Category: RTP

“For everything that was written in the past was written to teach us, so that through the endurance taught in the Scriptures and the encouragement they provide we might have hope.“  Romans 15:4 NIV

When life gets hard, we need hope.

Once upon a time, a psychologist led an optimistic boy into a room filled to the ceiling with horse manure. The boy’s eyes lit up, and he dove in, enthusiastically digging. The stunned psychologist asked, “What on earth are you doing?” The boy grinned and exclaimed, “With all this manure, there’s gotta be a pony in here somewhere!”

It’s funny because it’s absurd—but sometimes life does feel like a big pile of… well, you get the idea.

We live in a world that expects comfort, convenience, and a life free of problems. When life doesn’t deliver, our culture rushes to assign blame and claim victimhood. Suffering has become something to avoid or explain away, rather than endure with meaning.

This shift has hollowed out something essential: hope.

Hope isn’t the same as optimism. Optimism says things will get better— “There’s gotta be a pony in here somewhere.” Hope, on the other hand, offers something deeper. Like optimism, it gives strength and resilience—but it’s rooted in something far more profound. Something stamped on every dollar in your wallet: “In God We Trust.”

Blame and victimization whisper, “Nothing you do matters.” Hope counters with a steady, defiant voice: “This still matters. You still matter.”

Czech leader Václav Havel said it well:

“Hope is a state of mind, not a state of the world. Either we have hope within us or we don’t. It is a dimension of the soul… not the conviction that something will turn out well, but the certainty that something makes sense, regardless of how it turns out.”

That’s not wishful thinking—that’s soul-deep clarity.

Viktor Frankl, Holocaust survivor and psychiatrist, echoed this in Man’s Search for Meaning:

“In some way, suffering ceases to be suffering at the moment it finds a meaning.”

Job, the biblical symbol of undeserved suffering, didn’t always feel hopeful. But even from the ashes, he reached for it:

“Though he slay me, yet will I hope in him.” — Job 13:15 (KJV)

That’s the mountaintop of faith—a hope not tied to outcome, but to God Himself.

So when life’s problems pile up—when the stench is real and the shovel is heavy—don’t give up.

Run the Play: Trust God defiantly. And reach for a hope that doesn’t depend on outcomes.

💬 Finding Our Place in the Story

Where am I tempted to rely on optimism instead of anchoring my hope in God?

What’s one area of suffering I’ve tried to escape rather than seek meaning within?

How can I model hope to others in a culture shaped by blame and victimhood?

“But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s special possession, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light.” —1 Peter 2:9

A recent text message read in part, “He is the fifth member of the team to get knocked off this trip. How do you feel about preaching on 1 Peter 2:9 on the opening night of the conference?”

My first thought was a Moses-at-the-burning-bush moment: Here I am, send someone else. My actual reply was a little more restrained: “I need to pray. Can I give you an answer in a couple of days?”

I had already committed to helping with the conference in Germany. The attendees will be Persian diaspora believers—many of them first-generation Christians. My role did not include preaching. To be honest, preaching feels way out of my comfort zone. Think Bob Uecker in Major League describing a wild pitch: “Juuuuust a little outside.”

A good friend recently reminded me of Jettekiah 8:22 (my paraphrase of Matthew 6:33): We are in the obedience business. God is in the outcome business. In prayer, I confessed: “Lord, you know me. You know I can’t do this on my own. But if you’ll do it with me, I’m in. Only—please confirm it so I’ll know this assignment is from you.”

With time running out to give my answer, I shared my dilemma with Sharon on our morning prayer walk. When we got back, we each went to our quiet places. The day’s Bible study passage was Mark 6:30–44—the feeding of the five thousand. My quick paraphrase:

• Jesus and the disciples are exhausted, looking for a place to rest, debrief, and pray.
  
• But the crowds find them. Moved with compassion, Jesus begins to teach.
  
• As evening falls, the disciples suggest sending the people away for food.
  
• Jesus says: “You give them something to eat.”

When I reread those words, I knew instantly this was the Lord’s answer. Just to seal it, Sharon walked over unprompted and said aloud: “You give them something to eat.”

Being Jesus’ apprentice is never dull. His answers to prayer are seldom early, but never late—and always customized for each of us.

So, in obedience, we’ll preach together. And like the loaves and fish, Jesus will multiply what little we bring. He’ll be responsible for the outcome. I get the privilege of simply showing up, running the play, and enjoying the journey.

Here’s the point: obedience always leads to light, and it is its own reward.

Run the play so that you “may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light.”

“We are in the obedience business. God is in the outcome business.”

Jettekiah 8:22

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💬 Finding Our Place in the Story

Where in your life is Jesus saying to you, “You give them something to eat”—a place of obedience that feels beyond your ability?

How do you typically view obedience: as a burden, or as a privilege that frees you to trust God with the outcome?

In what ways can your obedience this week “declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light”?

🙏 Please Pray

“You are the salt of the earth … You are the light of the world…“  Matthew 5:13-14

Tell Others Who They Truly Are

Once upon a time, I was a ‘chunkster’. Chubby. That’s how the kids let me know I was fat. Well-meaning aunts and uncles loved to pinch my cheeks and discuss my ‘baby fat’ as if I couldn’t hear them. It was just one more reminder that I didn’t measure up. I was somehow deficient. Social media didn’t invent body shaming. Even now, at age 70, I still wrestle with a distorted body image.

In Mark chapter 1, Jesus heals a man with leprosy. The culture labeled him a “leper,” but that wasn’t his true identity. He was a man—a child of God—fighting a disease that sought to define him. But his illness wasn’t who he was. Just like me, just like you. We are not our bodies. We are not the labels others assign to us.

That’s why my red kite matters to me. It reminds me that Jesus came to elevate others. He spoke directly to those crushed by society’s power brokers. In the opening lines of the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus preaches the Beatitudes—elevating proclamations that rename us: no longer overlooked, but heirs of the Kingdom. He calls us salt. He calls us light. He calls us his friends. He invites us into his family: sister, brother, mother.

 What is your true identity?

Just like the words we speak over ourselves, the words we speak over others carry power. They can shape someone’s sense of self, for better or worse.

Our culture serves up labels:
Democrat. Republican.
Gay. Straight. Trans.
Left. Right.
Woke. MAGA.
Pro-life. Pro-choice.
Conservative. Progressive.
Red. Blue.
Black. White.

We’re even told to choose our pronouns and craft our own identities.

But step back. What do all these labels have in common?

They divide.
They isolate.
They can dehumanize.

In John 10:10, Jesus tells us that the thief comes to steal, kill, and destroy. That’s the impact of every false identity. All lies from the pit of hell. (I smell smoke.)

“Chubby.” “Doughboy.” “Fatty.” Those labels were meant to wound. But some labels we use today are just as harmful, even if that’s not our intention. We no longer say “leper,” but we still say “homeless,” “addict,” or “felon.” These shorthand identities reduce someone’s entire story to a single struggle.

We can do better.

Let’s speak life. Let’s use labels the way God does—words like:
Father. Mother.
Brother. Sister,
Son, Daughter
Uncle. Neighbor.
Friend. Beloved.
Redeemed. Adopted.
Guest. Image-bearer.

Let’s flip the label script, and elevate one another.

Run the play. Live out of your true identity—and tell others who God says they are.

“True identity can only be known by truth telling. Truth telling moves us from what is real to what is true. This is important because what is real to me isn’t always true, but what is true is always real.”

Jamie Winship. Living Fearless

💬 Finding Our Place in the Story

What labels—spoken or unspoken—have tried to define you?

How does Jesus speak a more authentic identity over your life?

Who in your life needs to be reminded of their true identity?

“Jesus knew that the hour had come for him to leave this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end.“  John 13:1 NIV

One out of one dies. The math is hard to argue.

And yet, most of us live as if we’re the exception. We push the idea of death far into the future—or better yet, out of our minds completely. But end-of-life planning isn’t really about us. It’s about those we love—the ones we’ll leave behind.

In the Gospel of John, chapters 13–17, we see the Farewell Discourse. It’s Jesus’ final conversation with his disciples before the cross. He washes their feet, shares a final meal, teaches, and prays. It reads like a love letter to his closest friends—a sacred goodbye.

That inspired us.

Recently, my wife and I met with our financial advisor to get honest about a subject most people avoid: what happens when (not if) one of us dies. Out of that meeting came one of the most meaningful ideas we’ve ever acted on: we created a Family Love Letter.

It’s not a legal document. It’s a labor of love.

It includes what our kids will need—passwords, funeral plans, location of documents, beneficiaries, and more. But it also provides something more personal: a preamble. Our farewell discourse. Our hearts on paper.

Creating it led to helpful updates—things we hadn’t looked at in years. But more than that, it left us with a surprising sense of peace. Empowerment. Contentment. We’re now preparing to gather our family to share what we’ve done, why it matters, and most importantly, how God has provided every step of the way. It’s all his. We’re just stewards.

Bob Goff, one of my favorite authors, once said, “Around your deathbed you’ve got room for eight people—nine if they’re skinny.”
Who are your nine?

And what will they face if something happens to you?
We already know the stat: one out of one…

Today, your first step is deciding to take a step.
Not for you—but for them.

Run the play. Take the next step.

““The first step toward getting somewhere is to decide that you are not going to stay where you are.”

Chauncey Depew

💬 Finding Our Place in the Story

What legacy of love or faith would you want to leave if today were your final day?

Who would be most affected if something happened to you, and what could you do now to lighten their burden?

What’s one small but meaningful step you can take this week toward creating your own “family love letter”?

“Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom.”  Psalm 90:12 NIV

Moses, the man of God, wrote those words—and he knew something about time. He was 80 when he led the Exodus and lived to 120. He brought tablets and numbers—literally. The man was ahead of his time.

In a couple of days, I’ll turn 70 years young. I’ve seen what 100 looks like these days—no thanks.

I remember a cold winter night in Swormville, New York, sometime in the mid-60s. My best friend Bob and I had just finished sledding. We collapsed on a snowbank, staring up at the stars, discussing the far-off future. What would life be like at 60? Or 70? 2025 felt like a science fiction novel. But here we are. And while we never got our Jetsons flying cars, the world has gone far beyond anything we imagined.

(For the record, Bob still uses a flip phone. No email. No internet. 😀)

Mark Twain once quipped, “Age is an issue of mind over matter. If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter.”

I took Moses seriously a few years ago and started numbering my days. I picked a future age and began a countdown. If you’re reading this on the day it’s published, I’ve got 2,635 days to go. That won’t get me to 80, but it’s around the age my father-in-law “graduated.” When I started the practice, my countdown was over 11,000 days. So far, so good.

Some say age is just a number. But God believes numbers matter.

There’s a whole book of the Bible called Numbers. And some numbers carry symbolic weight in Scripture—pregnant with meaning:

3 — Divine perfection. Think of the Trinity and how many things happen “on the third day.”
7 — Completion and rest. Creation, Sabbath, Revelation.
12 — Organization of God’s people. Tribes, apostles, government.
40 — Testing and transition. Rain, wilderness, temptation.

But it’s not just those holy numbers. We all have digits that define our days:
Birthdays. Death anniversaries. Wedding dates. Retirement clocks. Mortgage balances. Social Security numbers. GPAs and blood pressure. 401(k)s and 1040s. Numbers are the footnotes of our lives.

1955 is one of mine. The year I showed up.

And ever since I began counting down my days, it’s felt like sand slipping through an hourglass—each grain a gift. It’s helped me nurture a heart of wisdom and gratitude. One more sunrise. One more laugh. One more chance to run the play.

So no, age is not “just” a number.

“Our days may come to seventy years, or eighty, if our strength endures; yet the best of them are but trouble and sorrow, for they quickly pass, and we fly away.”

Psalm 90:10 NIV

💬 Finding Our Place in the Story

What number holds deep meaning in your story—and why?
(A year, an age, a date, a milestone… what memories, decisions, or emotions are tied to it?)

If you numbered your remaining days, how might that change how you live today?
(Would it shift your priorities, relationships, gratitude, or purpose?)

Which numbers are you letting define your worth, and which ones should you surrender to God?
(Think: age, income, followers, failures. What if wisdom mattered more than any of them?)

“The heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure. Who can understand it?”  Jeremiah 17:9 NIV

Our disobedience is often disguised as necessity.

When we were growing up, comedian Flip Wilson’s character Geraldine used to quip, “The devil made me do it.” It was hilarious at the time. These days, we’re too sophisticated to blame the devil, so instead, we often blame God.

In some Christian circles, it’s become common to hear “God told me” used as a trump card to justify decisions and silence any challenge. In Evangelical culture, it’s often swapped out with “I prayed about it,” though the actual listening part is suspiciously absent. Sadly, much heartache has stemmed from this kind of spiritual name-dropping.

“I distrust those people who know so well what God wants them to do, because I notice it always coincides with their own desires.”
—Susan B. Anthony

Jeremiah’s words remain timeless. The heart is deceitful—and it’s deceptively good at disguising self-will as spiritual obedience.

Scripture is full of “God told me” gone wrong. Adam blames Eve (and by extension, God). Abraham passes off his wife as his sister. Saul justifies sparing the Amalekites. David aligns with the Philistines—his former enemies. Each instance is a failure to trust, dressed up as necessity.

“Our difficulty is not that we don’t know God’s will. Our discomfort comes from the fact that we do know His will, but we do not want to do it.”
—Henry Blackaby

Nothing new under the sun.

Natural law—sowing and reaping—always applies, whether we acknowledge it or not. Gravity doesn’t need our agreement to function. The same goes for spiritual laws. When we ignore God’s guardrails, regret usually follows.

A friend of mine often says, “God is in the outcome business. We are in the obedience business.” But we prefer to manage both. My best moments—without exception—came when I let go of my agenda and clung to His.

David inspires us when he stands before Goliath in bold faith. He consoles us when he falters. Both are part of the story

One way to keep from self-deception? Wise counsel. How many missteps could we have avoided if we had invited others to speak into our decisions?

We all need people who love us, and have our permission to contradict us.

Run the play: Who has permission to tell you the truth?

“When we ignore God’s guardrails, regret usually follows. “

💬 Finding Our Place in the Story …

1. Have I ever used “God told me or I prayed about it” to avoid wise counsel or accountability?
   
2. What spiritual “guardrails” am I currently tempted to ignore?
   
3. Who in my life has permission to challenge my decisions in love?

“And when Jesus heard it, he said to them, ‘Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. I came not to call the righteous, but sinners.”  Mark 2:17 ESV

The church is a hospital for sinners, not a museum for saints.

Let’s be honest: I’m a mess. So are you. Someone had to say it. 😀

Not so long ago, I could never have admitted to being broken. Back then, a large part of my identity hinged on how others perceived me. Love and acceptance felt conditional—given when I performed well, withdrawn when I didn’t. Cue shame. Cue guilt.

Can we be honest about our faults without carrying the crushing weight of shame? Can we accept our need for change without believing we’re unlovable? To anyone trained in conditional love, this sounds counterintuitive—maybe even impossible.

Can we be both broken and beautiful?

Yes! That’s the good news. Unconditional love does exist—and it’s more than a concept. It’s a gift, wrapped in the Gospel of the Kingdom of God.

Tim Keller captured it perfectly:

“The gospel is this: We are more sinful and flawed in ourselves than we ever dared believe, yet at the very same time we are more loved and accepted in Jesus Christ than we ever dared hope.”

What would it look like if someone asked you to draw a picture of unconditional love? (I’ll wait. It’s not easy, is it?)

For years, I understood the Gospel in my head, but my heart lagged behind. Everything changed the day I stumbled across a video about a family who routinely adopted special needs children from around the world.

Short Adoption Video Clip – 1 minute

For the first time, my imagination caught up. I saw why the Bible uses the language of adoption to describe our salvation. This family didn’t adopt in spite of the children’s brokenness—they chose them because of it. The ones others overlooked were the ones they ran to. They believed unconditional love could transform brokenness into something beautiful: a family.

That video captures the essence of the Father’s heart.

He wants us. He looked across the world and picked you—not despite your brokenness, but because of it. The more damaged and forgotten we are, the more clearly His love shines through.

It’s not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. Jesus came for us—the unrighteous.

That’s true love. The kind that heals us, transforms us and makes us beautiful.

Run the play. Run in God’s unconditional love.

“We are more sinful and flawed in ourselves than we ever dared believe, yet at the very same time we are more loved and accepted in Jesus Christ than we ever dared hope“

Tim Keller

💬 One Last Word…

Maybe you’ve read this and thought, “I want that kind of love. I want to be chosen, accepted, healed—even in my brokenness.”

Here’s the good news: you can.

You don’t have to clean yourself up first. You don’t have to fix the cracks or hide the pieces. God already knows, and He’s still calling your name. He’s not offering religion or rules—He’s offering a relationship, a forever family, and a love that changes everything.

The Bible says:

“To all who did receive him, to those who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God.”
—John 1:12

That invitation still stands.

If you’re ready to step into that kind of love and begin a new life as a child of God, you can simply say something like this:

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“God, I’m broken—and I know I can’t fix myself.
But I believe you love me, and that Jesus came for people just like me.
Thank you for dying for my sins, and rising again to give me new life.
I receive your forgiveness and your love.
Adopt me into your family.
Make me whole and teach me to follow you.
Amen.”

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If you prayed that, welcome to the family. 💛
You are no longer just broken—you are beautifully His.

“…anyone who builds on that foundation may use a variety of materials—gold, silver, jewels, wood, hay, or straw. But on the judgment day, fire will reveal what kind of work each builder has done…”   1 Cor. 3:12–14 (NLT)

Inheritance and legacy are two sides of the same Kingdom coin. One is received. The other is left. Both are sacred.

Once upon a time, I bought a 1971 AMC Hornet with “three on the tree.” My dad helped me pick it out, and I paid $1,000 in cash—a serious dent in my teenage savings. It had no air conditioning, carpet, or power—just hand-cranked windows, vinyl bench seats, and brakes that required a full-body press. My high school buddies called her Mellow Yellow, after the old Donovan song. She wasn’t fancy, but she was mine. I didn’t know it then, but that little yellow Hornet was more than a car; it was the on-ramp to a legacy of self-reliance, resilience, and reward.

My parents couldn’t help me or my brothers financially, not with cars or college. Looking back, that felt hard. But now? It feels like a gift.

Years later, our mom admitted something profound. Because they never had the resources to bail us out, they never had the temptation to. They didn’t hover, intervene, or try to protect us from every challenge. That limitation became their unintentional wisdom. It kept them from harmful help. And it gave us the one thing that can’t be inherited through a checkbook: the chance to grow and flourish.

That was our inheritance.
We are their legacy.

What are we leaving behind as an inheritance? And what are we unintentionally stealing from those we love by trying to give them everything? There’s a reason so many young adults today feel stuck when it comes to “adulting.” Too many parents—with the best intentions—are stepping in too soon and too often. It’s like cutting open a butterfly’s cocoon to “help” it out. What looks like kindness steals its strength. Real love knows when not to rescue.

It takes discipline and discernment to let those we love struggle in the right ways so that they can realize their full potential.

The things I’m leaving behind aren’t found in a will: stories of faith, dusty shadow boxes filled with service and citizenship mementos of our ancestors, photo albums stuffed with memories that mattered. These aren’t things I’ll leave behind because I have to. They’re treasures I’m giving because I get to. But our greatest legacy will be the people we poured our lives into.

Paul reminded the church in Corinth that Jesus is the only proper foundation, and we’re invited to build on that foundation with materials that last. Not all inheritances are created equal. Only what’s built on Christ will withstand eternity.

And in a beautiful twist, Jesus tells us we can send treasure ahead (Matthew 6:20). We can’t take anything with us, but we can invest in heaven now—by giving, serving, and loving.

May we receive what Christ has secured and leave behind what only love can build. Because in the end, the only inheritance that lasts is the one forged with faith, fire, and an open hand.

Run the play. Play the long-game. Who is your legacy?

“My parents couldn’t help me or my brothers financially, not with cars or college. Looking back, that felt hard. But now? It feels like a gift.”

Mellow Yellow

“There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens.”  Ecclesiastes 3:1 NIV

And according to Hallmark, the Christmas season comes twice a year.

It’s no secret to those who know me well: I’m a big fan of Hallmark Christmas movies. Even as I write this, I’ve made sure my streaming service is set to record all the Christmas in July premieres. The truth is, in the Jette house, we celebrated Christmas in July long before Hallmark made it a thing.

Our July tradition began by accident. Years ago, I wanted to send a note to a friend but could only find last year’s Christmas card. I sent it anyway. To my surprise, he said it was one of the funniest and most uplifting things he’d ever received—and he was battling cancer at the time. Mission accomplished.

It became an annual ritual from then on. Over the years, I’ve expanded the list of recipients, focusing on those who might need a little unexpected holiday cheer.

Sure, some of the Hallmark movies are cheesy and predictable. We fast-forward through a few. Others we watch every year. But kindness and thoughtfulness? They’re never out of fashion or out of season.

By July 25th, most everyone is tired of the heat and humidity of summer. A Christmas card in the mailbox brings a momentary escape—and a reminder that cooler, cozier days are ahead. (Fun fact: December 25th is only 155 days from the date this post is published.)

Who in your world could use a bit of off-season hope? A card, a text, a funny surprise—small gestures carry Kingdom weight.

Run the play. Merry Christmas – In July!

“A word aptly spoken is like apples of gold in settings of silver.”

— Proverbs 25:11

Kindness 101: Secret Santa

“Do not be deceived: God cannot be mocked. A man reaps what he sows.”  Galatians 6:7 NIV

It’s been a while since we’ve had to watch Bob the Tomato and Larry the Cucumber from VeggieTales. Those quirky videos were a favorite of our grandson, Chase. The Bible-based stories were memorable, but the intro music? Total earworm. (Cue the theme song: Listen here)

Recently, while flipping through old garden photos, I unpacked more than just memories. Like their animated counterparts, the veggies from our backyard taught me a few spiritual truths worth passing on.

1. Significance

Like a business, a garden doesn’t have to be big to be significant. Ours produced more than we could eat, so we shared it with neighbors and friends. Abundance gives us the opportunity for generosity.

Jesus warned about the temptation to hoard, building bigger barns rather than giving things away. Why? Because hoarding decays. Conversely, generosity creates meaning, purpose, and joy in this life and the next.

2. Growth

If you want tomatoes to thrive in the Deep South’s clay soil and intense heat, you have to water the roots. I saved old milk jugs, poked holes in the bottom, and buried them next to the plants. This simple method funneled water directly to where it was needed most.

Spiritual growth works the same way. Jesus described his Word as living water—it satisfies our deepest thirst. We grow strong when we allow Scripture to soak deep into our hearts. Reading, studying, and memorizing the Word waters our roots.

3. Threats

The most destructive threats to my zucchini and cucumber plants came from the inside. Squash borers and grubs attacked the stems from within, killing the plants almost overnight. One day, everything looked lush; the next, the stems were limp and lifeless.

Sin does the same to the soul. Left unchecked, it works from the inside out—quietly, persistently, destructively.

“We reap what we sow” isn’t some cosmic karma principle or behavior scoreboard. It’s a warning. Like a smoke alarm or a parent saying, “Don’t touch the burner,” it protects us from destruction.

Jesus often taught using farming metaphors for a reason: they’re simple, memorable, and rich with meaning. Habitual sin might not seem urgent initially, but it’s always working—like the grub in the stem. The enemy seeks to steal, kill, and destroy. We must be vigilant. (Don’t get me started about what the squirrels did to my tomatoes 😀.)

Running the play means sowing the right seeds, watering them deeply, and guarding the garden against threats. It’s how we reap an abundant harvest—the kind Jesus promised.

Run the play. Abundant harvests await.

“Still other seed fell on good soil, where it produced a crop—a hundred, sixty or thirty times what was sown.” – Matthew 13:8 (NIV)

Finding Our Place in the Story

Where are you currently experiencing abundance? How might God be inviting you to share it?

What habits help you get God’s Word to your roots? What might help even more?

Are there “hidden grubs” in your spiritual life—small compromises or unchecked patterns that could be dangerous over time?