Quiet Unfiltered Notes: From the Fire

It’s been a hot minute since my last blog entry, and as I roll into the weekend, Friday feels full in a quiet but real way. My day is made up of Bible college assessments, emails, theological reflections, and going over the details for my first Refined by Fire restoration project . There’s a lot happening at once, and on paper it probably looks like chaos. But in the middle of it all, I can’t help but notice something unexpected. Peace. Not the kind that comes from having everything sorted or perfectly under control, but a steady, grounded peace that seems to sit beneath the surface of everything I’m doing. As I look back over the week, I can see movement. Progress. Doors opening. And now, having a confirmed start date for my new role at GCUH , something shifts inside me. It feels like the next chapter is no longer just an idea — it’s real, it’s here, and somehow, even in the busyness, I feel ready. There’s something strange about seasons like this. They don’t feel loud or dramatic, b...

Wow. After over 12 months of planning, late nights, emails, prayers, and tears… my restoration project of Holy Ghost Sermons by is complete. Even writing that sentence feels surreal. For a long time this project lived only as an idea. Something stirring quietly in the background of my mind. A sense that there was something valuable buried in the past — something that needed to be brought forward again, restored, handled carefully, and released back into the hands of people. But ideas are easy. Execution is where the weight lives. And this project carried weight. The Beginning of the Fire I still remember when the thought first took hold. It wasn’t just about republishing an old text. It felt deeper than that. There was something about Maria Woodworth-Etter’s ministry — the rawness, the power, the way God moved through her life at a time when the world looked very different — that stirred something in me. Her life was not polished. It was not easy. In fact, it was marked by deep person...

6:31 a.m. Tuesday morning. The house is quiet in that sacred way that only the early hours can hold. The world has not yet fully woken up, and for a few brief moments it feels like time itself slows down just enough to breathe. I’m sitting here with a strong cup of morning coffee in my hands. The kind that wakes your mind before the rest of your body even realizes the day has begun. The steam curls gently into the cool morning air while the first threads of sunlight begin to stretch through the windows. At my feet are my two rescue cats, Ninja and Ember. Ninja sits nearby like a silent guardian of the room, calm and watchful as always. Ember moves through the space with her quiet curiosity, occasionally stopping to stare at something only he seems to see. There is something grounding about these small moments. No rushing. No noise. Just stillness. Just breath. Just another day beginning. And as I sit here thinking about the hours ahead of me at Bible college today, something rises in ...

Seven Authors Who Helped Shape My Theology There are moments in a person’s faith journey where they realize they did not arrive at their understanding of God alone. Scripture is always the foundation, but along the road there are voices—pastors, theologians, revivalists, and writers—who help illuminate the path. Their words sharpen our thinking, challenge our assumptions, and sometimes ignite a deeper hunger for God. As I reflect on the writers who have influenced my own theological thinking, I recognize that each of them shaped a different part of how I understand faith, Scripture, reverence for God, and the power of the gospel. Some of them helped me think more deeply. Others helped me feel the weight of holiness. Some awakened a longing for revival. Others helped organize the truths of Scripture in a way that made them clearer. Below are several authors whose writings have had a meaningful impact on my theology and spiritual life - Maria woodworth etter   Her story is one of the...

9:29 pm Monday night. I find myself in what I can only describe as the dark night of the soul . Sometimes these moments arrive like tidal waves crashing violently against the shore of my mind. They come suddenly, overwhelming everything in their path. Other times they arrive quietly, subtly, almost unnoticed at first. They slip in through the cracks of an ordinary day and settle in the background until suddenly you realize they are there, pressing heavily on your chest. Tonight feels like one of those quieter arrivals. But quiet does not mean gentle. Quiet can still carry weight. As I sit here thinking back on the last twenty-four hours, I realize something strange. Somewhere in the back of my mind I almost expected this moment to arrive. It felt like there was a shadow circling the edges of the day, waiting patiently for the right moment to step forward. And tonight it did. Sometimes I think about these moments as if death itself is a visitor that knows how to knock softly. Not loudly...

I had a really meaningful conversation recently with Grant, one of the leaders from King’s Church, and it has stayed with me ever since. It was one of those conversations that starts simply but ends up touching something much deeper. We began talking about the book of Romans in the New Testament and how throughout history it seems that God has used that letter in extraordinary ways to awaken people. As we talked, something struck me again with fresh clarity. Some of the most powerful moments of spiritual awakening in church history began when someone encountered the message of Romans and truly understood what it was saying. That thought has been sitting with me ever since. The letter to the Romans was written by the Apostle Paul nearly two thousand years ago. Paul wrote it to believers living in Rome, the capital of the Roman Empire. Rome was a powerful city filled with influence, culture, politics, and religion. Yet into that environment Paul wrote a letter that carefully laid out ...

I find my mind living in fragments of my past this morning. It is Sunday, and I am preparing for church, but my thoughts are not calm and settled the way people might imagine they should be on a morning like this. Instead, my mind feels scattered across different moments of my life, almost like pieces of old film playing in no particular order. Memories surface without invitation. Conversations I haven’t thought about in years. Faces. Moments. Things that were said. Things that were never said. I can feel those fragments moving through my mind as I sit here trying to process what is happening inside me today. And the truth is simple. I am angry today. Not the loud kind of anger that explodes outward. More the quiet, internal kind that sits heavily in the chest. The kind that asks questions. The kind that forces you to look honestly at parts of your life that you would sometimes rather leave buried. I am trying to process that anger. Trying to understand where it is coming from. Trying ...