Many claim they want to LIVE, yet refuse to stop feeding what destroys them. Life begins the moment consumption bows to Christ.

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.

Strange Fire rises from a heart that refuses God; holy fire breaks out when Jesus takes over. When Christ transforms you, the hardness that once resisted Him becomes the strength that stands against sin. The fire changes—but the Source must change first.

The same hardness of heart that once resisted God can, through Jesus, become the very strength that resists sin. Grace doesn’t erase your temperament—it redeems it. The will that once said “no” to God becomes the fortress that says “no” to evil.

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.

There is a kind of grace that comforts the sinner but never confronts the sin. It feels merciful, but it isn’t holy. True grace doesn’t tranquilize the conscience—it trains the soul. It forgives, then forms. Grace that never leads to obedience is not grace at all; it’s flattery disguised as freedom.

What you look at is already shaping who you’re becoming. The feed trains desire; Christ retrains the heart. Behold what heals, not what hollows.

Every life is being shaped—either by the fleeting molds of the world or by the eternal hands of God. Transformation is the Spirit’s quiet work of renewing hearts, minds, and desires, forming the architecture of Jesus within us as we yield in obedience and love.

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.

Fruitless soil cannot save us. Time is mist. The Gardener kneels in mercy, digging deep, calling us to repent, to abide, to bear fruit. The cross has broken the ground—life is planted. The question is not if Christ is working, but if you will yield before the ax is laid to the root.