Actions That Match What You Say

Actions That Match What You Say

Growing up, I often heard the expression, “Do as I say, not as I do.” For many years, it sounded like nothing more than a common saying, but as time passed, I began to understand the sorrow hidden within those words. How easy it is to know what is right and yet fail to live accordingly. We can speak truth, offer wise advice, and point others in the right direction, while our own hearts remain untouched by the very things we proclaim. 

Perhaps this contradiction is more common than we would like to admit. There are corners of our hearts where truth has settled in our minds but has never truly taken root. We can learn Scripture, discuss theology, and even encourage others in their walk with God, all while harboring areas of pride, fear, and unbelief. Outwardly, everything appears to be in order, but then God, in His mercy, allows circumstances to expose what has long remained hidden.

And when that moment comes, we are confronted with ourselves. The knowledge we once carried so confidently is tested, and we discover whether it has merely informed our minds or transformed our hearts. It is a painful realization to recognize our own hypocrisy, yet such moments are gifts of grace, for they invite us to return to the Lord with humility and examine the foundation of our faith.

In John’s Gospel, we encounter a royal official from Capernaum who travels to Galilee seeking Jesus. He does not come clothed in authority or position, but in desperation—as a father pleading for the life of his dying son. He walks nearly twenty miles with a burden no parent would ever wish to bear, hoping that Jesus will come and heal his child.

Jesus answers him with words that search the depths of the heart: “Unless you see signs and wonders, you will not believe.” 

We are left to wonder: What brought this man to Jesus? Was it genuine faith, or merely the reports he had heard about the first miracle? Did he come because he knew who Jesus was, or because he hoped that Jesus might solve his problem? Perhaps the answer lies somewhere in between, much like our own journeys of faith.

Yet the father persists. He begs Jesus to come before his son dies. But Jesus does not accompany him. Instead, He gives him something far more difficult than a visible miracle: a promise.

“Go; your son lives.”

Scripture tells us something remarkable: “The man believed the word that Jesus spoke to him and went on his way.”

He believed—and he went.

That small word, and, reveals something profound. Faith is not simply agreeing with God’s words; it is walking in obedience when the outcome is still unseen. It is taking the next step when questions remain unanswered. It is trusting Christ’s voice more than our own fears.

I often wonder what that journey back to Capernaum must have been like. Did doubts creep into his mind? Did he question whether he had misunderstood Jesus? Did hope and fear wrestle within him as he walked? We are not told. What we do know is that he continued on his way, holding fast to the promise he had received.

And before he reached home, his servants came to meet him with joyful news: his son was alive and well.

How often the Lord calls us to walk before He allows us to see. We long for certainty, explanations, and immediate answers, but God frequently asks us to trust His word first. The royal official received the miracle only after he had chosen to believe.

Our lives are no different. It is easy to say that we trust God when everything is going well, but true faith is revealed in the choices we make when His plans remain hidden from us. Faith must move beyond our lips and shape the way we live. Our actions testify to what we truly believe.

The story of this royal official reminds us that faith is more than knowledge about Jesus—it is surrender to Jesus. It is allowing His truth to descend from our minds into our hearts, transforming not only what we say, but also how we walk.

May we not be content with a faith that speaks eloquently yet remains distant from obedience. Instead, may we hear the words of Christ, believe them, and go on our way, resting in the One who is always faithful.

God Is

God Is

I still remember an afternoon in my parents’ kitchen when I asked them to explain how God could have always existed. I was about seventeen years old and had been wrestling with the concept of eternity—how God could have no beginning when everything else I knew did.

My mother tried her best to answer my questions, but for every explanation she offered, I came back with another “logical” objection. Eventually, she sighed and simply said that she believed God had always existed, and that was all she could confidently tell me. 

At the time, I thought it was an easy way out of my endless questioning. At least, that is what I thought then. Now, decades later, I look back and realize that “believing” is actually one of the hardest answers to give.

We often say that we believe, but true belief is deeper than mere agreement. Sometimes, what we call belief is little more than probability or wishful thinking. We acknowledge something as possible, yet hesitate to entrust ourselves fully to it.

I am often reminded of the father who brought his afflicted son to Jesus. When Jesus said, “Everything is possible for one who believes,” the father immediately replied, “Lord, I believe; help my unbelief!” (Mark 9:24). What an honest confession. He believed, yet he also recognized the weakness of his faith.

Perhaps that is true of all of us. Genuine faith is not something we can manufacture through effort or intellect. God Himself must work in our hearts, transforming unbelief into faith. Scripture tells us that “without faith it is impossible to please God, because anyone who comes to Him must believe that He exists and that He rewards those who earnestly seek Him” (Hebrews 11:6). Even our ability to believe is ultimately a gift of God's grace. What an extraordinary God we have!

And so, when it comes to God's existence, no scientific proof or philosophical argument can fully explain Him. God simply is. He always has been, and He always will be. He exists in a category entirely His own—beyond the limits of human understanding and comprehension.

As a good Irish friend of mine often says, “It’s mind-boggling!” And he is right. It is mind-boggling. Yet that should not trouble us. The infinite God was never meant to fit neatly within the boundaries of our finite minds.

We do not need to understand everything about His existence. We are called to trust Him. Faith does not answer every question, but it anchors us to the One who is beyond all questions—the One who simply is.

God is.

Looking Beyond What You Can See

 Looking Beyond What You Can See

Have you ever gazed at the horizon, where the ocean meets the sky, and wondered where it truly ends? From the shore, we see only a faint line separating them—a line that is never fully certain. No matter how much we squint, the sky and ocean seem to blend together. And yet, they remain distinct, constantly influencing one another: wind shapes the currents, and the ocean’s evaporation brings rain to the land.

Similarly, the Bible tells us that the heart is the source from which every part of our life flows. Our actions, words, and decisions are rooted in the heart, and the heart, in turn, is shaped by the choices we make each day. A moment of complaining may seem small, but repeated over time it can become a habit, replacing gratitude and trust with discontent. Conversely, a heart filled with joy in Jesus leaves no room for complaint.

Like the ocean and sky, the heart and life are intricately connected. That is why God commands us to guard our hearts above all else. Protecting our hearts is essential to living the life God has planned for us. When our hearts are filled with God’s Word, joy, faith, and trust, our choices naturally align with His will. When we neglect this, however, our hearts become vulnerable to the influences of the world—the sights we see, the words we hear, and the actions we take. Every choice either strengthens our faith or diminishes it.

Watch over your heart with the vigilance of a soldier stationed in a tower. From this vantage point, dangers can be seen early, allowing swift action to protect what matters most. Neglect, however, leaves the heart exposed—and a life unguarded is a life at risk. 

 "Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it" Proverbs 4:23

A Personal Story

I’m starting March with a personal story and reflection on my recent encounters with opportunism, rather than one of my usual faith-based tales. Sometimes, it’s important to share what really happens and learn from it. I hope this serves as encouragement for you to focus on what truly matters most.

Opportunism Versus Faith

Call me old-fashioned, but I like to begin with dictionary definitions.

According to Merriam-Webster, opportunism is “the art, policy, or practice of taking advantage of opportunities or circumstances, often with little regard for principles or consequences.” It represents a self-serving approach to situations, commonly used in politics or personal affairs to achieve immediate or personal gain—sometimes at the expense of ethical considerations.

Faith, on the other hand, is defined as “allegiance to duty or a person; loyalty, fidelity to promises, sincerity of intentions, or firm belief in something for which there is no proof.”

You may be wondering: what do these two words have to do with one another? Are they related at all?

In truth, they represent everyday choices—a way of living. Although opportunism and faith differ greatly in action, their root is the same: the heart. One prioritizes self; the other prioritizes others. An opportunist acts in favor of personal gain, regardless of the harm it may cause. A faithful person is bound by conviction to place others before themselves.

Why am I making this distinction? Because when you experience both of these lifestyles through the people around you, you cannot help but be impacted—either deeply hurt or deeply blessed.

Let me share a few personal experiences.

In October of last year, I received the most dreadful phone call from my father. My mother was in the emergency room, about thirty-five minutes from where I lived. As my husband drove me to the hospital, my mind flooded with a storm of emotions.

When we arrived, my father met us outside and told us she hadn’t made it.

My heart broke. My legs gave way beneath me.

My father and husband helped me into the room to see her. I caressed her forehead while trying to process the doctor’s words. After he left, a hospital staff member came in to discuss arrangements.

That’s when I noticed my mother was still wearing her pearl earrings and her gold necklace with a heart-shaped ruby. I managed to remove the earrings, but I couldn’t unclasp the necklace.

Ten minutes later, when I returned to the room, it was gone.

Taken.

The nurse could not explain what had happened. In my grief, I did not pursue it. I had more urgent matters to handle. But there it was—opportunism. Someone taking advantage of our deepest sorrow without a trace of conscience.

Outrageous.

Then, at the end of November, I asked my husband to mail the Christmas cards I had lovingly handmade for friends and family abroad, including my son’s birthday card. The postal clerk asked whether he wanted to add tracking, but since they were “just Christmas cards,” he declined.

The cards never arrived.

Not one.

My son never received his 22nd birthday card. My family and friends never received their Christmas greetings.

Opportunism again—someone disregarding integrity for personal gain.

Disgraceful.

And yet, that is not the whole story of humanity.

In my youth, I had the opportunity to study theology. On weekends, I visited members of a small congregation in a very poor village. Each Sunday, I spent time with a different family, and what I encountered in their homes was love without measure. Though they had little, they offered me the very best they possessed. I never once felt like a burden; instead, I felt welcomed, valued, and truly cherished.

Precious memories.

Years later, shortly after we moved abroad, my husband needed urgent surgery. I felt alone and vulnerable in a new country. He was working while I was studying. We had two young boys. How would we make ends meet?

The pastor of the church we had just begun attending brought us food hampers for months, along with homemade meals. No questions asked. No expectations. No conditions.

Just help.

Providential.

I could continue describing encounters with opportunism and the scars they left. I could even excuse such behavior by saying it is ingrained in culture, present at every level of society.

But I would rather count my blessings.

There are people who live by a different code—like the one described in Hebrews 11:1:

“Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.”

They have not seen the Savior, yet they believe in Him. They live as though this world is not all there is. They treat others as they themselves would wish to be treated.

There are hearts full of self—and hearts full of Jesus.

Which one are you?

The Door

 John 10:9

There are things only children can see—things adults forget or choose not to believe. Only a few grown-ups keep that childlike sight, choosing to believe despite how strange it may seem in adulthood.

I am one of those child-adults. I still remember when I first heard of it—when I first saw it. It was unforgettable.

“Wait, what did you hear? What did you see?”

I’ll tell you. But I must start at the beginning.

As a little girl, I went wherever my parents took me—grocery stores, supermarkets, the local library, and church. Church was the most interesting place of all. I understood why we went to buy food or borrow books, but church puzzled me. Every Sunday, people sang together and then suddenly became silent when a man began to speak. They nodded as if they understood everything. I didn’t. I just waited for Sunday School.

I loved Miss Vera’s classroom. She was kind and gentle, and being there felt safe.

One Sunday morning, on our way to church, something happened. My father—usually a careful driver—lost control of the car. We swerved toward a tree and missed it by what felt like an inch. “Help us, Lord!” my mother cried. The car stopped. Dad was pale; Mom was speechless.

The first thing Dad did was take Mom’s hand and mine and pray, “Lord, thank You for helping us when we needed You most. We praise You in the name of Your Son, Jesus. Amen.”

I knew he wasn’t speaking to us—but to someone else. I had heard about God, yet I wondered: Who was this Lord? Who was His Son? Why could no one see Him? What did He look like? What did He sound like?

That morning in Sunday School, Miss Vera showed us a poster shaped like a door. She read, “I am the door. If anyone enters through Me, he shall be saved… and find green pastures.”

She explained that Jesus, the Son of God, was the door—not one that leads to another room, but one that leads to a place no one has ever fully seen: a place of peace, where sorrow and hate cannot enter. But to go through that door, we must believe in Him and turn away from sin—lies, hatred, dishonesty, disobedience.

I was astonished. Jesus is a door? How could that be? Yet more than confusion, I felt longing. I wanted to see that place.

That night, I asked my mother why Jesus was called a door. She smiled and said He is also light and love. He came to lead us out of darkness, to save us, and to give us eternal life. We prayed together, and I fell asleep thinking about light shining in the dark—because darkness had always frightened me.

That night I dreamed.

I stood in a long hallway filled with doors. Behind each one were rooms full of toys and sweets. I wanted to stay, but I was searching for Jesus—the door. I couldn’t find Him. I began to cry.

Then I heard a voice: “Come, child. This is the way.”

I followed the voice until I reached a small wooden door—smaller than all the others. It seemed too small for me to enter. But I remembered: I must believe. I turned the knob.

Light burst forth—brighter than the sun. Beauty beyond words. And there He was.

He took my hand and said, “This is yours forever. I will always be with you. Do you believe?”

“I do,” I answered.

I woke with a peace and joy I had never known. I told my parents everything. They rejoiced and thanked Jesus for loving us enough to take our place on the cross.

Years passed. I grew older. Sometimes I was tempted to dismiss the dream as just a dream. But then I remembered: Jesus said we must become like children to enter His kingdom. A child does not analyze—she believes.

So I choose to believe.

I choose to trust the One who loves me so deeply that He gave His life for mine, who opened the door to heaven and calls me by name.

And you—have you heard His voice? Have you found the door?

If not, seek it. Listen carefully. You will hear your name.

Look for the door.

 "I am the door: by me if any man enter in, he shall be saved, and shall go in and out, and find pasture". John 10:9