Control promises safety but cannot deliver it. When money convinces the soul it is in charge, trust erodes. Scripture calls us back to a simpler confession: if the Lord wills.

Holiness didn’t wait for you to be strong—it met you in the water. And every day since, God has been bending your desires away from the old self and toward the joy you tasted when your sins were washed away. Transformation is not a finish line. It is the daily death of self and the daily resurrection of hope.

Obedience lines you up with God’s power; rebellion separates you from it. The same God who tore down Jericho’s walls still asks His people to trust Him enough to step into the river before it parts. Every act of obedience echoes the Cross—faith moving before sight, surrender before outcome.

Worship can quietly shift from being something we offer to God to something we perform for ourselves or others. Excellence is not the problem. The problem is when the experience becomes the goal — when the feeling becomes the measure of truth. When that happens, we keep the glow, but lose the weight.

When control slips through your fingers, remember who holds it steady. Peace begins where your grip ends—when Christ rules the heart and aligns it with the Father’s will.

Control wears many disguises. Sometimes it is loud, demanding, unyielding. Other times, it creeps in quietly, hidden in tones of sarcasm or the whisper of a passive-aggressive remark. But the intent is the same: to bend people and circumstances toward our will.