This past week, I’ve still been struggling on and off with the blatant displays of evil in our society. Sometimes it feels like darkness is everywhere. But at the same time, I’ve also been encouraged to see glimpses of light: people going to church for the first time in years—or ever—people buying their first Bible, people beginning to search for hope in more appropriate places.
Trying to Overcome Darkness with Darkness
As I was reflecting on this obvious struggle between darkness and the Light, it struck me that you cannot overcome darkness with more darkness. That only makes the darkness darker.
Righteous anger may feel justified in the moment, but it can play right into the enemy’s strategy. Instead of shining light into the darkness, we end up covering our own light. And when that happens, all it does is confirm the negative opinions that people living in darkness already hold about followers of Christ.
We often think the enemy is people—those who oppose us or even just those who disagree with us or those who lurk in the shadows promoting evil—but the Bible says otherwise. The real battle is spiritual, and it cannot be won with hatred, bitterness, or retaliation.
Jesus also spoke directly about darkness and light:
If we belong to Him, we carry that same light. Our calling is not to curse the darkness but to shine His light into it.
So How Do We Do That?
How do we overcome darkness? Here are some ideas from Jesus and Paul.
By choosing forgiveness instead of revenge.
“Bear with each other and forgive one another if any of you has a grievance against someone. Forgive as the Lord forgave you.” —Colossians 3:13
By speaking words of truth wrapped in love.
“Instead, speaking the truth in love, we will grow to become in every respect the mature body of him who is the head, that is, Christ.” —Ephesians 4:15
By serving others—even those who oppose us.
“But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.” —Matthew 5:44
By putting on the full armor of God so that we can stand firm.
“Therefore put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand.” —Ephesians 6:13
By letting our light shine through good works.
“In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.” —Matthew 5:16
By overcoming evil with good.
“Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.” —Romans 12:21
Conclusion
The only way to drive out darkness is with light. This is true in the physical world, and it’s especially true in the spiritual world. Always.
Is this going to be easy? Of course not.
Is Jesus standing by, waiting for us to ask for His help to make the impossible our reality? Always.
So my prayer for myself—and for you—is that we would resist the urge to fight darkness with more darkness. That instead, we would shine the light of Christ all the brighter. Because His is the only light that can never be overcome.
This week, I’ve been in chains. Chains of bitterness. Chains of revenge. Chains of hatred, if I’m being honest.
During the same week in which we commemorate the horrific terrorist attacks that took place twenty-four years ago, another act of political violence made headlines: the tragic assassination of Charlie Kirk.
Just days before his death, Charlie Kirk posted these words:
“Jesus defeated death so you can live.”
Charlie Kirk
And as pastor John MacArthur once wrote:
“All death can do to the believer is deliver him to Jesus.”
John MacArthur
Those words are true—but still, evil feels rampant in our country and in our world. When things like this happen (and there have been far too many tragedies lately), it’s easy to let them consume us. It’s easy to wonder if evil is winning.
Before I go on, I want to note that God has not allowed me to turn this blog political. So I won’t comment further about victims or perpetrators. Instead, I want to share my back-and-forth with God—my own struggle against the chains that bound me—just in case I’m not the only one wrestling with these things. I don’t claim to have handled it perfectly, nor do I have all the answers. But sometimes it helps to know that others have shared the same struggles.
When I first heard the news, I wanted revenge. I wanted swift justice, a way to stop the senseless violence. I let the chains of hate take hold of my heart.
But this is not the way of Jesus.
God reminded me of His words, through His Apostle Paul:
Do not take revenge, my dear friends, but leave room for God’s wrath, for it is written: “It is mine to avenge; I will repay,” says the Lord.
On the contrary: “If your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him something to drink. In doing this, you will heap burning coals on his head.”
I’ll be honest: I didn’t want to do any of that. I still don’t. But God has been encouraging me to work on it. And God is teaching me that it will be better—for me, and for the world—if I (and we all) fight back in the way of Christ.
Here’s why:
Hatred and vengeance hurt me more than they hurt anyone else. This past week I struggled to pray or thank God for His blessings because I was consumed with rage. The bitterness was choking out my joy. As author Anne Lamott puts it: “Not forgiving is like drinking rat poison and then waiting for the rat to die.”
Violence only begets more violence. If everyone gives in to the animalistic lust for revenge, the cycle will never stop. Jesus said, “All who draw the sword will die by the sword” (Matthew 26:52).
My calling is to be a force for God’s Kingdom. I cannot offer encouragement or reflect Christ if I’m filled with hate. Jesus said, “By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another” (John 13:35).
Does that mean we should sit back and watch society spiral downward? No.
But the way of Jesus is not retaliation. When people opposed Him—even plotting His death—He prayed for them. On the cross, He said:
“Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing”.
The book of Job is one of the most challenging—and at times confusing—books in the Bible. If you’ve read it, you know why. It opens with unimaginable tragedy, contains long stretches of speeches and arguments, and ends with a whirlwind encounter between Job and God Himself.
In the Daily Audio Bible’s journey through the Word of God for 2025, we recently passed through this rough terrain.
Since then, I’ve been pondering: what are we supposed to do with a book like Job? Is it allegory? History? Poetry? Wisdom literature? Does it even belong in the Bible? And most importantly, assuming we accept that it’s included in the canon of Scripture for a reason, what should we be learning about God from it?
I don’t pretend to have all the answers, but I want to share a few pictures of God that have emerged in my mind from this strange, difficult, and beautiful book.
Job as Wisdom Literature
First, it helps to remember that Job belongs to the Bible’s wisdom literature—alongside Proverbs and Ecclesiastes (which is a challenging book in itself). Unlike narrative history, wisdom literature often uses dialogue, imagery, and poetry to grapple with life’s biggest questions.
Questions that God knows we have had or will have throughout our journey of building a relationship with Him.
Does this mean Job isn’t historical? Not necessarily. Job could very well have been a real man (Ezekiel 14:14 and James 5:11 seem to suggest he was). But even if Job’s story is told in highly poetic form, its purpose isn’t to give us a play-by-play of ancient events. Its purpose is to wrestle with questions we all face:
Why do good people suffer?
Can suffering coexist with God’s justice?
What does it mean to trust God when life falls apart?
Picture #1: God Is Sovereign
The opening chapters show Job losing everything—his children, his wealth, even his health. Behind the scenes, there’s a heavenly dialogue between God and Satan that feels mysterious, even unsettling.
But here’s what stands out: Satan is on a leash. He has to ask permission before touching Job, and he’s limited in what he can do. Evil is real and destructive, but it does not get the final word. God alone is sovereign.
That’s both humbling and comforting. It reminds us that nothing happens outside of God’s knowledge and control, even when we don’t understand why He allows suffering.
Picture #2: God Is Patient
Much of the book is taken up with dialogue—Job crying out in anguish, his friends offering bad counsel, Job defending his integrity. It goes in circles, and at times it’s exhausting.
But here’s what’s remarkable: God lets Job speak. He doesn’t cut him off. He doesn’t strike him down for questioning. He listens. Job says some things that are raw, even bordering on irreverent—but God is big enough to handle Job’s (and our) honesty.
This shows us a God who is patient with our pain and our questions. He invites authenticity, not fake piety.
Picture #3: God Is Beyond Our Comprehension
When God finally speaks from the whirlwind in chapters 38–41, He doesn’t answer Job’s “why” questions directly. Instead, He gives Job a tour of creation: the stars, the seas, the wild animals.
At first glance, it feels like God is dodging the issue. But what He’s really doing is reminding Job (and us) that His wisdom is far beyond ours.
“Where were you when I laid the earth’s foundation? Tell me, if you understand.”
This is not God mocking Job—it’s God putting Job’s suffering in the context of His infinite power and wisdom. We may not understand everything, but we can trust the One who does.
Picture #4: God Is Restorer
The book ends with God restoring Job—his health, his fortunes, even giving him more children. While the losses are never erased, Job’s story closes with redemption and blessing.
This doesn’t mean every story of suffering will tie up neatly in this life. But it does point us forward to the ultimate restoration God promises—a new heaven and new earth where every tear will be wiped away (Revelation 21:4).
Final Thoughts
Job is not an easy book. It doesn’t give us simple answers to complex questions. But it does give us a set of powerful pictures of God:
Sovereign over all things.
Patient with our pain and questions.
Far wiser than we can comprehend.
Restorer of what has been lost.
And maybe that’s the point. Job doesn’t end with Job getting an explanation. It ends with Job getting God Himself.
Some troubles don’t feel light. And many certainly don’t feel momentary.
When we’re in the thick of hardship—whether it’s grief, financial stress, health challenges, or just a string of frustrating setbacks—it can feel like the weight will never lift. The words of the Apostle Paul in 2 Corinthians almost sound naïve—if not downright mocking—at first glance:
“Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.”
Paul must not have been through what I’ve dealt with in my life… at least that’s how it feels sometimes.
Really, Paul? Light and momentary?
But Paul isn’t dismissing our pain. He’s giving us perspective.
Perspective Matters
If we focus only on our struggles, they will seem unbearable. Heavy. Endless. That’s the nature of trouble—it fills the frame until it’s all we can see.
But if we widen our view—if we compare our present struggles with the endless joy and glory promised in heaven—then even the hardest trials begin to fade in comparison. It’s not that they stop hurting. It’s that they stop defining us.
Paul goes on to say:
“So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.”
That’s the mindset shift that saves the day. The difference between being crushed under the weight of trouble and being sustained by the hope of eternity.
A Real-World Example
My daughter and son-in-law recently took their two very young sons—ages three and one—on an overseas flight to begin a Mediterranean cruise.
And almost everything that could go wrong, did.
Flights delayed. Missed connections. Re-bookings with scattered seats (a nightmare when traveling with toddlers). Entire days stuck in airports with two little boys. Finally reaching Italy—without their luggage. Boarding the wrong train.
It was chaos. Stressful. Exhausting. My daughter even told us at one point that she regretted going, that she had no idea how much of a nightmare it would be. And who could blame her?
But then—finally—they boarded their cruise ship. Their luggage turned up. Slowly, the stress began to dissipate. And now, just a few days into the cruise, they’re having the time of their lives.
When they were stuck in airports, wrangling toddlers, or realizing their luggage was missing, it certainly didn’t feel light or momentary. But looking back now, those struggles are already fading into the background of an amazing family adventure.
The Eternal Perspective
That’s a small picture of what Paul is saying in 2 Corinthians.
Life in this world is full of delays, detours, and disappointments. Some are small and temporary. Others are devastating and life-altering. But when we compare even the heaviest of them to the endless joy, peace, and glory of eternity with God and our friends and loved ones who are also followers of Christ, they become—miraculously—light and momentary.
Not because they don’t hurt. But because they can’t last.
Heaven will.
Final Thoughts
So when you feel weighed down by troubles that seem anything but light and momentary, remember Paul’s words. Shift your gaze. Fix your eyes on what is unseen.
Your troubles are real. But they are temporary. God’s glory is also real—and it is eternal.
One day, when you step into His presence, you will see it clearly:
“For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.” —2 Corinthians 4:17 (NIV)
It’s been a hard ten days. My dad passed away a week and a half ago, and while I know he is at peace now and no longer suffering, the ache of his absence is still fresh.
And a short time ago—while I was writing this blog—I got a phone call informing me that my son was in a car accident. Thankfully, everyone involved walked away uninjured, but now he’ll have to deal with the emotional and physical fallout that comes with it. Right now, he’s worried that he’s ruined his life. I pray in time he’ll see that God can redeem even this.
Grief, worry, stress—it’s all been heavy.
This week, in the Daily Audio Bible, we began reading the book of Job. As much as I’ve felt the weight of these past days, Job’s terrible day near the beginning of the book was unimaginably worse. In a span of hours, he lost his livelihood and all of his children. One messenger after another brought devastating news until his entire world collapsed around him.
And yet, Job’s response was not despair or bitterness, but worship:
“…The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; Blessed be the name of the Lord.”
It is certainly much easier to bless the Lord when He gives than when He takes away. Honestly, that’s something I’ve been struggling with over the past 10 days. It’s hard to say “blessed be the name of the Lord” when I feel the sting of losing my dad and when my family faces unexpected challenges.
What Do We Take Away from Job’s Response?
For one thing, Job’s words remind us not to cling to any earthly thing more tightly than we cling to God. There is nothing wrong with loving others—especially our family and friends. In fact, when Jesus was asked what mattered most, He gave us two commands:
“‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’”
Loving God comes first. Loving others comes second. Both matter deeply. But if we hold onto people, possessions, or even our own health more tightly than we hold onto God, we set ourselves up for heartbreak—because those things can be taken away in an instant.
At the same time, Job’s story also reminds me of something else I’ve been writing about recently: the importance of cherishing the time we do have with those we love. Life is fragile. It can all change in a moment.
So while I must guard my heart against making idols of family, friends, or even health, I must also refuse to take those gifts for granted.
Living in the Tension
That’s the tension I feel right now: grieving the loss of my dad, worrying about my son, and yet still hearing Job’s voice across the centuries saying, “Blessed be the name of the Lord.”
I can’t say I’ve fully arrived there yet. But I want to. And maybe that’s the point. Faith isn’t about pretending loss doesn’t hurt—it’s about choosing, even in the pain, to trust the One who gives and takes away.
I think that’s a key lesson we should all learn from the book of Job.
Final Thoughts
So what does all this mean for us?
It means hold fast to God above all else.
It means love your family and friends deeply—but never forget they’re gifts, not gods.
It means don’t take for granted the time you have with those you love.
And in the end, it means joining Job in the hard but holy confession:
“The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.”
Even in the loss. Even in the unknown. Even when it’s hard to say it like you mean it. Even in the pain.
This week I’m sharing something more personal. Rather than my usual reflections, I’ve written a poem in memory of my dad, who showed his love in quiet but powerful ways.
Life rolls ever onward— A stream, a river flowing Only one way, to the sea, Mysterious and deep.
Living and loving Bring pain, bring tears, Yet when done well, They bless you with smiles, Brush bright color On your memory canvas.
You came from a Generation where men Showed love more than Spoke it. You showed me In 5 am hockey practices, In working hard to Give us a home, a future. You taught me how to Lead my family, To work hard to Give them a home, a future.
I hope I showed you enough How thankful I am To have had you as my dad. I hope I made you proud.
I know you never Really liked it when I said it, But I’ll say it one more time anyway: I love you, Dad.
I’ll always carry a part of you With me.
David K. Carpenter August 17, 2025 In Loving Memory of Kurt L. Carpenter
I pray this poem reminds you of the quiet ways love is shown in your life — and of the legacy we each carry from those who have gone before us.
If you’ve read this blog for any length of time, you know I often celebrate God’s glorious grace—both in these posts and in my daily walk with Jesus. After all, without that grace, I’d be unfit for a relationship with Him.
But this week, I want to focus on something that gets less attention: truth. Not “my truth” or “your truth,” but God’s truth—the only truth there is.
Grace and Truth
In the opening paragraphs of his gospel, John the Apostle writes:
The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.
I love that it says “grace and truth.” Jesus didn’t come to earth just to hand out grace as a “get out of jail free” card—He came to embody the truth that sets us free:
In today’s climate of moral relativism, the idea of “God’s truth” (or absolute truth) can make some people roll their eyes. And sadly, people who don’t know God, Jesus, or the Bible well often picture Him as a stern rule-keeper—like a grumpy old high school principal obsessed with enforcing every regulation.
It’s not hard to see where that image comes from. The Old Testament contains the Ten Commandments, plus hundreds of other laws. Without understanding why they’re there, it’s easy to think God is just waiting for us to mess up.
Why So Many Rules?
Here’s the thing: God’s rules aren’t arbitrary. They’re not there to make life miserable or so He can “catch us in the act”—they’re there because He loves us. He wants to protect us and those around us.
For example:
We’re told to worship only Him because giving ultimate control of our hearts to anyone or anything else will eventually harm us.
We’re told not to commit adultery because it destroys relationships.
We’re told not to murder because it robs someone of the life God gave them.
Even some of the old dietary laws likely had health benefits in their time—protecting people from dangerous foods before modern medicine or refrigeration existed.
The point is this: God’s commands are meant to protect and bless us, not control us.
Jesus’ Summary
When Jesus was asked what the greatest commandment was, He boiled down hundreds of laws into just two:
“Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.” This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: “Love your neighbor as yourself.”
That’s it. If we love God fully and love others as we love ourselves, we’ll naturally live in line with God’s truth. With the truth.
Imagine…
Imagine a world where everyone lived this way:
Freedom from jealousy, anxiety, or insecurity.
Freedom from addictions.
Freedom from starvation, homelessness, or people being denied medical care they can’t afford.
That’s the kind of freedom Jesus was talking about. God’s truth sets us free—not just spiritually, but emotionally, relationally, and even physically.
That’s why He gave it to us.
God’s Truth Still Stands
So when Jesus says, “Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free,” He’s not just talking about knowing facts—He’s talking about knowing Him.
The more we align with His truth, the freer we become. And the more we live in His truth, the more we experience the peace, wholeness, and joy He longs to give us.
Grace and Truth, in the End
So that’s it, folks.
In the end, grace welcomes us home. And truth keeps us free once we get there.
If you’ve ever tried to do something truly good—something that draws you closer to God or helps someone else do the same—chances are, you’ve felt resistance. That’s not a coincidence.
It’s spiritual warfare.
The closer we get to God, the more the enemy pushes back. He hates everything good, pure, and Godly, so he opposes all of it. Sometimes it’s a full-frontal assault: temptation, addiction, shame, fear. Other times, it’s more insidious—quiet division, distorted assumptions, or whispers of doubt disguised as discernment. Tragically, this is often how he slithers into even the strongest churches and relationships.
A Tragic Example
Sadly, I’ve recently watched this play out in a heartbreaking way.
Before we moved to Florida, we attended a large church in Colorado Springs. Long before we arrived, the church had already endured more than its share of storms. Years ago, they brought in a new lead pastor to help steady the ship. The church was deeply in debt, and not long after he started, a violent tragedy took place on the campus—claiming the lives of two teenage girls.
But through it all, the church endured—and even flourished—largely because of this pastor’s Spirit-led leadership. Under his guidance, the church became a beacon of hope. They launched ministries like one that provides housing and support for single moms working to get back on their feet. I was there the night he felt prompted to take up an offering to buy protective gear for many members of the local sheriff’s department—gear the county couldn’t afford to provide. And the church stepped up. They filled in the gaps.
This was someone who modeled Christlike leadership. Someone who gave hurting people a place to encounter healing and grace.
Recently, however, a situation surfaced involving events from decades ago—events that didn’t directly involve this pastor, but had occurred at a previous church where he once served in a leadership role. A senior pastor at that church had engaged in inappropriate behavior 25 years prior. It’s unclear what was known by whom and when, but when it came to light in a newspaper recently, he addressed it openly in a Sunday message, sharing what he knew and acknowledging uncomfortable truths.
From everything I’ve seen, his character is unimpeachable. His humility, deep faith, and transparency never once caused me to doubt his integrity.
But a couple of weeks later, an elder at the church read a statement. It said, in essence, that because the elders did not believe all of his statements had been truthful, they had asked for his resignation—and he complied.
I don’t know all the facts. I’m not claiming to. But from the outside looking in, it seems devastating that a pastor who had so faithfully led the church through crisis after crisis would not be given the benefit of the doubt—especially over events from more than two decades ago.
It breaks my heart.
And yet, it feels all too familiar. When evil cannot find a weakness in the light, it tries to twist the shadows. If it can’t tear someone down with sin, it will try to do it with suspicion.
This, I believe, is what spiritual opposition looks like.
What Do We Do with This?
So what should we do when we find ourselves under attack—when temptation floods in, when doubts creep up, or when we’re unfairly criticized or doubted?
We turn to the One who has already won.
Scripture encourages us to pray without ceasing (1 Thess. 5:17). And in particularly fierce spiritual battles, Jesus tells us that some victories require not just prayer, but prayer and fasting (Mark 9:29 (NKJV). These aren’t just religious rituals—they’re lifelines.
We don’t fight spiritual battles in our own strength. If we do, we will lose.
We fight them by clinging to the One who already conquered the grave.
And here’s the strange truth: opposition is often a compliment. If the enemy is coming after you hard, it likely means you’re already doing good for the Kingdom—or he sees the potential in you to do so.
As the old saying goes:
If you’ve never felt under spiritual attack, it might be because you’re not a threat.
That’s not meant to shame or scare. It’s meant to remind us: we were made for more. And as we press into God’s purpose, we should expect resistance.
But we should never face it alone.
God Redeems What the Enemy Tries to Ruin
We need to remember that even when evil seems to win a round, it never gets the final word. God is still in control. He is still good. And He is still at work—even in the heartbreak, the confusion, and the fallout.
The outcome may not always look the way we think it should. I don’t see a way that the pastor I described above will return to that church. But even in the aftermath, it already seems like God is opening other doors for him. I’m reaching out to the pastor at our new church in Florida to see if we can bring him in as a guest pastor to speak to us at our new church home.
The evil one may have tried to use this moment to silence a faithful leader, but God has a history of turning disruption into deeper dependence, wounds into witness, and loss into something life-giving.
God rarely causes painful events—but He is always in the business of redeeming them. His power doesn’t just overcome evil; it transforms it into something useful for His purposes.
Final Thoughts
If you feel like you’re being opposed right now—emotionally, spiritually, relationally—it might not just be coincidence or bad luck. It might be that you’re nearing holy ground. That you’re on the verge of something God-ordained. And the enemy hates that.
So don’t give up. Don’t back down. Keep fighting. Pray. Fast. Link arms with trusted believers. Cling to Scripture and the Loving Creator it points to. Rest in the victory of Jesus.
If I were God, there would probably be a very long list.
A list of offenses. A list of failures. A list of words I regret saying—and some I regret not saying. A list of selfish thoughts, impure motives, prideful moments, wasted time. A list of failed (or at least delayed) intentions—I want to slow down (as I confessed last week) and focus on the things that are most important to me (as I mentioned two weeks ago), but I haven’t done a great job of either of those things since I wrote those words. I’m not giving up hope, but I’m also wondering when I’ll really get started.
If I were God, I might look at that list and say, “Wow, nope. Too much. He’s disqualified. I should write a mean post exposing the truth about him.”
But thank God I’m not God. And thank God Paul wrote Romans 8.
That’s the word that echoes in my soul when I read that passage. Nothing.
Not death. Not shame. Not my past. Not my present. Not even the worst version of myself on my worst days.
Paul’s list isn’t short, either. It’s a sweeping declaration of God’s unwavering love and our unbreakable position in Christ.
Nothing.
But Wait—Is There a Loophole?
And yet, if we’re being honest, it still raises questions for many of us. First of all, because it’s impossible to fathom someone loving us so deeply that there’s nothing I could do to break it.
I love my wife and I’m confident in the love she has for me. But no matter how strong it is, it is still love built out of human strength. I can think of a decent-sized list of things that we each could do that would seriously jeopardize the love we feel for one another. Of course, out of love and respect for one another, we avoid doing those things.
The point is that as deeply as we love one another, I can’t say with confidence that there’s nothing we could do to destroy that love. I certainly don’t say this to downplay the strength of the love my wife and I share, but rather to point out how infinitely stronger God’s love is for us.
Now, on to another question I’ve wondered sometimes. I mean, I really want God’s promise via His Apostle Paul to be true, but on the other hand, we’ve also heard Jesus say something that sounds like an exception:
“Truly I tell you, people can be forgiven all their sins and every slander they utter, but whoever blasphemes against the Holy Spirit will never be forgiven; they are guilty of an eternal sin.”
Wait—what? Is there a loophole to the promise of Romans 8?
What About the Unforgivable Sin?
To understand Jesus’ words in Mark 3, we need to look at the context. The religious leaders had just accused Jesus of driving out demons by the power of Satan. In other words, they were witnessing the unmistakable work of the Holy Spirit—and calling it evil. Their hearts were so hardened, their pride so rooted, that they rejected the very Spirit who was meant to lead them to repentance and salvation.
So what is this “blasphemy against the Holy Spirit”?
It’s not just a moment of doubt. It’s not a poor choice of words in anger or fear. It’s a persistent, hardened rejection of the Spirit’s witness to and through Jesus Christ.
It’s choosing—intentionally, continually—to push God away.
And even then, the warning isn’t about God turning His back on us. It’s about us turning our back on Him so decisively that we no longer even hear His voice. We no longer want His love. We call His light darkness and His grace an insult.
That’s not a crack in the promise of Romans 8. It’s a tragic self-exclusion from it.
The Father Who Runs
Thankfully, that’s not most of us. In fact, if you’re even worried about whether you’ve gone too far or done too much, that’s a pretty good sign you haven’t.
You’re not hardened. You’re still listening. You’re still open. Maybe you’re just more than a little stubborn, or not yet convinced that Jesus is who He says He is or that God is really in control. Maybe you listen too much to the wisdom of this world and not enough to the wisdom of the God who made it.
And more than that, and more important—God is still pursuing you.
Jesus gives us a beautiful picture of this in the story He told that has come to be known as the Parable of the Prodigal Son (Luke 15:11–32). We tend to focus on the younger son—the rebel who squanders his inheritance and ends up eating with pigs. But let’s not forget the older son either—the one who stays but is still distant, bitter, and joyless.
One son ran away. We might call him the rebel child whose heart finally softened when he realized how foolish he had been. The other never left, but his heart sure did. We might call him the religious child whose heart has hardened to the point where he feels like the father owes him something. And yet the father runs toward both.
He meets the younger son while he’s still a long way off—arms open, no questions asked. He goes out to the older son too—inviting, pleading, reminding.
Why? Because the father’s love is not based on performance. It’s based on relationship. And he wants both of his sons to come home.
The Real List
So back to the title of this blog: The List of Things That Can Keep You from God.
According to Romans 8? It’s empty.
Nothing can separate you from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.
Not addiction. Not divorce. Not failure. Not depression. Not doubt. Not all the stupid things you and I have ever done or ever will do. Not even death.
The only thing that can stand in the way is a heart that refuses to turn toward Him.
But if you’re willing to take even one step in His direction—even a limp, even a crawl—you’ll find that He’s already running toward you.
His love is relentless. His grace is radical. And His arms are open.
So today, tear up the list. Come home. He’s already on His way to meet you.
“Hi, my name is Dave, and I’m addicted to hurrying.” As part of my Hurriers Anonymous support group, you respond with the group in unison: “Hi Dave.”
It sounds a little funny, maybe even overdramatic—but the more I reflect on it, the more I believe that’s a real confession I need to make.
Last week, I wrote about the things I consider my top life priorities: faith, family, and friends—with health as a close fourth, not for vanity’s sake, but so I can better enjoy the first three. But here’s the honest truth: I can’t reflect those priorities well if I’m always rushing. You can’t hurry through rich moments with God. You can’t be truly present with your spouse or your kids or your best friend if you’re already mentally onto the next thing. You can’t enjoy God’s creation or the gift of good health if your soul is constantly speeding.
I’ve started reading the book The Ruthless Elimination of Hurry, by pastor and author John Mark Comer. In it he mentions that his mentor who’s not a mentor, John Ortberg, told him that his mentor, the late Dallas Willard once said to him:
“You must ruthlessly eliminate hurry from your life. Hurry is the great enemy of spiritual life in our day.”
Dallas Willard
And then I stumbled on this gem, which kicked me right in the, um, gut (let’s go with that):
“Hurry is not just a disordered schedule. Hurry is a disordered heart.”
John Mark Comer
That one hit home.
Comer builds on this idea by offering this quote from Corrie ten Boom:
“If the devil can’t make you sin, he’ll make you busy.”
Corrie ten Boom
Comer himself then adds:
Because both have the same effect: they cut you off from your connection to God, to others, and even to your own soul.
John Mark Comer, The Ruthless Elimination of Hurry
All this adds up to a clear point—both sin and busyness can pull us away from what matters most: intimacy with God and connection with those around us.
A Contradiction in Motion
I’m somewhat of a walking contradiction—literally. I don’t get stressed if I’m a couple of minutes late. I try to be present. But my walking pace? It’s naturally fast. I’m always zooming ahead, especially compared to my 90-year-old father-in-law, who walks at a sloth’s pace (to be fair, he is almost 90 years old, although he has always been a slow walker as long as I’ve known him). And though I enjoy his company and try to walk beside him, I usually end up a few steps ahead, waiting and watching. Writing that out now, I realize how that visual kind of sums up this whole confession: I’m trying—but the pull of hurry is strong.
It wasn’t always this way. Or maybe it was, but I’ve had my moments of resistance. Several years back, when I worked in New York City—where “hurry” is a cultural badge of honor—I opted to walk to and from work instead of cramming into the subway or catching a car. I actually took my time in my own way, but still walked at a fairly rapid pace.
On the weekends, I’d often escape to one of the city’s botanic gardens with my camera in hand. My wife and friends would tease me for taking pictures of every flower I passed. But here’s the thing: you can’t hurry a good photograph. You have to slow down. You have to observe. You have to notice—the way the light hits a petal, the shimmer of dew, the angle of the sun. Those small, quiet pauses have sustained me in some of life’s most chaotic seasons. Those walks, and the stillness they brought, restored my soul. I think that’s one reason I love photography so much.
When taking these walks, these verses would often pop into my mind:
He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul.
Psalm 23:2-3 (NIV)
My Walks with God
These days, my morning walks are my quiet time with God. I still walk fast—it’s also for fitness—but I listen to Scripture through the Daily Audio Bible podcast. Lately, I’ve also added in the Bible Department podcast and associated Bible reading (listening), sometimes racking up six or more chapters a day. Then comes my prayer time.
Because I have tinnitus (constant ringing in my ears), I typically play praise music while I pray to mask the noise. But if I’m honest, I’ve been getting distracted. My mind wanders. A lyric triggers a thought, which leads to a memory, which leads to a to-do list, and suddenly I’m a million miles away from the presence of God.
Today, though, something strange happened. After my podcast ended, my phone glitched, and the music didn’t play. I was about to fix it—habit, really—but something stopped me. I thought of The Ruthless Elimination of Hurry and Comer’s encouragement to unplug.
So I just hiked up the steep hills. No music. Just the rhythm of my steps, the sound of the wind, the tinnitus (still ringing), and the (very fast!) beat of my heart. For the first time in a while, my prayer time was focused. Clear. Honest. Holy.
Maybe I’m finally on the road to recovery.
Presence Requires Slowness
When I reflect on my career, I can’t help but feel like I’ve often let it crowd out what’s most important. Like many of you, I had to work to support my family. But more often than not, I gave more than the expected 40 hours. I gave my thoughts, my energy, my time—sometimes at the expense of the things I said were my priorities. And now, with retirement on the horizon, I can say it: It wasn’t always worth it.
That’s not to say I regret my work or that work isn’t valuable. But I wish I’d found a better balance. I wish I’d slowed down more. I wish I’d prioritized the people I love and the God I serve the way I meant to. Because real connection—whether with God or with others—requires presence. And presence requires slowness. It requires putting the phone down long enough to engage at the heart level. And not picking it back up until the conversation has run its course.
How often do we do that with God? How often do we do it with our spouse or other loved ones?
Although it took Comer’s book to remind me and teach me some valuable lessons, God Himself has given us similar guidance long before Comer put pen to paper:
Be still, and know that I am God.
Psalm 46:10 (NIV)
Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.
Matthew 11:28 (NIV)
But Jesus often withdrew to lonely places and prayed.
Luke 5:16 (NIV)
If Jesus—the Savior of the world—made time to “unplug” and slow down, then who am I to think I can do life without rest?
🛐 The Invitation to Slow Down and Rest
In fact, Jesus invites us to join Him. Imagine that you are in a hurry to get somewhere, walking fast so you’re not late. You bump into Jesus. Instead of getting the clue that you’re in a rush and stepping aside, He grins, a twinkle in His eye, making it clear how glad He is to see you. He gently places a hand on your shoulder and says:
“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”
Jesus, in Matthew 11:28–30 (NIV)
What a beautiful invitation. If you think about the pace of Jesus’s life, He’s giving us an opportunity to slow down. He definitely had busy times, with so many people wanting to hear Him speak and have Him heal them, but He never seemed to be in a hurry. He walked everywhere. He took time to stop and engage with people. He also made no apologies about going off to quiet places to pray, to be at One with His Father, to restore His soul.
If we’re going to yoke ourselves to Him, we’re going to have to let Him set the pace. The yoke, as a farming tool, connected two animals together to harness the power of both of them together. Of course, this approach doesn’t work if the beasts walk at different paces.
Also, when two animals were joined together to share the work, the stronger one carried most of the load while the other simply stayed in step.
So this is how He gives us rest: by forcing us to slow down, by doing most of the work.
He guides us slowly, beside the still waters. He sets a table for us in the middle of the hustle and bustle all around us. He invites us to stay for a while, enjoying a meal and His company. Laughing. Listening to the gentle stream and the birds singing their melodies. Inhaling the scent of fresh cut grass, breathing deep drafts of His peace.
Instead of being driven by stress, performance, or expectations, we can take time to linger in the presence of Someone who loves us more than life itself. Someone who is never distracted by His phone, who makes you feel like the most important person in the world to Him.
Life Led By Grace
That’s the kind of life Jesus invites us into—not one with more to do, but one with less to carry alone. When we walk with Him, we’re not pulled by guilt or driven by fear. We’re led by grace. And that changes everything.
I don’t share any of this to guilt you (or myself). I share it because I want to get better. I want to be more present—with God, with my wife, with my family and friends. I want my soul to breathe again. And I suspect maybe you do too.
So let’s start here: Hi, my name is Dave, and I’m learning to slow down.
Master's Canvas - Writing & Photography by David K. Carpenter 