Sometimes we can make this life with God feel so difficult, so heavy, so complicated.

But this morning, as I was sitting quietly and finishing a passage in Scripture, I was reminded of how simple Jesus makes it.

In Luke 7, Jesus encounters a woman who had a past. A checkered past. A woman who had made decisions she likely wished she could take back. And honestly, as I read her story, it sounded familiar. It sounded like me. It sounded like all of us in one way or another.

She wasn’t coming to Jesus with credentials. She wasn’t coming with a perfect record. She came aware of her distance—not from religion, not from rules—but from relationship.

And in that awareness, she moved toward Him.

She served Him in a very simple and customary way for that time—washing His feet, anointing Him with oil, honoring Him. What’s striking is that Jesus pointed out that others, those who were seen as “religious,” hadn’t even extended those basic acts of kindness. But she did.

Why?

Because she saw Him. She believed in Him. She trusted Him.

And when everything settled, Jesus looked at her and said:

“Your faith has saved you. Go in peace.” (Luke 7:50, NKJV)

Not your effort. Not your history cleaned up. Not your ability to follow rules.

Your faith.

Faith in what? Faith in Him.

Faith that He was the One who could restore what was broken. Faith that He was the One who could redeem her story. Faith that relationship with Him was the way forward.

And then He gives her something so powerful—peace.

Not a temporary feeling. Not relief based on circumstances. But something much deeper.

In John 14:27, Jesus says:

“Peace I leave with you, My peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.” (NKJV)

This is the same peace He was speaking over her.

A peace that doesn’t come from having everything figured out. A peace that doesn’t depend on life going smoothly. A peace that comes from being in relationship with Him.

And when you step back, this is exactly what Psalm 23 has been describing all along.

“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.”

It’s not about striving—it’s about being led.

“He makes me to lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside the still waters.”

He brings rest to our souls, not pressure to perform.

“He restores my soul; He leads me in the paths of righteousness for His name’s sake.”

He restores what we could never fix on our own.

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for You are with me.”

The promise isn’t a life without valleys—it’s that we are never alone in them.

“You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies… my cup runs over.”

Even in the middle of difficulty, there is provision. There is abundance.

“Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”

This relationship doesn’t end. It carries us all the way home.

So when Jesus said to that woman, “Go in peace,” He wasn’t giving her something she had to work to maintain.

He was inviting her into a life where:

Faith replaces striving. Relationship replaces religion. And peace replaces fear.

That same invitation is still open to us today.

Not to get everything right. Not to clean ourselves up first. But to simply place our faith in Him.

And as we do, we find that what we were searching for all along…was never found in rules.

It was always found in the Shepherd.

Golf Without Par

As I think about a game that I love—and one that has taught me a great deal about life—I often reflect on golf.

Golf is unique among sports because there is always a number attached to every hole. That number is called par. It is the score that represents what success is supposed to look like.

On a par four, you are expected to take four shots.

If you take three, that’s wonderful.

If you take five, it feels like failure.

From the very first tee shot, you are measuring yourself against a number.

I can’t think of another sport quite like it.

And the interesting thing is that the number follows you the entire round. You are constantly aware of whether you are above it, below it, or exactly on it. Golf quietly teaches you to measure yourself over and over again.

But when I step back and think about it, I realize something: in many ways, life can feel exactly the same.

We are constantly measuring ourselves.

We measure our success.

We measure our achievements.

We measure our relationships.

We measure our progress against other people.

Without even realizing it, we create “par” for our lives.

But the gospel invites us into something very different.

Jesus didn’t come to give us a life of constant measurement and comparison. He came to give us life—and life abundantly.

“I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.”

—John 10:10

When the Spirit of God comes to dwell within us, He brings freedom—not pressure.

“Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.”

—2 Corinthians 3:17

Sometimes I wonder what golf would feel like if there were no par at all.

Imagine walking the course with your friends.

You play the hole.

You get whatever number you get.

No pressure.

No comparison.

Just the joy of playing the game.

I think in some ways that is what the Lord invites us into each day.

This is the day He has made.

“This is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.”

—Psalm 118:24

The Apostle Paul understood something that many of us spend a lifetime trying to learn. He discovered that life was not about measuring himself against circumstances or expectations.

“I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content… I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound.”

—Philippians 4:11–12

Contentment is freedom from the scoreboard.

Because our victory is not found in how well we perform—it is found in what Christ has already accomplished.

“But thanks be to God! He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.”

—1 Corinthians 15:57

So today, wherever your journey takes you, remember this:

You do not have to measure your life against someone else’s “par.”

In Christ, the score has already been settled.

You are loved.

You are accepted.

You are secure.

So whether today feels like a birdie, a par, or even a bogey, you can still walk the fairway of life with peace and joy—knowing that the greatest victory has already been won through Jesus.

And that is far better than any number on a scorecard

Perfect Timing

A few years ago, I first met Gary and Susan after Gary shared at our church about the work God was doing through Venture Nias in Indonesia. Their faith and obedience were inspiring. Lives were being changed in a faraway place because they had said yes to the leading of the Great Shepherd.

Then about twelve months ago, everything changed. Gary was diagnosed with serious lung cancer and returned to California for extensive treatment at Loma Linda. The shepherd’s path sometimes leads through valleys we would never choose.

Psalm 23 reminds us:

“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me.” — Psalm 23:4

One Sunday morning, just recently, as we gathered as a church before we started serving that morning, our lead pastor, Troy, shared an update about Gary. After months of difficult treatment, doctors could no longer find the large mass that had been in Gary’s lung. It felt like a miracle. Yet Gary would still need ongoing immunotherapy and would likely need to remain in California for another year.

Gary and Susan needed a place to stay.

As I looked at Gary’s face, I could just tell that he needed to be at Hattie’s House.

But there was one challenge.

We had no openings.

But God did.

A mom and her daughter, who were in a similar situation to Gary and Susan, had come to San Diego desperate to receive treatment at one of our local hospitals. The timing had worked out just right for them to move into our Carmel Valley apartment. But as their treatment began, sadly the program there proved to be very difficult and it was not working for her daughter.

After much prayer, they made the very difficult decision to pursue a different plan. Yet that decision would allow her daughter to return home and continue treatment there with her family for the first time in a very long time.

The timing was remarkable.

The week they prepared to leave became the very week Gary and Susan needed a place.

What looked like no vacancy suddenly became perfect provision.

“The Lord will provide.” — Genesis 22:14

At Hattie’s House we don’t choose who God sends us to love. We simply make ourselves available. We may hold the keys, but in truth we are just the doormen. God determines the timing, the needs, the healing, and the provision.

One family stepped into a new season of hope back home. Gary and Susan stepped into an apartment that will now serve as their home during this next chapter of healing.

Meanwhile, the church in Nias continues to thrive as the leaders Gary and Susan helped train carry on the work.

“He goes before you and will be with you; He will never leave you nor forsake you.” — Deuteronomy 31:8

Watching this unfold brings a quiet smile. Different families. Different valleys. The same faithful Shepherd guiding every step.

Maybe that’s the encouragement for today: be available. Open the door. Make the call. Offer the hug. There may be a need right in front of you, and God may want to meet it through you.

“Now to Him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine…” — Ephesians 3:20

We simply hold the keys.

He does the rest.

Doorman Hattie’s House

March 3

As I look back over my journey with the Lord, I can see how consistently He has led me back to one place for answers, for direction, for comfort — His Word. I remember hearing a great evangelist from England say it this way: “If you want to hear from God, read your Bible. If you want to hear from God audibly, read your Bible out loud.” There is something about speaking His Word that settles the heart and steadies the soul.

Years ago, when I was still early in my walk with Him, someone close to me was facing a very difficult situation. A pregnancy that should have been filled with simple joy was suddenly overshadowed by concerning test results. This was a family of deep faith, but the news shook them. The uncertainty felt heavy.

The morning after hearing the update, I got up to pray before going to work with him. As I prayed, the Lord led me to a familiar passage of Scripture — Psalm 139. I couldn’t shake it. After praying, I walked into the garage and noticed a small bucket. I picked it up, got in my car, and on my way to meet them, I stopped at the beach just a block from our home. I scooped that bucket full of sand — filled it to the brim — and carried it with me.

When I arrived, I greeted them at the door, walked inside, and placed that bucket of sand on their kitchen counter. Then together, the three of us read aloud:

Psalm 139:13–14

“For You formed my inward parts;

You covered me in my mother’s womb.

I will praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made;

Marvelous are Your works,

And that my soul knows very well.”

And then we read:

Psalm 139:17–18

“How precious also are Your thoughts to me, O God!

How great is the sum of them!

If I should count them, they would be more in number than the sand;

When I awake, I am still with You.”

We stood there looking at that bucket. Every grain represented a thought — His thoughts. Not anxious thoughts. Not uncertain thoughts. But precious thoughts. Intentional thoughts. Loving thoughts. Thoughts toward that child being knit together in the womb by the hands of God Himself.

In that moment, faith replaced fear. Not because we knew the outcome. But because we knew the Author. We were reminded that this baby was not a medical report. This child was formed by God. Seen by God. Known by God. And held by God.

And the truth remains for us today.

His thoughts toward you are more numerous than the sand. More than the grains in a bucket. More than the grains on every shoreline in the world. When you wake up tomorrow morning — as the psalm says — you are still with Him. He has not left. He has not forgotten. He is not distant.

You are seen.

You are known.

You are formed by His hand.

And you are held in His righteous right hand.

Isaiah 41:10

“Fear not, for I am with you;

Be not dismayed, for I am your God.

I will strengthen you,

Yes, I will help you,

I will uphold you with My righteous right hand.”

So when life feels overwhelming… when the news shakes you… when uncertainty tries to steal your peace… picture that bucket of sand. Let it remind you that His thoughts toward you are precious and beyond counting.

And today, you can walk forward with hope and strength, trusting the One whose thoughts for you are greater than you could ever imagine

I remember exactly where I was. I was driving in Orlando, Florida, coming off the turnpike and making a long, sweeping turn underneath the freeway. As I rounded the curve, I noticed a pond off to the right. At that exact moment I was listening to a pastor teaching about casting our cares upon the Lord. He explained that the word cast is not a passive word. It is physical. It means to throw, to hurl, to deliberately lift something off of yourself and release it. Not gently set it down. Not temporarily hand it over. But to rid yourself of it.

As I looked at that pond, I imagined taking every anxiety, every fear, every burden, every situation I was trying to control, and physically throwing it in. And then he gave an illustration that I have never forgotten. He said when you cast your cares onto the Lord, there is a sign by that pond that reads, “No fishing.” You do not get to go back in after it.

Scripture says,

“Casting all your care upon Him, for He cares for you.”

1 Peter 5:7

The word casting carries the idea of throwing something upon another. Lifting it off your shoulders and placing it fully onto His. He never designed you to carry what only He can sustain.

And yet how often do we cast something at night and then wake up the next morning, grab the briefcase, pick up the backpack, sling the purse over our shoulder, zip up the gym bag, and quietly slip that same worry back inside? We cast it yesterday. But today, we are fishing again.

I love how Pastor Jon Courson explains that Jesus is seated at the right hand of the Father. Seated. The work finished. Authority established. Victory secured.

“It is finished.”

John 19:30

“He sat down at the right hand of the Majesty on high.”

Hebrews 1:3

“All authority has been given to Me in heaven and on earth.”

Matthew 28:18

He is not pacing in heaven. He is not anxious about your circumstance. He is not unsettled by your diagnosis, your meeting, your uncertainty. He is seated in victory.

And we overcome not because we develop some extraordinary spiritual self-discipline, but because of what Christ accomplished on the cross and through the resurrection. The victory is not something we manufacture. It is something we live from.

“Christ in you, the hope of glory.”

Colossians 1:27

“I have been crucified with Christ; it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me.”

Galatians 2:20

“By His stripes we are healed.”

Isaiah 53:5

“O death, where is your sting?”

1 Corinthians 15:55

We do not refuse to fish because we suddenly become strong enough to conquer our humanness. We refuse to fish because Christ lives in us. Because the Spirit of God dwells within us. Because the Word reminds us of who we truly are today — not when we get our act together, not when we feel more spiritual, but because we believe what Jesus finished.

So whatever you might be carrying right now — the pressure, the strain, the relationship, the financial stress, the regret, the unknown — picture yourself physically throwing it into that pond. See it leave your hands. Watch it hit the water. And then turn your head slightly to the right.

There is a sign.

No fishing.

You do not get to go back in after it. Not because you are strong, but because He is. Not because you are disciplined, but because He is victorious. And the One who is seated at the right hand of the Father lives in you.

This week, cast it. And when the temptation comes to retrieve it, remember the sign

Years ago, I heard a man named Ken Poure share a story that has stayed with me ever since.

Ken and his wife, Melba, spent more than fifty years serving at Hume Lake, a place many consider the largest Christian youth camp in America. But before all of that—before the influence, the leadership, the legacy—there was a young man, newly married, who didn’t yet know the Word of God in any deep way. As Ken would say with humility and humor, the pages of his Bible were still stuck together.

Ken was 21 years old. A used car salesman. Melba was 19. Newly married. Faith was present, but unformed.

One weekend, Ken’s pastor asked him to drive a van to Forest Home. Simple enough. But when he arrived, the pastor asked one more thing.

“Ken, would you mind staying and being a cabin leader for these eighth-grade boys?”

With a look of disbelief—and probably a quiet what have I gotten myself into—Ken agreed.

That first night, one of the boys asked, “Mr. Ken, would you do a devotion?”

Ken stumbled. He fumbled. He didn’t really know what to say. But somehow, in his awkward obedience, something happened. The boys were encouraged.

And more importantly—so was Ken.

That night, when Ken went back into his cabin, he realized something remarkable: he was sharing the cabin with the speaker for the weekend. As he lay in bed, Ken had an honest conversation with God. He asked Him to keep him, sustain him, guide him, and lead him through the weekend. And he told God that if He would do that, Ken would commit his life to Him.

By Sunday night, everything had changed.

When Ken walked back into the house, Melba looked at him and said,

“What have you done? What have you done?”

She didn’t yet know what it was—but she saw it. The radiance. The life. The unmistakable work of God.

Ken smiled and said, in the way only a car salesman could,

“I made a deal with God.”

And from that moment on, Ken and Melba gave their lives—together—to the work of the Lord. Fifty years of faithful service followed. A life marked not by control, but by availability.

One of the practices Ken shared over the years became known simply as the whiteboard.

They took a whiteboard—like the ones many of us have in our offices, classrooms, or homes. But instead of filling it with tasks, goals, reminders, and pressure, they did something different.

At the top of the whiteboard, it read, reporting for duty.

Each day, Ken and Melba would sign their names. They would date it. And then they would hand it over to God—blank.

No agenda.

No demands.

No self-directed plans.

Just this simple prayer: Lord, we’re available. We trust You to fill it in.

And God did.

Again and again and again.

He filled it with Scripture.

With people to serve.

With unexpected conversations.

With love where it was needed most.

With direction that could only be seen in hindsight.

I’ve spoken with people who knew Ken well—people who still tell story after story of a man who walked with God daily, humbly, attentively, expectantly.

And here’s the encouragement for us today.

So many of us are asking, What is God’s will for my life?

What should I do next?

How do I know I’m walking in the right direction?

Maybe the invitation isn’t to figure it all out.

Maybe the invitation is simply to be available.

Jesus said,

• “My sheep hear My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me.” — John 10:27

David wrote,

• “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul. He leads me in paths of righteousness for His name’s sake.” — Psalm 23:1–3

And Proverbs reminds us,

• “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths.” — Proverbs 3:5–6

Walking by faith doesn’t mean we see the whole map.

It means we trust the Shepherd.

For a long time now, I’ve practiced this—sometimes with a physical whiteboard, sometimes simply in my heart. Each morning, I hand God a blank slate and say, You fill it in.

And He does.

He fills it in with who I’m meant to love today.

With where I’m meant to listen.

With when I’m meant to wait.

With moments that matter far more than anything I could have planned.

So wherever you are today—parenting, business, coaching, marriage, friendship, or navigating something heavy and unseen—here’s the invitation.

Take the whiteboard.

Write your name on it.

Date it.

And hand it to God—blank.

Trust Him.

Walk by faith.

And watch how He fills it in.

Because the unseen work of God is often the most beautiful part of the story.

Sunday marked what would have been Hattie’s 24th birthday.

As I reflect back on her life with us—ten months and six days—I am reminded again of what the Word of God tells us: that the Lord has numbered our days. Scripture reminds us that before the foundations of the world were laid, God already knew Hattie, and He had already destined her life to be a gift to Laurie and to me.

The psalmist writes, “All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be” (Psalm 139:16). And earlier in that same psalm, we are told, “For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb” (Psalm 139:13). Hattie was never an accident. Her life was intentional, purposeful, and lovingly formed by the hand of God.

Hattie was placed into our arms on February 1, 2002. And on December 6, 2002, her life here in the seen and temporal world was finished. I like that word better than ended—because her life did not cease. On that day, she was healed in heaven.

Scripture tells us that “to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord” (2 Corinthians 5:8). While our faith was tested in ways we never imagined, we held fast to the promise that Hattie was now living—fully alive—in the presence of Jesus.

During our time in the hospital, sometime around midnight after nearly twenty-four hours there, Laurie and I were placed in a conference room. We were given a chair that folded into a small bed, and there we slept. That night, I had a dream.

In that dream, I could see Hattie’s hand in the hand of Jesus. I could see the hole in His wrist. And what washed over me was a deep and unshakable knowing: Hattie was home. She was safe. She was whole. She was no longer sick. She was more alive than ever before. And I knew, with a certainty that did not come from myself, that I would see her again.

Jesus tells us, “Because I live, you also will live” (John 14:19). And the promise of Scripture is that death does not have the final word. “He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain” (Revelation 21:4).

These are not ideas we cling to. They are promises.

Laurie and I are reminded of them sometimes daily, sometimes weekly, sometimes monthly—and especially around the anniversaries of Hattie’s birth and the day she was ushered into heaven. Our faith does not rest in rules, rituals, religion, or tradition. Our faith rests in the promises of God, fulfilled and secured in the person of Jesus Christ.

So as we remember and celebrate the life of Hattie on February 1, 2026—at the age of 24—may this also encourage you. May it remind you that God is faithful, that His promises are sure, and that life in Him does not end—it is finished here, and fully begun there.

Blessings Andy & Laurie