Faithful Writers

unsplash.com The Forrest Franks Miracle By guest writer, Sierra Loew — The music industry is currently undergoing a significant surge in Christian music. Now more than ever, Christian artists are setting new records and landing on the Billboard Hot 100, an accomplishment that is extremely difficult to achieve.  Christian music is making waves, especially amongst Gen Z. One of the most famous Christian artists right now is Forrest Frank, whose song “ Your Way’s Better ” is going viral on TikTok from a dance created to complement the song.  This song and dance is causing all generations to break out dancing across the globe, including countries in Africa and even in Japan. It’s safe to say that God is using Forrest’s music to spread His glory, and while Forrest’s music is bringing more eyes to God, so is his back.  Yup. You read that correctly. Three weeks ago, Forrest had fractured his L3 and L4 vertebrae in a skateboarding accident in his front yard. His home’s ring camera caught the accident on camera, and he became bedridden. Over the next two weeks, he tracked and posted his journey with his back on social media and ended up writing two songs, “God’s Got My Back” (linked below) and “Lemonade”; His song “Lemonade” debuted as №1 on iTunes’ Top 100 Song chart.  Some say that it was amazing that Forrest was even able to create these amazing songs from his bed at home, but God wasn’t done. A few days after Forrest released “Lemonade”, he woke up from bed and went into his kitchen and said good morning to his son, picking him up without any pain. He wasn’t even wearing his back brace.  Immediately, Forrest started recording and explained in the recording that he wasn’t having any pain or wearing his brace. So he and his wife, Grace, head to urgent care for an X-ray, only to find out that he was completely healed .  In two weeks, God had not only used Forrest’s situation to release two trending songs that are reaching millions, but he also healed  Forrest’s back, and  it all got captured on camera!  This is simply jaw-dropping, and it shows that God will always use our situations to glorify Him! So when we are going through tough situations, just remember that God is sovereign over every season and loves us. He is going to make lemonade out of our lemons. If ya’ll are curious about this, Forrest has posted a bunch of content on his Instagram over the last couple of weeks, but here is the link to his video explaining everything.  It is truly spine-tingling. © Sierra Loew

Jesus wasn’t in the business of making people feel like dirt I recently heard the words of today’s title: “If People Hate Jesus Because of Us… Well, That’s on Us” What If the Problem Ain’t Jesus — It’s Us? Let’s get down to brass tacks right here and now. If somebody hates Jesus because of how we act, talk, or treat people — that’s on us. That’s a big ol’ red flag 🚩we better stop and take a hard look at. I mean, what’s a big reason Jesus came to us? He came to heal, not to hurt. And yet somehow, we’ve managed to turn following Him into something that leaves people limping away. Thing is, Jesus wasn’t in the business of making folks feel like dirt. He didn’t roll His eyes at the ones who were messed up. He didn’t make the lepers or the tax guys or the prostitutes feel like trash. He ate with them. Hung out with them like they were family. Meanwhile, a lot of us are out here acting like Jesus needs us to be His security team, like we’re guarding the door to heaven with clipboards and checklists. Are We Defending Jesus or Just Being Loud? Look, there was a time I’m afraid I was that guy. All self-righteous with my Bible verse loaded like a dart. Thought I was defending the faith, but really, I was just coming off like a holy know-it-all. Didn’t even realize it until years later. Looking back now, I think — shoot, maybe I wasn’t drawing people to Jesus at all. Maybe I was pushing ’em off the porch before they even knocked on the door. Jesus never said, “Y’all go defend me online like I’m in witness protection.” He just said, “Follow me.” That’s it. Follow me. He didn’t need a hype man or a bodyguard. He needed people who lived in such a way that others saw something different — not louder, not meaner, not smug. Different. Since When Did Being “Right” Mean Being Like Jesus? Somewhere along the way, we got the wires crossed. We started thinking being “right” was the same thing as being like Jesus. That ain’t the same thing. Not by a long shot. You can be the loudest guy in the room and still be dead wrong where it counts. You can quote chapter and verse and still not give a rip about people. (Now that’s more than sad!) You ever win an argument but lost a friend? That’s the church, a lot of times. We win the “truth war” — we think — but folks leave with bruises, not blessings. What Bible Are We Actually Showing People? You know that saying, “You might be the only Bible someone ever reads?" Well, holy cow — if that’s true, what translation are we putting out there? The Angry Condescending Version? The Holier-Than-Thou Study Guide? If how we live makes folks wanna run from Jesus instead of toward Him, then buddy, we screwed up — BIG TIME. I’ve met people who light up a room — funny, kind, generous — and they’ll say, “I like Jesus. It’s His fan club I can’t stand.” And I can’t even blame ’em. We talk about grace and then slap conditions on it. We preach love, then act like you gotta pass a pop quiz and wear the right outfit to get a seat at the table. Are We Making People Curious… or Just Tired? Jesus went after the religious folks the hardest. You know, the ones who made the rules but forgot the people. But somehow, we’ve turned ourselves into the very thing He flipped tables over. And people are leaving — not because they met Jesus and hated Him — but because they met us, and we acted nothing like Him. Folks are tired of fake smiles and passive-aggressive prayers. They want real. They want honest. They want someone who doesn’t flinch when they say, “I’m struggling,” or “I don’t know what I believe anymore.” What Fruit Are We Really Growing? You remember the fruit of the Spirit? Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. That’s what’s supposed to be growing off our branches. Not sarcasm, smugness, or spiritual superiority. If what’s hanging off our branches looks nothing like love or kindness, then maybe it’s time to grab some holy shears and start trimming. We keep thinking the world’s problem is sin, but sometimes the world’s real problem is that the folks who claim to follow Jesus act nothing like Him. What If Jesus Needs to Fix Us First? Listen — I’m not trying to guilt-trip anybody. Lord knows we’ve all said dumb stuff and hurt folks without meaning to. But maybe the fix isn’t trying harder to prove we’re right. Maybe the fix is letting Jesus soften our hearts again. Maybe it’s shutting our mouths more and opening our ears. Maybe it’s saying, “I’m sorry,” and meaning it when someone says church hurt them. Because if someone ends up hating Jesus because of the way we treated them… that ain’t their burden to carry. That’s ours. And we need to start owning it. © Gary L Ellis

James Miller is a pastor, professor, writer, and coffee roaster living in the LA area. His books include Hardwired and It's Like This, and he has taught at Fuller Theological Seminary, Hawaii Theological Seminary, and Horizon University. He is the pastor of Real Life Church of LA. James Miller Real Life Church

Photo by Esther Ní Dhonnacha   I am a student of the Word and a reader of Christian literature myself. I write thoughtful, reflective, and inspired pieces, often drawing on intuition. These are meant to make the believer think and evaluate his/her journey in the Faith.  © KenbrianPhos

unsplas h Once an apatheist, he was redeemed later in life and now walks as a New Testament saint, without being “Torahfied.” He holds no formal theological qualifications, but he put it's beautifully " by the Grace of God, I had been taught to read by the time primary school was finished. Again by the Grace of God, I had graduated from University before they became factories of social manipulation. " His professional life was spent in risk-based engineering design, an unforgiving environment that demanded clarity, precision, and critical thinking. Today, he applies those same principles to the study of Scripture. And his greatest take away: "God can tolerate rigorous Engineering scrutiny." Brad Banardict

unsplash.com She had spent months slowly counting down the days till she would have to say goodbye. Slowly counting down the memories, moments, and time left until the time arrived. Even though there had been 39 weeks, 273 days, 6,570 hours, and 394,200 minutes for her to prepare, she still hadn’t been prepared to feel such a loss. As she stood still in a room so empty that it made her breathing echo, the young woman held back her tears as she noted the strange yellow stain on the ceiling and then the cracked drywall that was causing dust to fall onto the creaky floorboards.  Gently, her fingers glided across the smooth white wall that was closer to gray, stained from the lives that had lived in this home before her. They fell to her side as her blue eyes met the bay window, the feature of the house that made her want to claim the place as her own.  The room had claimed so many late nights- working on projects, laughing with long-distance friends, movie nights, and late-night chats. This was the room where she read, learned, and prayed to God.  This was the room where she began to explore what their relationship looked like — where she could let her walls down and let Him see who she really was. After a long while, she opened the creaky door that would never stay shut. Teary-eyed, she stood in the door frame which led into the rose red and tan colored living room, soaking in the nice furniture that was her roommate’s. In that moment, another little piece of her cracked as she had always hoped that she’d get to say goodbye to this little run-down apartment with her roommate.  For a moment longer, the brunette soaked in the school like ceiling tiles and how the paint was chipping off the walls. Her mind wandered back to all the late nights with her friends watching movies, the Mario Party nights with her roommate, and the long Bible studies that the two had.  How thankful she was in that moment that God had blessed her with such a beautifully fun roommate that she got to talk about Jesus with. How many long laughs that the two had in the strangely small living space that she would dearly miss. The empty room then got filled with her friend’s presence with a soft creak of the oak floorboards, and her blue eyes met her friend’s green ones. It was time. Time to say goodbye. Silently, the two moved towards the kitchen, the dark brown walls, the green counters, and the very crooked floor filled her sight as she looked around.  The kitchen that held so many Jesus jam sessions and dance parties with her roommate. So many conversations and tears where the two had talked about their dreams, futures, and curiosities about where God would take them.  It was the room where she had made many new friends through filming a mayo commercial. The young woman would dearly miss how the floor was so loud that it could wake someone up. She stood there for a few moments before asking her friend if the two of them could go and pray over the five rooms that made up the house.  The two started with the bathroom, then moved to the living room, her roommate’s bedroom, and then her room. They took their time as she prayed to God about whatever was on her heart, part of her was trying to avoid the inevitable. Sooner or later, the two had made their way back into the large kitchen where she spoke her final prayer that she would ever pray in that house.  As she finished praying, the tears that had been welling up in her eyes for the last fifteen minutes began to fall, knowing that her time in that house was up. Her hands trembled as she struggled to get the key that was used to unlock the front door off its chain. The more she struggled, the more the tears fell because she knew she was saying goodbye to the house that had become a home in the last three years.  And while the curly-haired woman knew that a house was just walls and windows, she felt like she was saying goodbye to the memories that had made that house a home.  It was the house where she had come to Christ, where she had made so many new friends, and gotten to experience so many things that morphed her into the woman she now was. It wasn’t the walls that she was going to miss; it was the people, moments, and relationships that had developed because God had placed her in that house.  That house was a small glimpse of the season of life that she had gone through, which was now coming to a close. With a sunken heart, she set the house key onto the green countertop and made her way to the front door.  With the softest click, she closed the door to her home one last time. © Sierra Loew; UW Stout 2025 Graduate

Depression is a part of the human experience, but it isn’t your fault, nor a sin. Unsplash.com When life gets overwhelming and the weight of the world seems to be crushing you from the inside out, turning to the Psalms can offer rest, and, more importantly, reassurance.  I have previously written about this in The Beauty of Psalms .  “We will have struggles, emotional glitches, and hot mess express moments where we cry out to God, and that is ok. He is our Mighty Counselor after all.” Depression and Anxiety are real co nditions, it is not a sin. You have done nothing wrong. As a person who has dealt with severe depression and still deals with Anxiety, I used to think I was the cause, I had done something wrong, and that I was sinning, and this was a punishment from God.  Unfortunately, these are commonly held views by many churches and/or churchgoers still. This is where I got the idea that I was the problem and suffered immensely for years because of it.  Well, I’m here again to reassure you that even some of the greatest people in the Bible suffered Depression and Anxiety, and the Lord still wanted them for His work and more assuredly LOVED them despite their conditions and did not blame them for it. Depression and anxiety are medical conditions, just like Diabetes, Asthma, and Arthritis. Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise; if they do, just walk away, find real support from God and others who respect your battle. Also, I want you to take any blame or doubt you may be holding over yourself, and cast it off. Let the Psalms calm, reassure, and hold you close to God. “He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, “He is my refuge and my fortress, my God in whom I trust.” (Psalm 91: 1–2) “Preserve me, O God, for in You I take refuge.” (Psalm 16:1) Whoever clings to me I will deliver; whoever knows my name I will set on high.All who call upon me I will answer; I will be with them in distress. (Psalm 91:14–15) “The Lord is near to the broken-hearted, and saves the contrite of spirit.” (Psalms 34:18) I was already going to tell you, just as the author of the article below suggests. Grab hold of one or two verses, hold on to them tight, and don’t let go.  I wanted to provide a list of Bible verses for you to read when you are struggling, and to be able to bookmark it. Emily doesn’t just provide verses, she also tells how Psalms 13 brought her through an enormously hard storm. New Hope Nation, 50 Bible Verses to Help You Find Comfort   by Emily Rico. You may also wish to check this 👇 out, where I talk about Paul, who had at the very least an anxiety attack at one point. “ Real Christians” shouldn’t experience fear. — Wait. What about Paul, then? First published in Frontier Writers on Medium. © Jane Isley Thank you for taking the time to read, and please consider  supporting my work . Your gift helps keep this work going, blesses others, and means the world to me. You can visit me at Faithful Writers  on Medium, where other Christian writers have joined me in sharing the word of God. You can also find me on   Tumblr  and   Facebook.

(Please be aware that this article discusses childhood sexual abuse.) Johannes Plenio Springtime invites the promise of flowers yet to be seen, green grasses coming out of hiding, and stormy nights. I readily embrace the new flowers and budding grass, often bringing out my camera to get up close and capture the beauty of those fresh moments so I never forget them. But one thing the summer brings that I can never forget is the promise of nighttime storms that steals my breath and tangles my heart. For so long, I have fought and battled to win my freedom from many childhood memories, but this one is the constant; this one I haven’t won yet. Each spring, when I have had my wintertime reprieve and it is but a distant fading memory, the first storm claps its hands and screams its mayhem. Like the boogie man in the closet, it comes out just when you're ready to sleep, believing you’re safe and it’s only your imagination. In the distance, I hear the rumble. I look outside and see that it is darkening; the evening is coming faster than the storm, and I can’t stop the clock racing to sunset. When it gets here, I am trapped, trapped by the moon. As the claps get closer, I feel the panic rising, my heart races, and my body revolts. With each new clap, I’m dragged backward in time. I try to stop the fall. I kick and scream, flailing my arms out, but I’m not able to hold on to the here and now. I don’t want to go back there. I open my eyes and I find I have reached the bottom of time. I stand naked in blackness, trembling, breathing too hard, heart pounding, screaming to be let go of. I can fight my way through time, distance, and memory, but not this one. This one was the one that broke me, and the deepest wound I have. A wound that changed the very essence of who I should have been. I stand there peering in the darkness, alone and naked. As each clap hits, the room becomes brighter, I can see more coming into focus. I want to close my eyes to what I know is coming, but how can one leave a child so young, so alone? I can’t, but I am also conflicted in my reactions, but I need to be the strength I have fought for and won, even as her world crumbles before me. I am both forced to be her witness and need to be her witness. I need to respect the terror, the pain, and the innocence ripped from her body. She is me. I stand rooted in place as each thunderclap bring more light into our memory. I stand on the blackened outskirts of our memory and watch her as she leaves her body and comes to stand next to our bed. She is so young, so innocent, so beautiful. I watch her as she watches the moment our innocence is violently robbed from us. How he used a thunderstorm to hide the sounds and his presence from the rest of the household. She glances around and watches the storm light up the room, looks to the door, hoping for help, then back again. No one is coming; she is alone, and her body loses its rigid stance, and she accepts her fate that night. I am behind her, she doesn’t know I’m there, silently witnessing this moment again with her. I want to reach out and touch her shoulder, reassure her that this, too, shall end. Turn her so we are looking at each other, not our memory of that thunderstorm, to show her who we have become, the strength we hold, the memories we have already conquered together. But I can’t, not yet, at least. Her pain is too raw; she still feels that night, but we are separated from it. I know this because I still come to her naked at each thunderstorm; that is why I don’t turn her around to show her who we have become. So I stand behind her and whisper words of love, beauty, and hope. Words she doesn’t fully understand yet, but one day will. I will come to her, clothed, and turn her around. Together, we will finally be able to put our worst memory aside, I will no longer be dragged into the pits of hell every time I hear a thunder clap at night. Until that day, I will stand behind her silently, witnessing and acknowledging the horror that was done to us that night, never pretending it didn’t happen, and continue to whisper words of hope and healing to us. The need to write this out has never come before, it was so strong it stopped me at every turn. I was unable to focus on anything else I was writing; I even dreamed of it and felt the words on my fingertips just waiting for release. And now I know why: she wasn’t holding onto the memory; I was. I had to step away many times, writing this because the tears wouldn’t stop, and the sobs that would hit me hurt my body. She was looking around in our memories for me, waiting for me to clothe myself. She knew all along I was there, but it wasn’t her who needed to heal, her time in the distant past is just that. The past. I needed to heal, I needed to release this memory that I was keeping her trapped in. I needed the courage to clothe myself and turn her around. That is what I have been fearing this whole time. I see it now, I feel it now. I was afraid of what her face would tell me. Would I see fear, anger, disappointment, or blame? I turned her around, I saw a smile. © Jane Isley First Published in Know Thyself, Heal Thyself on Substack. From the writer: Since I have written this I have been through a couple of thunderstorms. This memory I held onto for my entire life is now a faded memory or a memory, if that makes sense. I am still not a fan of the surprise loud thunder that shakes the house (who is, really?) and do startle for a moment when a large lightening bolt lights up the window. But, I no longer feel the dread, the sickness, or fear that used to come with the sounds of distant rumblings heading our way. That is all gone, I do still have some PTSD remnants left inside my body that I believe may always be there to some extent because my body remembers that night, but I haven't thought of that night since I wrote this. Ironically I'm uploading this as a giant thunderstorm is coming in and I'm excited to get to enjoy seeing the brilliant lighting light up the sky, watch the clouds rolling in and waiting to rush around if I need to bring stuff indoors. Healing from childhood sexual violence does not come over night. I was 4 when this happened to me and I am know 42, but I always keep myself open to God's timing when it's come to the healing pieces of me that are still stuck in the past, I know there's a few more in me and their time will come, He will let me know. The peace from healing far out weights to fatigue of holding them all in. And yes, when I'm curious and think of me at 4, I still see a clothed, happy and smiling little girl. © Jane Isley

Not just the Old Testament as some like to argue. Aaron Burden A specific thing from the textbook (anthropology student here. Textbook; Invitation to World Religions) that I thought was incorrect or should have been explained as having other points of view was on p. 460, where the authors talked about “ God-breathed ” and “ divinely inspired ” Scripture. The textbook asserts that the reference made in 2 Timothy 3:16 , " All Scripture is God-breathed and is useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting and training in righteousness," was only talking about the Old Testament, or Jewish scriptures, because the New Testament, or the letters and text written by the apostles, was not yet recognized as Scripture. I disagree with this statement, and I feel many other Christians would as well because the New Testament works were inspired by the Holy Spirit. The next sentence in the textbook acknowledges that 2 Peter 1:21 describes the prophets of the Old Testament as being men who “ spoke from God as they were carried along by the Holy Spirit. ” This passage follows into the argument of why the New Testament is considered God-breathed, as the apostles and those who believe in Jesus’ resurrection are baptized by the Holy Spirit (NIV, 1973/2011, Acts 2:38–39 ), therefore receiving the gifts of the Spirit (NIV, 1973/2011, 1 Cor. 12:1–11 ). This, along with the events in all of Acts 2 , proves to me that the texts of the New Testament are indeed God-breathed, as the writers had the Holy Spirit within them. © Maia Vashti Reference: Brodd, J., Little, L., Nystrom, B., Platzner, R., Shek, R., & Stiles, E. (2021). Invitation to World Religions (4th ed., pp. 475, 492, 494). Oxford University Press Academic US.

Today we begin Genesis Chapter 10. For the Complete Jewish Bible, click here . For the King James version, click here . So Chapter 10 presents us with the Table of Nations that branched out from Noah’s three sons Shem, Japheth, and Ham. There are two reasons we should be intensely interested in this information. First, each and every one of us is a descendant of Noah. Second, the prophecies that Noah pronounced on his three sons are still in effect today and will continue to play their course until the coming of the messiah. So let’s take a look at the descendants of Japheth who for the most part ended up occupying Europe. Please be advised, however, that the following is by no means a 100% comprehensive record. JAPHETH In chapter 10, seven sons of Japheth are listed. They are Gomer, Magog, Madai, Javan, Tubal, Tiras and Meschech. Here is a quick snapshot of where they are today: Gomer: The descendants of Gomer generally settled in what is today Wales and Great Britain. Magog: The descendants of Magog became the Russian peoples. Madai: The descendants of Madai became the Medes. Javan: Generally speaking, the descendants of Javan became the Greeks. It is also interesting to note that one of Javan’s sons Tarshish has become what is today modern day Spain. Tarshish is mentioned in a prophecy in the Book of Isaiah 60:1–12. Tubal: A bit of controversy on this one. However, I’ll go with Josephus’s take on the matter, who identifies the descendants of Tubal with the Iberians, that is, the inhabitants of a tract of country between the Caspian and Euxine Seas, which nearly corresponded to modern Georgia. Tiras: From Tiras came a group of people known as the Thracians who became the Macedonians from whom Alexander the Great came. Meschech: The descendants of Meshech were believed to have originated from the northeast of Asia Minor, particularly in the area that is now Turkey. Then they traveled north and settled in Rosh, which is modern-day Russia. © Richoka