feel theoretical. The weakness of the body can seem like someone else’s concern. But life has a way of bringing these things closer. We watch people we love grow weaker. We see bodies fail and minds become clouded. Some of us have stood beside graves. Some of us carry grief that others cannot see.

The apostle Paul does not ask us to pretend these things do not hurt. But he does tell us that, in Christ, they are not final.

What Paul Says in 1 Thessalonians 4:13-18

In 1 Thessalonians 4:13-18, Paul writes to believers who were grieving and confused. They believed Jesus was coming again, but while they waited, some believers died. That raised a painful question: what happens to those who die before Jesus returns? Will they miss out? Will they be left behind?

Paul answers with the promise of God: “We want you to know what will happen to the believers who have died so you will not grieve like people who have no hope” (1 Thessalonians 4:13, NLT).

Notice what Paul does not say. He does not say, “Do not grieve.” Christians grieve. Faith does not make us less human. It does not make love less real or death less painful. We grieve because death is an enemy. We grieve because separation hurts. We grieve because this world is not yet what God will one day make it.

But Paul says we do not grieve like people who have no hope. That is the difference.

Christian hope is not denial. It is not pretending everything is fine. It is not vague optimism about the afterlife. Christian hope rests on something much stronger: “Jesus died and was raised to life again” (1 Thessalonians 4:14, NLT). If Jesus has not risen, death has the final word. But if Jesus has risen, death has been defeated. And if death has been defeated, those who die in Christ are not lost. They are safe in Him, remembered by Him, and when He comes, they will rise.

Paul is clear that believers who have died will not miss the great day of Christ’s return. In fact, he says, “First, the believers who have died will rise from their graves” (1 Thessalonians 4:16, NLT). Death does not make them second-class citizens in the kingdom of God. Death does not erase their place in Christ. Those who belong to Jesus have a future tied to His future. He died. He rose. He will come again. And those who belong to Him will rise too.

What Resurrection Means for the Believer

Paul continues, “Then, together with them, we who are still alive and remain on the earth will be caught up in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. Then we will be with the Lord forever” (1 Thessalonians 4:17, NLT).

Over the years, Christians have spent a lot of time debating the details of this verse. Good and faithful believers have not always agreed on how all the events surrounding the return of Christ fit together. But Paul’s main point here is not to give us a chart. His main point is to give us comfort.

The comfort is simple: when Christ returns, no believer will be left out. Those who have died in Christ will be raised. Those who are alive in Christ will be gathered. Together, we will meet the Lord.

That word “together” is beautiful. The Thessalonians feared separation, but Paul gives them reunion. They feared loss, but Paul gives them hope. They feared that death had taken their loved ones beyond the reach of Christ’s promise, but Paul says no. Not one of them will be forgotten.

Then comes the greatest promise in the passage: “Then we will be with the Lord forever.” That is the centre of Christian hope. Yes, there is real comfort in the thought that we will see loved ones again. The promise of resurrection tells us that those who died in Christ will live again. But even that is not the deepest hope. The deepest hope is that we will be with the Lord forever.

Because if we have Him, every other good thing will be restored in Him. No more separation. No more graveside goodbyes. No more bodies that betray us. No more minds that become clouded. No more sin. No more death. We will be with the Lord forever.

That is why Paul ends the passage by saying, “So encourage each other with these words” (1 Thessalonians 4:18, NLT). Not frighten one another. Not confuse one another. Not speculate with one another. Encourage one another.

How We Live in the Light of Resurrection

If the resurrection is true, and if Christ really will return, then it changes how we live now. Resurrection hope is not an excuse to withdraw from the world. It is not a reason to become passive or to say, “This world is passing away, so none of this matters.”

Christian hope says something stronger. Because Jesus has been raised, God has already begun His work of making all things new. Because Christ will return, that work will one day be completed. So we live now in light of what God has promised.

Our bodies matter. Our work matters. Our prayers matter. Our acts of mercy matter. Our witness matters. Our small obedience matters. We are people of the resurrection living in a world still marked by death.

When we comfort the grieving, sit with the lonely, care for the sick, forgive, serve, tell the truth, refuse to return evil for evil, protect the vulnerable, and treat people with dignity because they are made in the image of God, we bear witness to resurrection. These things may look small. They may not be noticed by many people. But they matter because Christ is risen.

One of the lies we are tempted to believe is that only large things matter: large platforms, large moments, large gestures, large ministries, large acts of sacrifice. But most faithfulness is ordinary. It is a phone call, a meal, a visit, a prayer, a word of encouragement, a quiet refusal to give up, choosing honesty when a lie would be easier, choosing mercy when bitterness would feel justified, and serving when no one sees.

St. Francis de Sales once wrote, “Great occasions for serving God come seldom, but little ones surround us daily.” We need that reminder. Much of the Christian life is simply being faithful in the little things that love requires. Resurrection tells us those little things are not wasted.

Paul says something similar in 1 Corinthians 15. After teaching about the resurrection, he writes, “So, my dear brothers and sisters, be strong and immovable. Always work enthusiastically for the Lord, for you know that nothing you do for the Lord is ever useless” (1 Corinthians 15:58, NLT).

That is resurrection application. Because Christ is risen, nothing you do for the Lord is ever useless. Your prayers are not useless. Your kindness is not useless. Your endurance is not useless. Your witness is not useless. Your love is not useless. Even your grief is not useless when it is carried in hope before the Lord.

Living in the light of resurrection also means we care about justice, beauty, and the gospel. Justice matters because God will put the world right. Beauty matters because creation is not garbage to be thrown away, but something God will renew. Evangelism matters because Jesus is Lord, and through Him sinners can be forgiven, enemies can become children, and the dead will live.

So we comfort one another. We grieve with hope. We stand firm. We give ourselves to the work of the Lord. We live now as a signpost of what God has promised then.

And when we grow tired, when our bodies weaken, when grief comes close, when the work feels small, and when the world feels dark, we remind one another: Christ has died. Christ is risen. Christ will come again. And nothing done for the Lord is ever useless.

The Lord Himself will come. The dead in Christ will rise. The living in Christ will be gathered with them. And we will be with the Lord forever.

So let us live in the light of resurrection. Let us grieve with hope. Let us comfort one another. Let us give ourselves to the work of the Lord. And let us wait, not in fear, but in faith, for the day when Christ returns and all who belong to Him will be with the Lord forever.

Life and Death in the Tongue

Words That Do More Than We Admit

Words can wound. Words can kill. Words can heal.

And sometimes the wounds they leave last far longer than we care to admit.

Scripture does not treat words as small or insignificant:

“Death and life are in the power of the tongue” (Proverbs 18:21).

That is not poetic language. It is a warning.

Every word you speak leaves a mark. The only question is what kind.

Jesus Removes Our Excuses

Jesus raises the standard in a way that should make us uncomfortable:

Anger and contempt expressed in words come from the same kind of heart that produces murder (Matthew 5:21–22).

He is not collapsing the categories. He is exposing the heart.

We often excuse our words because “we didn’t mean it.” Jesus does not allow that escape. Words reveal what is already present within.

Words That Devour

Paul warns the Galatian church:

“If you bite and devour one another, watch out that you are not consumed by one another” (Galatians 5:15).

That is not casual language. That is destruction.

Words spoken in anger, sarcasm, bitterness, or carelessness can tear people apart, sometimes slowly, sometimes all at once.

Proverbs does not soften it:

“Reckless words pierce like a sword” (Proverbs 12:18).

Once spoken, they cannot be taken back. They linger. They settle in memory. They work like a rot that eventually poisons and destroys.

Say It Angry…Regret It Later

Ambrose Bierce wrote:

“Speak when you are angry and you will make the best speech you will ever regret.”

That regret is not accidental. It comes from somewhere. Which is exactly where James takes us next.

The Tongue Reveals the Heart

James cuts to the core issue:

“From the same mouth come blessing and cursing. My brothers, these things ought not to be so” (James 3:10).

He compares the tongue to a spring. It cannot produce both fresh and salt water.

Which leads to a question you cannot avoid:

What is in your well?

Do not answer quickly. Do not answer spiritually. And do not lie to yourself.

It is easy to give a quick, spiritual answer. It is harder to answer truthfully.

If your words are consistently harsh, bitter, or cutting, that is not a communication problem. It is a heart problem. And until that is dealt with, nothing will change.

As Wiersbe said, “What the tongue does reveals what the heart contains.”

Words That Heal…or Harm for Years

Scripture also shows the other side:

“Pleasant words are like a honeycomb, sweet to the soul and healing to the bones” (Proverbs 16:24).

Words spoken with care, truth, and love bring life. They strengthen. They restore.

And just like harmful words linger, so do good ones.

A single word of encouragement can stay with someone for years.

So can a careless, cutting remark.

You are always leaving something behind with your words.

A Standard Worth Bringing Home

There is an old naval regulation that says:

“No officer shall speak discouragingly to another officer in the discharge of their duties.”

If that standard is expected in military discipline, why should we accept less in our homes, our friendships, or our churches?

What would change if we simply refused to speak discouragingly to one another?

Pause. Then Decide.

Before you speak, pause.

Ask yourself:

Will these words bring life, or will they bring harm?

Not what you feel like saying. Not what they “deserve.”

What will your words leave behind?

Choose Life

If your words are a problem, the solution is not just to try harder to control your tongue.

Go deeper.

Ask God to deal with your heart. Ask Him to change what is in the well. Because the tongue does not operate independently. It draws from what is already there.

God gave you the ability to speak. That is not a small gift.

You can use it to wound, to tear down, to poison…or to heal, to strengthen, and to give life.

So choose carefully.

Choose truth. Choose restraint. Choose kindness when it is hardest.

Above all:

Choose life.

Because every word you speak is shaping something…in someone else, and in you.

Wasps, Winter, and the Weight of Home

A Familiar Restlessness

Sixteen years ago, I sat in a coffee shop watching a wasp beat itself against a window, desperate to escape. It became, for me, a picture of discontent. Of restlessness. Of feeling out of place in the world.

Sixteen years later, I find myself in a similar place. Another coffee shop. Another season of watching something I cannot control. This time it is not a wasp, but winter itself.

Snow piling endlessly. Days that feel heavy. A body that has slowed. A spirit that feels confined.

And again, I feel that familiar restlessness.

I long for warmth. For movement. For beaches, trails, and long evenings with family and friends. I find myself yearning for a change in season, both outside and within.

Made for More, But Not Made to Escape

Years ago, I wrote, “I am made for eternity, therefore I am discontent in this temporal world.”

I still believe that. But I understand it differently now.

At that time, my thinking leaned toward escape. The idea that this world is not my home, that I am simply passing through.

There was truth in it. But it was incomplete.

What I am beginning to see more clearly is this:

The destination was never somewhere else. The destination is here.

God’s Desire Has Always Been to Dwell With Us

From the beginning, God’s intention was not to abandon creation but to dwell within it.

“God saw all that He had made, and it was very good.”
— Genesis 1:31

Creation was not a mistake. It was declared good.

We were made to live with God, not apart from Him.

Yet we chose independence. We chose to define life on our own terms. And ever since, humanity has been caught in a cycle of striving and dissatisfaction.

We search for meaning, for control, for fulfillment, and it always feels just out of reach.

A Groaning World, A Shared Longing

That restlessness I feel in the winter, that sense of not quite being at home, is not an accident. It is a signal.

But it is not pointing me away from this world. It is pointing me toward what this world is meant to become.

“For the creation waits in eager expectation… We know that the whole creation has been groaning…”
— Romans 8:19–22

There is a shared dissatisfaction woven into everything.

Not because creation is wrong, but because it is unfinished. Waiting. Anticipating renewal.

Not Escaping the World, But Seeing It Redeemed

This world is my home. Not in its current brokenness, but in its promised restoration.

“Look! God’s dwelling place is now among the people, and He will dwell with them.”
— Revelation 21:3

Revelation does not speak of escape from the earth, but of God dwelling with His people.

Heaven and earth brought together.
All things made new.
Not replaced, but redeemed.

Dissatisfaction With a Purpose

That changes how I understand my own discontent.

Our longing is not something to suppress. It is something to steward.

“Behold, I am making all things new.”
— Revelation 21:5

Dissatisfaction becomes a catalyst.

It pushes us toward God.
And it draws us into His work.

A Call to Participate in Renewal

We are not just waiting for a future reality. We are invited to participate in it now.

“We are therefore Christ’s ambassadors, as though God were making His appeal through us.”
— 2 Corinthians 5:20

This is our calling:

To be people of renewal.
Of reconciliation.
Of restoration.

In our homes.
In our neighbourhoods.
In our communities.

Not someday. Now.

And this work matters more than we often realize.

“Therefore… stand firm. Let nothing move you. Always give yourselves fully to the work of the Lord… because you know that your labour in the Lord is not in vain.”
— 1 Corinthians 15:58

Because of the resurrection, because of what is coming, nothing done in faith is wasted.

Every act of faithfulness.
Every step toward reconciliation.
Every effort to bring light into dark places.

It all matters.

Living Between What Is and What Will Be

The snow will melt. Spring will come.

But the deeper longing, the one that has followed me for years, will only find its rest when all things are made new.

Until then, we live in the tension.

Rooted here.
Hopeful for what is coming.
And steadfast in the work we have been given, knowing it is not in vain.

Even so, Lord Jesus, come.