Douglas Vandergraph

 Acts 8 opens in a way that feels uncomfortable, almost jarring, because it forces us to confront a truth we would rather avoid: sometimes the greatest forward movement of God’s work begins with what feels like catastrophic loss. The chapter does not start with a revival, a miracle, or a bold sermon. It starts with grief. It starts with Stephen’s death still hanging heavy in the air, with the church scattering under pressure, with fear and confusion rippling through a community that had only just begun to taste unity. Yet Acts 8 is not a chapter about retreat. It is a chapter about momentum disguised as disruption. This is one of the most honest chapters in Scripture because it does not sanitize pain or rush past injustice. Saul is introduced not as a future apostle, but as a man ravaging the church, dragging believers from their homes, turning faith into a criminal offense. Luke does not soften the language. The persecution is violent, personal, and terrifying. Families are torn ...

 There is something quietly dangerous about the start of a new year—not because new beginnings are bad, but because they often arrive carrying expectations that are too loud to be honest. Everywhere you turn, you are told that this is the year everything finally changes, the year you finally “get it right,” the year where discipline, motivation, and optimism will somehow align perfectly. And if you are not careful, that noise can drown out something far more important: truth. If Jesus were physically present, standing in front of you at the start of this year, He would not speak in slogans. He would not offer you hype. He would not measure your future by productivity charts, resolution lists, or public victories. Jesus has never been interested in shallow definitions of success . He is interested in transformation—and transformation is quieter, slower, and far more honest than most people are comfortable with. Before anything else, Jesus would see you. Not the version of you that...