Anchored in Grace 🌸

When Obedience Feels Unrewarded

I have always admired people whose faith seems steady no matter what life throws at them. They continue serving, loving, and trusting God even when they are misunderstood or treated unfairly. For a long time, I wondered how they did it. Then I spent time reading 1 Peter 3:8–22, and I realized Peter wasn't writing to people who had comfortable lives. He was writing to ordinary believers who were trying to stay faithful in the middle of suffering.

That perspective alone changed the way I read this passage.

Sometimes I catch myself expecting the Christian life to become easier the longer I follow Christ. I don't expect a perfect life, but I hope that doing the right thing will at least make things less complicated. Instead, there are seasons when obedience feels expensive. There have been moments when I chose to stay silent instead of arguing, forgave someone who never apologized, or tried to respond with grace when my emotions wanted something completely different. Those choices were never easy, and if I'm honest, they often felt unnoticed.

Peter doesn't promise that choosing God's way will always be rewarded immediately. In fact, he prepares believers for the possibility that doing good may still lead to suffering. At first, that sounds discouraging, but I think it is actually freeing. It reminds me that hardship is not always a sign that I have done something wrong. Sometimes it is simply part of following Jesus.

One part of this passage that stayed with me was Peter's instruction not to repay evil with evil or insult with insult. That sounds simple until someone hurts you. My first instinct is usually to defend myself. I want people to understand my side of the story. I want fairness. I want things to be made right. Yet Peter points me toward something far more difficult—choosing to bless instead of retaliate.

I don't think Peter is asking believers to ignore injustice or pretend that pain doesn't exist. Rather, he is reminding us that our response should never mirror the behavior that wounded us in the first place. If Christ has changed my heart, then that transformation should be visible in the way I treat people, especially those who make it difficult.

Another verse that challenged me was Peter's reminder to keep our tongues from speaking evil. I often think of spiritual growth as reading more Scripture, praying more consistently, or becoming more involved in ministry. Those things matter, but Peter brings the conversation back to something as ordinary as everyday speech.

The words I choose reveal more about my heart than I sometimes realize. It is easy to speak kindly when life is going well. The real test comes when I am disappointed, frustrated, or misunderstood. Those moments expose whether God's grace is truly shaping me from the inside out.

I also noticed that Peter tells believers to seek peace and pursue it. That word, pursue, caught my attention because it suggests intention. Peace is rarely something that happens on its own. It often requires humility, patience, and the willingness to take the first step, even when I would rather wait for someone else to do it.

As I reflected on this chapter, I couldn't help but notice that Peter keeps bringing everything back to Jesus. Every instruction he gives is grounded in Christ's own example. Jesus knew rejection. He knew injustice. He knew what it was like to be falsely accused and misunderstood. Yet He never allowed suffering to pull Him away from the Father's will.

That gives me hope because it reminds me that following Jesus has never been about avoiding hardship. It has always been about becoming more like Him. If my circumstances are teaching me to love more deeply, forgive more freely, and trust God more completely, then even difficult seasons have purpose.

The closing verses point to Christ's victory. Peter reminds his readers that Jesus is now seated at the right hand of God, above every authority and power. I think that ending is intentional. Peter begins with suffering but refuses to leave his readers there. He lifts their eyes toward the bigger picture. The pain they were experiencing was real, but it was not permanent. Christ had already won the victory.

I need that reminder more often than I would like to admit. It is easy to become consumed by what is happening today and forget that my story is part of something much larger. Every act of obedience, no matter how small or unnoticed, matters to God. Every quiet decision to forgive, every effort to choose peace, and every moment of faithfulness is seen by the One who judges with perfect justice.

Reading 1 Peter 3 did not answer every question I have about suffering, but it reshaped the way I think about it. Instead of asking why following Jesus sometimes feels difficult, I am learning to ask whether my response reflects the One I claim to follow.

The Unseen Cost of Constantly Choosing Others

There is a particular kind of loneliness that comes from always being present for others while slowly becoming absent from your own life. It is not loud or obvious; rather, it is subtle, deeply internal, and often dismissed in the name of love, patience, and understanding. For years, I have lived within that quiet space—where I continuously choose others, even at the expense of myself.

I have come to recognize that much of my identity has been shaped by my desire to please people. I have built a habit of accommodating, adjusting, and sacrificing, believing that this was the purest form of care. I made it my responsibility to ensure that others felt supported, valued, and never hurt. In doing so, I became highly attuned to their emotions, often anticipating their needs before they could even express them. Yet, in this constant awareness of others, I lost awareness of myself.

There is an unspoken rule I have lived by: do not get angry, because anger hurts people. I have internalized this belief to the point where I no longer allow myself to fully experience or express it. Whenever I feel wronged, I rationalize the situation. I justify their actions. I minimize my own pain. I tell myself that maintaining peace is more important than acknowledging hurt. As a result, I have become skilled at suppressing emotions, particularly those that may disrupt the comfort of others.

However, suppression does not eliminate pain; it only delays its expression.

Over time, these unspoken frustrations accumulated within me. They settled quietly in the corners of my heart, growing heavier with each instance I chose silence over honesty. And when I finally reached a point where I could no longer contain them when I gathered the courage to articulate my feelings, I expected understanding. I believed that expressing my pain in a calm and respectful manner would create space for resolution.

Instead, it created distance.

Rather than being met with empathy, I was met with resistance. It felt as though my honesty was perceived as confrontation, and my vulnerability was interpreted as fault. The shift was disorienting: from being the one who always understands to being the one who is misunderstood. It left me questioning whether my feelings were ever valid in the first place, or if they were only acceptable as long as they remained unspoken.

This experience revealed a painful reality, one that I had long avoided confronting. When you consistently present yourself as accommodating, people may grow accustomed to a version of you that does not resist, does not complain, and does not assert boundaries. And when you finally step outside of that version, it disrupts their expectations. Unfortunately, that disruption is not always received with grace.

Perhaps the most difficult aspect of this realization lies within the context of family.

There is a profound sense of belonging that one expects from family—a natural assumption that within this circle, one is seen, included, and valued. Yet, there have been moments in my life that contradict this expectation. Moments where gatherings occurred without my knowledge. Moments where I, despite being part of the family, felt excluded from spaces where I believed I belonged.

What makes this particularly painful is the contrast with the past. I remember clearly the times when they needed support, when circumstances were difficult, when resources were scarce, when emotional presence mattered most. During those times, I was there without hesitation. I gave what I could, even when it required personal sacrifice. I did not question my role; I simply fulfilled it.

And yet now, I find myself questioning whether my presence was ever truly valued, or merely needed.

This is not a realization that comes with immediate clarity or resolution. Instead, it introduces a series of difficult questions: What is my place in their lives? Is my value conditional? Have I mistaken availability for importance? These questions do not have easy answers, but they are necessary for growth.

Despite everything, I do not regret the love I have given. It was genuine, and it reflected who I am at my core. However, I am beginning to understand that love, when expressed without boundaries, can lead to self-neglect. It can create imbalances in relationships where one continuously gives while the other simply receives.

I am now at a point of reflection, one that requires both honesty and courage. I am learning that my emotions are valid, even when they make others uncomfortable. I am learning that anger, when expressed constructively, is not inherently harmful; rather, it is a signal that something within me needs to be acknowledged. I am learning that I do not have to earn my place in people’s lives by overextending myself.

Most importantly, I am learning that I am allowed to choose myself.

This does not mean that I will stop caring or withdraw from the people I love. Rather, it means redefining the way I show up for them and for myself. It means setting boundaries that protect my well-being. It means allowing myself to speak, even when my voice feels uncertain. It means recognizing that being kind should not require me to endure continuous hurt in silence.

Healing, I realize, is not about becoming less compassionate. It is about becoming more balanced. It is about ensuring that the care I extend outward is also directed inward.

The process is ongoing, and at times, uncomfortable. There are still moments when I question myself, when I feel the urge to revert to old patterns. But with each realization, I am slowly rebuilding a sense of self that is no longer dependent solely on the approval of others.

For the first time, I am beginning to understand that my worth is not defined by how much I can give, but by the simple truth that I exist, I feel, and I matter.

In every generation, the meaning of friendship is tested by the values people choose to live by. In today’s world, where relationships are often shaped by convenience, self-interest, and social perception, genuine friendship can feel increasingly rare. It is within this context that the story of Jonathan and David stands as a profound and timeless model of what true friendship ought to be. Their relationship, recorded in the book of 1 Samuel, is not merely a narrative of companionship—it is a compelling portrait of loyalty, sacrifice, humility, and covenantal love.

Jonathan and David’s friendship was extraordinary because it was founded on selflessness rather than self-preservation. Jonathan, the son of King Saul, was the rightful heir to the throne of Israel. By all human standards, David posed a direct threat to his future kingship. Yet, instead of responding with insecurity or rivalry, Jonathan chose to recognize and honor God’s purpose in David’s life. In one of the most powerful symbolic acts of humility, Jonathan stripped himself of his royal robe, armor, sword, bow, and belt, and gave them to David. This gesture was more than an act of generosity, it was a deliberate surrender of status and entitlement. It demonstrated a heart that valued God’s will and genuine love for a friend above personal ambition.

Such a perspective sharply contrasts with the relational dynamics often observed in contemporary society. Today, friendships can easily become arenas for competition, comparison, and hidden agendas. Success is sometimes met with silent envy rather than sincere celebration. Instead of uplifting one another, individuals may resort to subtle undermining, gossip, or insinuation. The culture of “keeping up” has, in many ways, replaced the call to “build up.” In this light, Jonathan’s humility challenges the modern mindset by reminding us that true friendship is not threatened by another person’s growth, it rejoices in it.

Equally remarkable was Jonathan’s unwavering loyalty to David. When King Saul’s jealousy turned into violent intent, Jonathan did not remain passive. He actively intervened, warning David of impending danger and advocating for him before the king. This loyalty was not without cost. By choosing to stand with David, Jonathan risked his relationship with his father, his position in the kingdom, and even his own life. His commitment illustrates that authentic friendship is not defined by comfort or convenience, but by steadfastness in the face of adversity.

In contrast, many modern friendships struggle to withstand pressure. Misunderstandings, conflicts, or personal gain can quickly fracture relationships. Loyalty is often conditional, dependent on mutual benefit or social alignment. When challenges arise, it is easier to withdraw, remain silent, or align with the majority rather than stand firm for what is right. Furthermore, the prevalence of gossip and indirect communication weakens the foundation of trust. Words spoken in secrecy can damage reputations, erode confidence, and ultimately destroy relationships that were once meaningful.

Jonathan’s example calls for a radical redefinition of loyalty. It invites us to become individuals who protect, defend, and stand for our friends even when it is inconvenient or costly. It challenges us to move beyond surface-level connections and cultivate relationships grounded in integrity and courage.

Another defining characteristic of Jonathan and David’s friendship was their covenant. Their bond was not casual or temporary; it was intentional and enduring. They made a solemn commitment to one another before God, pledging faithfulness that extended beyond their own lifetimes. This sense of covenant reflects a depth of relationship that is rarely pursued today. In a culture that often prioritizes flexibility and personal freedom, long-term commitment in friendships can feel burdensome. People come and go easily, and relationships are sometimes treated as disposable when they no longer serve immediate needs.

However, the covenant between Jonathan and David teaches that true friendship requires intentional investment and perseverance. It is not sustained by fleeting emotions but by deliberate choice. It involves consistency, trustworthiness, and a willingness to remain present even during seasons of distance or difficulty.

Applying the principles of their friendship in today’s generation requires both reflection and action. First, it calls for a commitment to authenticity. Genuine friendship cannot thrive in an environment of pretense or hidden motives. It requires honesty, speaking truth with grace and refusing to engage in gossip or harmful insinuations. Choosing integrity in our words and actions creates a safe space where trust can grow.

Second, it demands humility. Like Jonathan, we must learn to celebrate the successes of others without comparison or insecurity. This involves recognizing that another person’s achievement does not diminish our own worth. Instead, it provides an opportunity to practice generosity of spirit and genuine encouragement.

Third, it requires courage. Loyalty is tested in moments of conflict and adversity. Standing by a friend when it is unpopular or inconvenient reflects the depth of our character. It means choosing to defend rather than abandon, to support rather than remain indifferent.

Finally, it invites intentionality. Strong friendships do not develop by accident; they are cultivated through consistent effort, meaningful communication, and shared values. Investing time and energy into relationships demonstrates that they are valued and worth preserving.

In conclusion, the friendship between Jonathan and David serves as a powerful standard against which modern relationships can be measured. In a generation where betrayal, gossip, and self-interest often overshadow loyalty and sincerity, their story offers a compelling alternative. It reminds us that true friendship is not defined by what we can gain, but by what we are willing to give. It is characterized by humility, sustained by loyalty, and strengthened through commitment.

The story of Jonah has always been familiar to me, often reduced to the well-known image of a man swallowed by a great fish. However, as I reflect more deeply on his life, I begin to see that his story is not merely a historical or biblical account—it is a mirror of my own spiritual journey. Through Jonah’s experiences, I come to understand profound truths about obedience, grace, and the nature of God.

At its core, Jonah’s story is one of resistance. When God called him to go to Nineveh, he chose to flee in the opposite direction. I realize that, in many ways, I have done the same. There are moments when I sense God leading me toward something that requires discomfort, humility, or sacrifice, and instead of responding with immediate obedience, I hesitate. Like Jonah, I sometimes allow fear, pride, or personal bias to influence my decisions. His attempt to escape reminds me that disobedience is not always loud or obvious; at times, it is found in quiet avoidance and delayed surrender.

What makes Jonah’s resistance even more striking is his awareness of God’s character. He did not run because he doubted God’s power, but because he understood His mercy. Jonah knew that if the people of Nineveh repented, God would forgive them and he struggled to accept that. This reveals a deeper issue within the human heart, one that I must also confront. I often desire grace for myself, yet find it difficult to extend the same compassion to others. Jonah’s attitude challenges me to examine whether my understanding of God’s mercy is truly aligned with His heart.

The consequences of Jonah’s disobedience were immediate and far-reaching. The storm that arose at sea not only endangered his life but also the lives of those around him. This reminds me that my choices are never entirely personal; they carry weight and can affect others in ways I may not immediately recognize. Yet even within the storm, I see God’s sovereignty. The chaos was not meant to destroy Jonah, but to redirect him. In my own life, I have encountered moments of disruption and difficulty that, in hindsight, served as turning points, gentle yet firm reminders of God’s will.

Perhaps the most powerful symbol in Jonah’s story is the great fish. What initially appears to be a form of judgment is, in reality, an act of divine mercy. The fish became a place of reflection, repentance, and restoration. In the same way, I have experienced seasons of confinement—times when I felt limited, uncomfortable, or uncertain. Yet it is often in these very moments that I am drawn closer to God, learning to depend on Him more fully. The “fish” in my life has never been my end; rather, it has been a place of transformation.

God’s decision to give Jonah a second chance speaks volumes about His character. Despite Jonah’s initial disobedience, God reaffirmed His calling and entrusted him once more with the mission to Nineveh. This reminds me that failure is not final in the eyes of God. His grace allows for new beginnings, and His patience extends far beyond my shortcomings. However, Jonah’s journey does not end with his obedience.

After Nineveh repented and God showed them mercy, Jonah became deeply displeased. He withdrew and sat outside the city, still struggling with the very compassion God had demonstrated. It is here that the lesson of the plant emerges, a subtle yet powerful moment that speaks directly to my own heart. God caused a plant to grow over Jonah, providing him with shade and comfort. Jonah was exceedingly glad because of the plant. But the next day, God appointed a worm to destroy it, and the plant withered. Under the scorching sun, Jonah once again found himself in discomfort and frustration.

This moment reveals a profound truth about misplaced priorities. Jonah grieved over the loss of a plant, something temporary, something he did not cultivate yet he showed little concern for the lives of the people in Nineveh. As I reflect on this, I am confronted with my own tendencies. How often do I become emotionally invested in things that are fleeting—comfort, convenience, personal preferences while remaining indifferent to matters of greater, eternal significance? The lesson of the plant exposes the narrowness of my compassion and invites me to see through God’s perspective.

God’s response to Jonah is both gentle and corrective. He highlights the contrast between Jonah’s concern for the plant and His own concern for an entire city filled with people. In doing so, God reveals that His mercy is not selective or limited—it is expansive and inclusive. This challenges me to broaden my understanding of compassion, to care not only for what affects me personally but also for the well-being of others, even those I may not fully understand or agree with.

In reflecting on Jonah’s life, I come to several important realizations. I cannot outrun God’s presence or His calling. His mercy pursues me even in moments of rebellion. Obedience, though often uncomfortable, leads to growth and purpose. And through the lesson of the plant, I am reminded to align my heart with God’s to value what He values and to extend compassion beyond my own boundaries.

It's been a while since I last posted something here—haha! I've just been really busy lately with different things, mostly life in general and, of course, work. But today, I finally have the time to share something because work has been suspended for three days straight due to the typhoon.

If you're in the Philippines and happen to be in one of the affected areas, please stay safe and take care!

As for today's post, I wanted to talk about a book I finished reading last Saturday—yes, I'm finally done with Abby's second series! The book is called Just for the Summer, which is actually the third book in her second series. Even though it's part of a series, you can read it on its own as a standalone. But if you're planning to read the whole series, I suggest starting with Part of Your World first, so you don’t accidentally spoil anything for yourself lol!

I think I read this book more slowly than usual because I struggled to connect with the two main characters at first. I often found myself putting the book down and taking breaks from it, which is why it took me a while to finish, just like when I read Part of Your World.

But what I really loved about this book were the quotes. They were so meaningful and true, and many of them really reflect real-life situations. Still, I was looking for that feeling of connection with the characters, something I didn't immediately find in the main characters.

However, as I got closer to the end of the book, I found myself in tears. That’s when I started to truly relate, especially to Emma and her relationship with her mother. It hit close to home. And then there's Justin his emotional burden really touched me too. His mom ended up in prison, and he had to take full custody of his three younger siblings. Just imagine the weight of that responsibility.

Both of them had so many personal struggles, issues that felt so familiar to me, as if they reflected the things I’ve been going through in my own life.

I was literally crying with my husband while reading the part where Emma finally discovers the truth about her mother. The emotional weight of that moment was just too much. Imagine living your whole life believing one version of your story, only to find out that the person you trusted most, your own mother was lying to you all along. That betrayal hit me hard.

It made me seriously question: are there really parents out there who would lie and manipulate their own child just for their own benefit? I couldn’t help but ask myself, if you're not willing to be honest with your children, why even become a parent in the first place? Telling the truth shouldn't be something that takes away from your life. Honesty is the bare minimum a child deserves.

What made it worse was that Emma genuinely loved her mother. She adored her. And that made the lies even more damaging. She was so deeply hurt that she ended up developing PTSD, not from a breakup or trauma with a stranger, but because of the things her own mother kept from her. All the important truths that were stolen from her. That kind of pain? That doesn’t go away easily.

There were moments when I was so mad, I wanted to jump into the book and confront her mom myself. The anger and frustration were real. That’s how strongly the story pulled me in.

And through all of this emotional chaos, Justin stood by her side. Even though he had a heavy burden of his own. I mean his mom went to prison, and suddenly he had full custody of his three younger siblings. Just imagine the responsibility, the pressure, and the emotional exhaustion. He had every reason to walk away and just focus on his own life, but he chose to be there for Emma anyway. That kind of quiet strength? I admired it so much.

That’s what made this book so powerful. It wasn’t just a love story, it was a reflection of real life. Of trauma, healing, responsibility, and how hard it is to navigate broken relationships especially the ones we’re born into. The story showed that pain doesn’t always come from enemies, it often comes from people we love the most.

I gave this book a full 5 stars. It completely deserves it. Even though it started out slow for me and honestly, I was a little confused at first about their plan to date and then break up just to find their supposed “soulmates” it all made sense in the end. That plot twist, where they realized they were each other’s soulmate all along? Ugh, I loved that.

Also, can we talk about Justin's sense of humor?! I swear, some of his lines had me laughing out loud. He added such a refreshing balance to all the emotional heaviness. And the way Emma describes how Justin works, so focused, so driven, I swear I was giggling and blushing like a teenager. It made me feel all the butterflies. 😂

Okay, so I no longer read romance books because I feel like I’ve matured as a reader hahaha. is that even a thing? Anyway, like what the Paramore song says, Abby Jimenez, you're the only exception lol. Right after I finished reading Part of Your World, I was debating whether I should read Yours Truly next. I thought about it for a whole week, but I ended up convincing myself, so I read it right away.

Mind you, I savored every word—I read it slowly because even from the first chapter, I already loved the characters. I could relate to them so much! Especially Jacob. I mean, both of them really. Briana with all her problems, and how everything felt so heavy for her. But I resonated more with Jacob, especially his anxiety.

I loved everything about this book: the characters, the story, and especially their families. Jacob’s family in particular? Ughhh, I adore them so much! They’re the kind of warm, supportive, and funny people you just wish you could be around in real life.

But you know, as someone who struggles with a lot of personal issues, I couldn’t help but relate to the parts where the characters would overthink things. Sometimes, that overthinking becomes the root of all the problems and most of the time, it's really just miscommunication. Ugh!! As much as I absolutely loved this book, the miscommunication between the characters really got to me. I couldn’t fully understand why they didn’t just talk things out. But then again—that's life. I’m like that too sometimes. I overthink, I assume, I hold back. So in a way, I get it.

Funny thing is, I usually hate books that center around miscommunication. I find it frustrating! 😂 But despite that, this book is still a solid 5 stars for me. Because even though I hated the miscommunication, I also loved it. It added so much tension, depth, and emotional weight to the story. It made everything feel more real and raw. It made the ending even more satisfying. So yes, frustrating? Definitely. But also beautiful. That’s what made the story flow so well.

Let me just say—Briana and Jacob’s story hit me in a way I wasn’t expecting. Like, I picked this book up thinking it would be light and fluffy (again, the cover is deceiving!), but what I got was this beautifully messy, raw, and tender story about two people trying to heal from their own wounds while slowly learning how to love again.

Briana, for starters, is such a layered character. She’s smart, strong, and funny, but you can feel how much she’s been hurt. She’s been carrying so many responsibilities for so long. Her brother’s illness, her failing marriage, and the betrayal from someone she once trusted completely. It made her guarded, and I don’t blame her at all. When you’ve been through that kind of emotional rollercoaster, it’s hard to open your heart again. But she does—little by little.

And then there’s Jacob. I don’t even know how to begin. This man deserves all the love in the world. He’s introverted, anxious, and deeply affected by the betrayal of his ex and his own brother, but he’s also one of the most thoughtful male characters I’ve read in a long time. His anxiety wasn’t romanticized or turned into a quirky trait. It was portrayed so genuinely, and I felt seen.

The way he wrote letters to Briana because talking gave him anxiety?? That absolutely gutted me in the best way. It was so personal and so real. Like, this man was trying (really trying) and it wasn’t flashy or dramatic. It was just full of heart. The fact that his love language was words of affirmation and acts of service? That kind of quiet love? That’s the stuff that stays.

And what I adored most was how gentle he was with Briana. No pressure. No forcing her to open up. He was just… there. A safe space. He gave her time and patience and showed her what it’s like to be loved without fear. It felt so refreshing to read about two people who weren’t trying to “fix” each other but were simply showing up, day after day, with all their baggage, and saying, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Their relationship felt like a warm hug after a long, hard day. You know that rare kind of love that doesn’t feel like a firework explosion but more like coming home after being lost for a long time? That’s what Briana and Jacob gave each other. And honestly, that’s what this book gave me.

Even the miscommunication, which normally drives me crazy felt grounded in reality. I still yelled internally at some points 😂, but at the same time, I understood where they were both coming from. Sometimes, especially when you’ve been hurt, it’s easier to assume the worst than to hope for the best. And this book captured that inner conflict so well.

One of the biggest things I took away from this book is the idea that we should be harmless to each other. The world already throws so much at us: stress, grief, pressure, disappointment, so if we’re blessed enough to love someone or be loved, the least we can do is be gentle with them. That’s what Jacob and Briana chose to be for each other. No power games, no emotional sabotage, no unnecessary drama, just two people choosing to be soft, kind, and safe for one another. And that really stayed with me.

Honestly? I think this book surpassed my all-time favorite series—which, until now, was the Percy Jackson series (yes, I said it 😂). I never thought I’d say that, but Abby Jimenez, you’ve written something that felt so deeply human. It's like every time you write, you’re holding up a mirror to our struggles, our anxieties, our heartbreak, our hopes and weaving them into a story that doesn’t just entertain but heals.

And Jacob’s journal? Don’t even get me started. As a fellow “journal girly,” that part felt so personal. I understand that not everyone finds it easy to speak their truth out loud, especially when emotions are overwhelming. The way Jacob poured his thoughts into writing because speaking gave him anxiety? That hit home for me. It reminded me that putting things into words quietly, privately is still a powerful way to process and express what we feel.

Also… let’s talk about Briana’s pregnancy twist 😭 hahahaha! I did not see that coming! But you know what? Even that felt real. Life throws surprises, and this book handled that moment with warmth and grace instead of turning it into a cliché.

In the end, this book wasn’t just about falling in love. It was about choosing love, even when you're scared. About showing up for someone, even when you feel like you're still figuring yourself out. And for that, it’s a story I’ll carry with me for a long, long time.

"The Lord said, 'I have indeed seen the misery of my people in Egypt. I have heard them crying out because of their slave drivers, and I am concerned about their suffering.'" —Exodus 3:7

Life can be unpredictable and harsh. One moment we are walking in the light, and the next we find ourselves lost in the middle of a storm—confused, afraid, and uncertain about what lies ahead. In those moments, one of the hardest things to believe is that God is still with us. When the winds of life rage and our prayers seem unanswered, Exodus 3:7 becomes more than just a comforting verse it becomes an anchor for the soul. The Israelites had been in bondage for generations. Their cries must have echoed across decades, pleas for freedom, groans of injustice, prayers that, to them, may have seemed forgotten. Yet God’s response to Moses reminds us of something profound: He was listening the entire time. "I have seen... I have heard... I am concerned." These aren’t the words of a distant deity. They are the voice of a compassionate, present, and loving Father. It’s important to note that when God spoke these words, the situation hadn’t changed yet. The chains of the Israelites were still heavy. Pharaoh still ruled. The burden was still real. And yet, God declared that their suffering had not gone unnoticed. This tells us something essential: God’s awareness and care are not dependent on immediate change. He is near even when the storm continues.

The Storm Within

Sometimes, the storms we face aren’t external at all. Sometimes they are internal battles—anxiety, depression, fear of failure, or deep loneliness. In those seasons, Exodus 3:7 becomes a whisper of truth amid the noise of doubt: God sees the storm in your mind and heart. And not only does He see it, He is moved by it. God does not require us to be strong before He pays attention. He did not wait for the Israelites to free themselves before responding. He met them in the middle of their misery. In the same way, He meets us in our mess. Even when all we can do is weep, even when our faith feels fragile, He is already near.

The Waiting Is Not Wasted

One of the most difficult aspects of suffering is the waiting. We want quick resolutions and fast answers. But the story of Exodus shows us that sometimes God is working slowly, thoroughly, preparing a full and complete redemption. Moses wasn’t ready the first time he stood up for justice. He had to go through a wilderness season before returning to Egypt. God was not late. He was preparing the right person at the right time. In our own lives, waiting doesn’t mean nothing is happening. Often, it's in the waiting that God is forming us, teaching us, building strength, and setting the stage for something greater than we imagined. Deliverance is not always immediate, but it is always on the way.

God’s Compassion Leads to Action

Another powerful truth about Exodus 3:7 is that God’s concern is never passive. His compassion moves Him to action. He doesn’t just observe our pain. He responds to it. The entire Exodus story is a testimony to the fact that God is not indifferent. He comes down. He calls. He acts. In our lives, too, God is still working through the comfort of a friend, the strength we didn’t know we had, the open door we weren’t expecting, or the peace that passes understanding. God may not remove every storm, but He promises to walk through it with us.

We Are Never Alone

Perhaps the most personal application of Exodus 3:7 is this: you are not alone in your pain. Whatever burden you’re carrying today, God knows it fully. He doesn’t overlook the quiet battles, the hidden tears, or the deep disappointments you carry silently. He doesn’t just see the big moments, He notices the everyday struggle to keep going. And more than that, He cares. This truth reshapes how we view suffering. It doesn’t always take the pain away, but it assures us that our pain is not pointless. It’s not invisible. It’s not ignored. Our tears matter to God. Our cries reach His heart.

Becoming Like the God Who Sees

As we experience God's heart in Exodus 3:7, we are also invited to reflect that heart to others. If God sees, hears, and is concerned, we are called to do the same for those around us. Sometimes, the most godly thing we can do is to be present for someone else, listening to their story, seeing their pain, offering comfort, and praying with them. Just as God responded with compassion and action, we too can be His hands and feet in a hurting world.

Conclusion: A Storm-Weathering Faith

Exodus 3:7 is not a quick fix, it is a steady promise. It doesn’t tell us that the storm will always end immediately, but it assures us that God is present through it. He sees our misery. He hears our cries. He is concerned about our suffering. And because of that, we can endure. We can hold on, knowing that our story doesn’t end in the storm. God is writing something greater. Just as He did for Israel, just as He did through Jesus, and just as He is doing in you.

I started reading this book last year, sometime around October. I only got through a few chapters before putting it down because at the time, I was also reading Never Lie by Freida McFadden—and I was so into that one compared to Part of Your World. But last week, during Holy Week, I decided to pick it up again. I figured, why not give it another shot? Honestly though, my main motivation was just that the book was expensive, so I felt like I had to finish it haha.

I want to keep this a non-spoiler review, so I’ll try to share my thoughts without giving too much away.

When I first picked up Part of Your World by Abby Jimenez, I struggled a bit. The pacing felt slow, and the romance unfolded very gradually. I’ll be honest—slow burns and slow-paced stories aren’t really my thing, which is why I ended up putting the book down for a while. I just couldn’t get into it at the time. But eventually, I came back to it, and I’m really glad I did.

Once I got deeper into the story, it hit me in ways I wasn’t expecting. There was one moment with Daniel that just wrecked me emotionally. I actually cried—his vulnerability, the way he opened himself up, especially in that moment of desperation... it really hit home. I felt like I knew him, like he was a real person. That’s when I realized the emotional build-up from the slow burn really paid off.

One of the standout things about this book for me was the town of Wakan and its people. The sense of community there is so heartwarming. It’s the kind of place where everyone genuinely cares. If one person is struggling, the rest step in without hesitation. It’s this beautiful, interconnected support system that honestly felt magical compared to the cold, transactional world Alexis comes from. Her world is ruled by money, image, and obligation. In Wakan, it’s about kindness, connection, and love—and you can really see how that contrast starts to shift her worldview.

Through Daniel and the people of Wakan, Alexis slowly learns that life doesn’t have to be about wealth or status. She starts realizing that she deserves more than just surviving in a world that doesn’t really see her. Even her heart—guarded and conditioned by years of pressure and emotional manipulation—starts to soften. You see her open up, slowly, and it feels earned.

As for the side characters… not all of them sat right with me. Alexis’s friends (aside from Bri, who was great) honestly made me mad. Some of them were just so judgmental, acting high and mighty like they were above everyone else. It was frustrating to read. And Neil—ugh. Sure, he apologized, but it didn’t feel real. There was no depth or sincerity behind his words. He felt like someone who says sorry just to move on, not someone who actually wants to change.

And then there’s Alexis’s dad. I have no words except: what a jerk. He treated her like she was just a tool for maintaining his legacy. No respect for her as a person, no regard for her happiness—just control. And the worst part is, he stays that way throughout the book. No growth, no redemption. It was infuriating to watch.

Thankfully, not all hope is lost. Alexis’s mom, who felt distant and passive for most of the book, does have some character growth by the end. It was a small win, but a meaningful one.

In the end, I’d say this book has a lot of depth and meaning. Even if it started off slow for me, it ended up delivering powerful messages—about healing, about choosing love over obligation, about building a life that feels good for you, not for others. It teaches you how important it is to show up for people, to be part of something bigger than yourself, and that wealth and status will never be more valuable than kindness and connection.

Forgiveness is a word we often hear in church pews, devotionals, and Sunday sermons. It's easy to nod our heads in agreement, quote the Lord's Prayer, or recall that time we said, “It’s okay, I forgive you.” But when we are deeply wounded—betrayed, disappointed, or wronged in ways that scar us—it becomes clear that forgiveness is not always easy. And yet, Scripture reminds us again and again: forgiveness is not optional. It is the heartbeat of our faith, the very reason we can stand before God without condemnation.

At the center of our salvation is Calvary—a hill where love bled, where mercy poured out, and where Jesus Christ took upon Himself the sins of humanity. The Cross is the greatest display of forgiveness ever known to mankind. And because of it, forgiveness is not just something we receive—it’s something we are called to give.

The Free Gift That Cost Everything

Forgiveness is freely given to us, but it was not cheap. It cost the Son of God His life. Jesus endured mockery, beating, betrayal, and crucifixion, not for His own sins, but for ours. The spotless Lamb was sacrificed so that sinners like us could be called righteous. That is the starting point of all Christian forgiveness.

When we truly understand the price Jesus paid at Calvary, we realize that forgiveness is not a nice gesture—it’s a reflection of the Gospel. It is not something we do when we feel ready or when the offender has made amends. Forgiveness is not dependent on apology or remorse. It is a decision, an act of obedience, and a manifestation of grace. Because Jesus forgave us completely, unconditionally, and undeservedly, we are called to do the same.

Forgiveness Is Not Optional

Jesus’ words in Matthew 6:14–15 are sobering:

“For if you forgive other people when they sin against you, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive others their sins, your Father will not forgive your sins.”

These verses are not vague. They’re not open to interpretation. Jesus makes it clear—our forgiveness of others is directly tied to our understanding and reception of His forgiveness for us. We cannot claim to walk in the light while holding on to darkness in our hearts.

When we withhold forgiveness, we put ourselves in the place of judge, forgetting that the only Righteous Judge has already shown mercy. And if He, being holy, could extend grace to the vilest of sinners, how dare we, who have been forgiven much, refuse to forgive?

Unforgiveness is not just a personal struggle—it is a spiritual rebellion. It says to God, “I want your forgiveness, but I won’t extend it to others.” It distorts the Gospel. It diminishes the Cross. And in its harshest reality, it insults Calvary.

An Insult to Calvary

This may sound strong, but let it sink in: to live in unforgiveness is to insult the sacrifice of Jesus. The very essence of the Cross was mercy toward the undeserving. Jesus cried out, “Father, forgive them,” while nails pierced His hands. He forgave the thief beside Him. He forgave Peter who denied Him. He forgave us, even before we ever thought to ask.

So when we say, “I can’t forgive,” what we really mean is, “Their offense is greater than what Christ did for me.” That’s not just painful—it’s prideful. It places our hurt above His healing. It says our judgment matters more than His mercy. And in doing so, we make light of the most precious act in history.

Forgiveness Isn’t Easy—But It’s Liberating

Let’s be honest: forgiveness doesn’t mean forgetting. It doesn’t erase the past or pretend the pain wasn’t real. It doesn’t require us to stay in harmful situations or trust someone who remains unrepentant. Forgiveness doesn’t minimize the wound—it entrusts it to the One who can heal.

When we forgive, we aren’t saying, “What you did was okay.” We’re saying, “I’m letting go of the right to make you pay, because Jesus paid for both of us.”

Forgiveness frees us. It breaks the chains of bitterness, resentment, and vengeance. It releases us from the heavy burden of being our own avenger. And it allows God to step in and bring justice in His perfect way and timing.

Forgive Because You Were Forgiven

Ephesians 4:32 says,

“Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.”

This is the standard. Not, “Forgive when they deserve it,” or “Forgive when the pain is gone,” but “Just as Christ forgave you.” That means fully, completely, and without condition.

Forgiveness is not optional because Christ’s forgiveness was not partial. It is freely given because we are recipients of a mercy so lavish, so undeserved, that to hoard it would be spiritual hypocrisy.

The Final Word

If you're struggling to forgive, bring your pain to the foot of the Cross. Remember Calvary—not just as a place of suffering, but as a place of victory. There, Jesus conquered sin, including the sins committed against you. There, He made forgiveness possible for you—and through you.

To forgive is not to forget the pain. It is to remember the Cross.

Yesterday’s preaching was centered on the Parable of the Wheat and the Tares, and it deeply moved me. As I listened, I couldn’t help but think of my dad. This particular parable was his favorite, and he used to share it with us often, especially during his dialysis sessions. It brought him comfort and wisdom during difficult times, and hearing it again yesterday felt like a warm reminder of his faith and strength.

The message truly resonated with me, not only because of the personal memories it stirred, but also because of its powerful relevance to our lives today. The idea that wheat and tares—true believers and false ones—grow side by side in the same field reminds us that appearances can be deceiving, and that it is God alone who truly knows the heart. It also speaks of patience, trust, and hope. God is not blind to what happens in the world or in the Church. He sees everything, and in His perfect time, there will be a harvest—a time of separation, justice, and reward.

I just wanted to share my personal reflection on yesterday’s preaching and offer some thoughts on what we can learn from it. The parable challenges us to examine our own hearts, to stay rooted in truth, and to trust in God’s timing even when we don’t understand why certain things are allowed to grow. It reminds us that our role is not to judge but to keep growing, keep loving, and keep bearing fruit.

In the Gospel of Matthew 13:24–30, Jesus presents one of His most thought-provoking parables—the parable of the wheat and the tares. Though short and seemingly simple, this story holds powerful truths about the kingdom of God, the Church, and the condition of the human heart. As Jesus tells it, a man sowed good seed in his field, but while men slept, an enemy came and sowed tares among the wheat. The tares—likely darnel, a weed that looks like wheat—grew alongside the real crop. When the servants noticed the problem, they asked if they should pull out the weeds. But the master said no, lest they also uproot the wheat. Instead, he instructed them to let both grow together until the harvest, when the reapers would separate them: the wheat would be gathered into the barn, and the tares burned.

On the surface, this parable is agricultural. But as with many of Jesus’ teachings, its meaning goes far deeper. Jesus later explains the parable to His disciples in verses 36–43. The sower is the Son of Man; the field is the world; the good seed represents the sons of the kingdom, and the tares are the sons of the wicked one. The enemy is the devil, the harvest is the end of the age, and the reapers are the angels. This explanation reveals the sobering truth that in this present world—even in the visible Church—there will always be a mixture of true believers and those who only appear to be. The parable becomes not just a story, but a lens through which we view the Christian life today.

One of the most striking messages we gather from this parable is that not everything that appears to be of God truly is. The tares and the wheat look alike during their early growth. To the untrained eye, both may seem good, healthy, and productive. In the same way, in our Christian world today, not everyone who claims the name of Christ is truly a follower of Jesus. We live in an age where Christianity can become a cultural label rather than a lived-out faith. Many attend church, speak Christian language, even lead ministries, yet lack a personal relationship with Jesus and the fruit of the Spirit. Jesus Himself warned of this in Matthew 7:21 when He said, “Not everyone who says to Me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ shall enter the kingdom of heaven, but he who does the will of My Father in heaven.” This verse should cause each of us to reflect deeply on the authenticity of our walk with God.

The parable also uncovers the subtlety of the enemy’s tactics. The enemy sows tares while men sleep. His work is not always loud or obvious; sometimes, it is quiet and unnoticed. In today’s Church, the devil sows seeds of compromise, confusion, and counterfeit spirituality. He imitates what is real, distorting the gospel and diluting the truth. This is why we see false teachings, prosperity gospels, divisions, and lukewarm faith rising even within communities of believers. The devil is not only interested in persecution from the outside; he often works from within, quietly introducing elements that choke growth and blur the lines between truth and deception.

This leads us to another important lesson: the Church will always be a mixed field—for now. We often long for a pure, holy, and flawless body of believers. We wish the Church could be a place without sin, hypocrisy, or struggle. But Jesus reminds us that as long as we live in this world, the wheat and the tares will grow together. God, in His wisdom, allows them to coexist for a season. Why? Because uprooting the tares too soon may also damage the wheat. This is a call for patience and trust in God’s timing. As believers, we may find ourselves discouraged by the sin we see in others, by scandals in the Church, or by believers who hurt rather than heal. But God sees all. He knows His own. And He promises that at the end of the age, He will do the separating.

The parable also teaches us not to assume the role of judge. The servants in the story wanted to pull up the tares, but the master told them not to. In the same way, we must resist the urge to label or condemn others too quickly. We may think we are helping God by pointing out who is real and who is fake, but our judgment is limited and imperfect. There are times when someone we assume to be a tare may actually be a struggling believer, and someone we admire as wheat may prove to be false. Only God sees the heart. Only He can perfectly separate the righteous from the unrighteous. Our role is not to judge, but to love, pray, and walk in truth. This does not mean we tolerate sin or refuse to confront what is wrong, but we do so with humility, grace, and a deep awareness that we, too, are in need of mercy.

Perhaps one of the most encouraging truths in the parable is that the wheat continues to grow despite the presence of the tares. The good seed is not choked out. The wheat still matures, still bears fruit, and still becomes ready for the harvest. This speaks to the power of God at work in His people. Even in a world of spiritual confusion, even in a Church that sometimes stumbles, God’s true children are growing. The presence of tares does not stop the wheat from becoming what it was meant to be. In fact, the contrast between the two makes the wheat’s fruit even more evident.

Finally, this parable reminds us that a day of harvest is coming. There will be a time when the wheat and tares are separated. The wheat will be gathered into God’s barn—a picture of eternal life and reward—while the tares will be burned, representing eternal separation and judgment. This should stir both comfort and urgency in our hearts. Comfort, because we know that God will not allow injustice, sin, and deception to go unchecked forever. He will make all things right. But also urgency, because we are not promised forever to get our lives in order. The harvest will come, and we must be ready.

In our Christian world today, this parable speaks louder than ever. It calls us to examine our faith, to pursue a real and growing relationship with Jesus, and to bear fruit that lasts. It warns us not to be discouraged when we see brokenness in the Church or confusion in the world. It reminds us that God is still in control, still watching, and still working. And most of all, it assures us that the harvest will come—and on that day, every heart will be revealed.

Lately, I’ve been feeling out of the blue—tired, anxious, and uncertain about tomorrow. It’s as if the weight of the world has settled on my shoulders, and no matter how much I try to shake it off, the worries linger. The “what-ifs” whisper in my mind, stealing my peace. But in the middle of my restlessness, I found an unexpected source of encouragement: the Book of Philippians.

Paul wrote this letter while in prison, yet it is filled with so much joy, hope, and confidence in Christ. How could a man, locked away and facing an uncertain future, radiate such unwavering faith? As I read through Philippians, I began to see a clear message—joy isn’t about my circumstances; it’s about my perspective.

Rejoice, Even When It Doesn't Make Sense

Paul says, “Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice!” (Philippians 4:4). At first, I struggled with this verse. How do I rejoice when life feels heavy? But then I realized—Paul wasn’t saying to ignore my struggles. He was reminding me that joy comes from the Lord, not from my situation. Rejoicing isn’t about pretending everything is perfect; it’s about choosing to trust God even when it’s not.

Paul’s life was filled with hardships—beatings, imprisonment, shipwrecks, and rejection—but he still found joy. In Philippians 1:12-14, he explains that his suffering actually advanced the gospel: "Now I want you to know, brothers and sisters, that what has happened to me has actually served to advance the gospel. As a result, it has become clear throughout the whole palace guard and to everyone else that I am in chains for Christ." Even in suffering, Paul saw purpose. This encouraged me—maybe my struggles, too, can be used for God’s glory.

Replacing Anxiety with Prayer

One of the verses that spoke directly to my heart was Philippians 4:6-7: “Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”

I needed to hear this. I had been holding onto my worries, trying to figure everything out on my own. But Paul’s words reminded me that peace isn’t something I create—it’s something God gives when I surrender my anxieties to Him. So, instead of dwelling on my fears, I decided to bring them to God in prayer, trusting that His peace would guard my heart.

This reminds me of another passage in Romans 5:3-5: “Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us.” Paul teaches us that suffering isn’t pointless—it shapes us and leads us to hope.

Strength for Today, Hope for Tomorrow

Philippians 1:6 reminded me that I am a work in progress: “Being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.” God isn’t finished with me yet. The uncertainty I feel about tomorrow doesn’t mean God isn’t working. He is still shaping me, refining me, and preparing me for what’s ahead.

And when I feel weak? Philippians 4:13 gives me confidence: “I can do all this through him who gives me strength.” Paul wasn’t just talking about achieving great things—he was talking about enduring hardships with God’s strength. And if he could find strength in Christ while imprisoned, I can find strength in Him today, no matter what I’m facing.

Paul also gives us hope in 2 Corinthians 4:16-18: “Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.” These verses remind me to shift my focus from my struggles to the bigger picture—eternity with Christ.

Suffering With Purpose

Paul didn’t just endure suffering; he embraced it, knowing that it served a greater purpose. In Philippians 3:10, he says, "I want to know Christ—yes, to know the power of his resurrection and participation in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death." His goal wasn’t just to escape hardship—it was to grow closer to Christ through it.

Another encouraging passage is 2 Corinthians 12:9-10, where Paul talks about his "thorn in the flesh": "But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong." This verse reminds me that God’s strength is revealed in my weaknesses. I don’t have to have it all together—God’s grace is enough.

Choosing Joy in Christ

Paul’s words in Philippians aren’t just a call to be happy—they are an invitation to experience deep, unshakable joy in Christ. A joy that doesn’t fade when life gets hard. A joy that isn’t based on circumstances but on the unchanging love of God.

So, as I walk through my struggles, I choose to hold on to the truth found in Philippians. I choose to rejoice, to pray instead of worry, and to trust that God is still at work. My circumstances may not change overnight, but my heart is being transformed. And that gives me the hope I need for tomorrow.

No matter what comes, I hold onto Paul’s final encouragement in Philippians 4:19: "And my God will meet all your needs according to the riches of his glory in Christ Jesus." God will provide—not just physically, but emotionally and spiritually. He will give me the strength to press on, just as He did for Paul.

Throughout the New Testament, two of Jesus’ closest disciples, Apostle John and Apostle Peter, stand out as remarkable figures who embody different aspects of faith, growth, and discipleship. Their journeys were distinct, yet both offer valuable lessons for believers today. At times, we may find ourselves identifying more with Peter—impulsive, passionate, and sometimes struggling with doubt—while at other times, we might resonate with John’s deep love and steady faith. Their stories remind us of the complexities of our Christian walk and the grace that sustains us through it all.

Peter: The Passionate but Imperfect Disciple

Peter was known for his boldness and zeal. He was the disciple who stepped out of the boat to walk on water, declared Jesus as the Messiah, and promised unwavering loyalty. However, his impulsiveness also led him to moments of failure—he doubted and began to sink, he rebuked Jesus out of misunderstanding, and he famously denied Christ three times before the rooster crowed. Yet, despite these shortcomings, Peter was restored by Jesus, who called him to “feed my sheep” (John 21:17).

Many of us can relate to Peter’s journey. We are eager to follow Christ, yet we sometimes falter in fear, doubt, or failure. But Peter’s story reminds us that God does not abandon us in our weaknesses. Instead, He refines us, strengthens our faith, and calls us to continue the work He has set before us. Peter’s life is a testament to the power of God’s grace and the transformation that comes through His love. His later leadership in the early church, his bold preaching at Pentecost, and his unwavering commitment—even to martyrdom—show how God can use even the most flawed individuals for His glory.

John: The Disciple of Love and Devotion

John, often referred to as “the disciple whom Jesus loved,” presents a different yet equally compelling example of faith. His Gospel and letters emphasize love, truth, and deep relationship with Christ. John was present at the crucifixion, entrusted with the care of Jesus’ mother, and later wrote the powerful visions in Revelation. His writings call believers to abide in Christ, love one another, and remain faithful.

Unlike Peter, John does not have a record of dramatic failures or moments of doubt. Instead, he is a picture of quiet strength and devotion. For many Christians, John’s example challenges us to grow in our love for Christ and others, to seek deep intimacy with God, and to remain steadfast even in times of trial. His faithfulness reminds us that a life centered on God’s love is a life of enduring impact. John’s unwavering faith through persecution, including his exile on Patmos, shows that love and devotion to Christ can sustain us through life’s harshest trials.

We Are Both Peter and John

As believers, we often find ourselves walking the line between Peter’s passionate imperfection and John’s steady devotion. There are moments when we are bold but reckless, faithful but fearful. Other times, we are deeply connected to Christ, resting in His love and truth. The beauty of their stories is that both were used mightily by God despite their differences.

God calls us to embrace both passion and devotion, courage and humility. Peter and John’s lives remind us that our faith journey is one of growth, restoration, and grace. Whether we see ourselves more like Peter, struggling but willing, or like John, quietly abiding in love, the most important lesson is that Jesus calls us to follow Him wholeheartedly. Even in their differences, they shared a common mission: to proclaim Christ. Peter’s preaching and John’s writings continue to shape Christianity, teaching us that diverse expressions of faith are all valuable in God’s kingdom.

God’s Plan for Our Journey

One of the most beautiful aspects of Peter and John’s journey is how their stories intertwine. They were not only fellow disciples but also ministry partners. After the resurrection, they were seen together spreading the Gospel, healing the sick, and boldly testifying about Christ (Acts 3:1-10). Despite their differing personalities, they shared a common purpose—to make Christ known.

This teaches us an essential lesson: God uses each of us uniquely, and our differences do not disqualify us from serving Him. Some of us may be outspoken and take leadership roles like Peter, while others may be quiet and contemplative like John. What matters is not how we serve but that we remain faithful in our calling.

In the end, both Peter and John teach us that our identity is not in our failures or strengths but in our relationship with Christ. He is the one who transforms us, equips us, and leads us into His purpose. Let us walk this journey with the confidence that He who called us is faithful to complete His work in us (Philippians 1:6). Let us embrace both the fiery passion of Peter and the steadfast love of John, knowing that God’s grace is more than enough to sustain us through every season of our faith.

Perseverance in Faith: A Reflection on Hebrews 12:2-3

Life isn’t always easy. We all face challenges—some small, some monumental—that can leave us feeling weary, discouraged, or even ready to give up. But Hebrews 12:2-3 offers us a profound reminder of where we should turn when we feel overwhelmed, tired, or defeated. These verses call us to fix our eyes on Jesus, the ultimate example of faith, endurance, and hope.

“Fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.”

“Consider him who endured such opposition from sinners, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.”

In these verses, we are reminded to look to Jesus—who not only started our faith journey but also completed it—when we face difficulties. Jesus is described as the “pioneer” (the one who begins the journey of faith) and the “perfecter” (the one who completes and fulfills it). His life was a perfect example of how to endure in faith, even when the road is painful or challenging.

Jesus endured the cross, a symbol of shame and suffering, but He didn’t just endure it out of obligation or duty. Hebrews tells us that He endured the cross “for the joy set before him.” Jesus saw beyond the pain to the purpose. He knew that His sacrifice would bring salvation to the world, and that, after His suffering, He would return to the right hand of God. This joy was His motivation, and it helped Him persevere through the most difficult moment in history.

But it’s not just about Jesus’ physical suffering. Hebrews 12:3 reminds us that Jesus also faced opposition from sinners—He was misunderstood, betrayed, mocked, and rejected. Yet, He didn’t allow any of that to deter Him from His mission. Instead, He pressed on, undeterred by the challenges, and completed His work.

We’re called to follow His example. When we face trials—whether they are personal struggles, relational difficulties, or the everyday challenges of life—Hebrews 12 urges us to consider Jesus. Think about His strength, His resolve, His focus on the joy that awaited Him. When we shift our focus to Jesus, we can draw strength from His example and be reminded that our own struggles are not in vain. Just like Jesus, we too can press forward, knowing that God’s purpose for us is greater than any temporary hardship.

The key is in not losing heart. When we keep our eyes fixed on Jesus, we gain perspective. The pain we experience in this life isn’t the end of the story. Just as Jesus endured the cross to fulfill God’s perfect plan, we are invited to press on with the assurance that our trials are temporary and God’s promises are eternal.

So, what does this mean for us today? It means that no matter what we are facing, we don’t have to face it alone. Jesus, who endured the greatest pain for the greatest purpose, is right there with us, empowering us to keep going. He is our source of strength, and in Him, we find the perseverance to endure with hope.

Let this truth encourage you today: Fix your eyes on Jesus. When the road feels long, when you feel weary or discouraged, remember that He has gone before you, and He will help you finish strong. There is joy set before us, just as there was for Him—and that joy is worth every step of the journey.

There is something incredibly humbling about coming to the Lord empty. I used to think I had to approach Him with something in my hands—good works, eloquent prayers, or at least a heart full of faith. But the more I grow in my walk with Christ, the more I realize that He does not ask for my strength; He asks for my surrender.

For the longest time, I resisted the idea of coming empty. I thought that if I just tried harder, prayed longer, or served more, I would somehow earn God’s favor. But all that striving left me exhausted. My prayers felt forced, my worship felt mechanical, and my heart was weary from trying to prove myself to a God who already knew my weaknesses. It wasn’t until I reached the end of myself—when I had nothing left to give—that I truly understood the beauty of coming empty before Him.

Jesus said in Matthew 11:28, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” Notice that He doesn’t say, “Come to me when you have it all together” or “Come to me when you have something to offer.” No, He simply says, “Come.” Just as you are. With all your brokenness, all your doubts, and even your emptiness.

There was a season in my life when I felt completely depleted. My prayers seemed to bounce off the ceiling, and I felt as though I had nothing left to give. I remember kneeling before the Lord, feeling utterly useless. I had no fancy words, no spiritual accomplishments—just a deep ache in my soul. And yet, it was in that moment of emptiness that I felt the overwhelming presence of God. Not because I had earned it, but because He is faithful even when I am weak.

Coming empty means acknowledging that I am not enough on my own, but He is more than enough. It means surrendering my self-sufficiency and admitting that I need Him desperately. It’s letting go of my pride and allowing His grace to fill every broken place in my heart.

One of the most powerful examples of coming empty before the Lord is found in the story of the widow in 2 Kings 4. She had nothing left—her husband had died, and her debts were so great that her sons were about to be taken as slaves. She had no resources, no security, and no plan. But when she brought her emptiness to Elisha, he told her to gather empty jars and pour what little oil she had into them. As she obeyed, the oil miraculously kept flowing until every jar was full.

That’s exactly what God does in our lives. When we come to Him empty, He fills us. When we surrender our nothingness, He pours out His abundance. When we bring Him our weakness, He gives us His strength.

If you are feeling empty today, know that you are exactly where you need to be. God is not looking for your perfection; He is looking for your surrender. Lay down your striving, your fears, your doubts, and your burdens at His feet. Let Him be the one to fill you. Let His grace be the oil that overflows in your life.

There is no shame in coming empty. It is in our emptiness that we make room for Him to do what only He can do. So, I am learning, day by day, to come before Him with nothing but an open heart, trusting that He will fill me again and again. And every time I do, I find that His grace is always enough.

In a world where negativity often overshadows hope, the phrase “Be a fountain, not a drain” serves as a powerful reminder of the kind of life we are called to live. A fountain continuously overflows, giving water to those who thirst, while a drain only takes in and empties out whatever comes its way. As Christians, we are meant to be givers of life, encouragement, and grace, rather than sources of exhaustion and negativity.

The Biblical Call to Overflow

Scripture repeatedly emphasizes the importance of being a source of life to others. In John 7:38, Jesus declares, “Whoever believes in me, as Scripture has said, rivers of living water will flow from within them.” This verse illustrates that when we are deeply connected to Christ, we do not merely survive—we overflow. Just as a fountain does not run dry because it is connected to a source, we remain full when we abide in God’s presence.

Proverbs 11:25 reinforces this truth: “A generous person will prosper; whoever refreshes others will be refreshed.” This principle challenges the worldly mindset that prioritizes self-preservation above all else. In reality, the more we pour into others—through kindness, love, and wisdom—the more we ourselves are renewed.

The Danger of Being a Drain

On the other hand, being a “drain” means constantly taking without replenishing, absorbing without giving. A drain is characterized by negativity, self-centeredness, and discouragement. People who function as drains often drain others as well, leaving behind exhaustion instead of renewal. Philippians 2:3-4 reminds us, “Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility, value others above yourselves, not looking to your own interests but each of you to the interests of the others.” A self-focused life not only harms those around us but also leads to spiritual emptiness.

Choosing to Be a Fountain

Becoming a fountain requires intentional effort. First, we must remain rooted in Christ, allowing Him to fill us daily through prayer, worship, and the study of His Word. Just as a fountain cannot function without a steady water source, we cannot pour into others if we are spiritually empty.

Second, we must practice generosity—not just in material things but in our words, time, and actions. A simple act of encouragement, a listening ear, or a small act of kindness can make a significant difference in someone’s life.

Lastly, we must guard our hearts against bitterness and resentment, which can turn even the most well-meaning individuals into drains. Ephesians 4:31-32 instructs us, “Get rid of all bitterness, rage and anger, brawling and slander, along with every form of malice. Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you.” Forgiveness and love are essential to maintaining a heart that overflows rather than depletes.

At the end of the day, we all have a choice—to be a fountain that gives life or a drain that takes it away. As followers of Christ, our calling is clear: to overflow with His love, wisdom, and kindness so that others may be refreshed. By staying connected to our ultimate Source, we can ensure that we remain fountains in a world that so desperately needs living water.

I've been living in Muntinlupa since the day I was born, yet I never really took the time to learn about its rich history. It was always just home to me—a place I was familiar with but never deeply explored beyond the daily routines of life.

However, last Wednesday, I had the opportunity to visit the Museo ng Muntinlupa for an ocular inspection. Our church is planning to hold a concert in their theater area, and this visit was part of our preparations. Interestingly, this isn’t the first time we’ve used the venue. Back in 2019, we also held a concert there, and I remember taking a guided tour of the museum’s second floor, where various historical collections were displayed. Unfortunately, over time, I had forgotten many of the details from that visit.

This time, though, I paid closer attention—and I was completely blown away. As our tour guide began recounting the history of Muntinlupa, I found myself utterly amazed. Every story, every fact, and every piece of history she shared left me in awe. It was as if I was seeing my hometown in a completely different light. I had lived here all my life, yet I never truly understood the depth of its past. With each word the guide spoke, I felt my perspective shifting, and by the end of the tour, I realized just how much I had been missing.

Now, I want to take you along on this journey—to share with you the history of the city I call home, a place that is far more than just familiar streets and landmarks. Muntinlupa has a story worth telling, and I can’t wait to dive into it with you.

Whenever people hear about my city, their first reaction is often a question: “Inside or outside?” They’re referring, of course, to the New Bilibid Prison, which is located in Muntinlupa. For many, that’s the only thing they associate with our city. But Muntinlupa is so much more than just the site of the national penitentiary, and I’m excited to share its deeper history with you.

Upon entering the Museo ng Muntinlupa, I was immediately captivated, especially when we reached the second floor, where artifacts and replicas were displayed. The museum itself is divided into three sections—Lakas (Strength), Talino (Wisdom), and Buhay (Life)—each representing different aspects of Muntinlupa’s past and cultural identity.

Before stepping into the exhibit halls, the first thing that caught my eye was a reproduction of the Murillo Velarde Map from 1734. This historical map is not only a crucial guide to understanding the early geography of the Philippines, but it also serves as evidence that Scarborough Shoal rightfully belongs to the Philippines—a claim that China has been disputing. Seeing this centuries-old map was fascinating because its appearance was vastly different from the maps we’re used to today. It was a glimpse into how our ancestors saw and understood their land.

Next, I came across another important map—the Laguna de Bay map. This map reveals that Muntinlupa was once part of Rizal Province before it became an independent city. It also provided insight into the origins of Muntinlupeños—most of whom were Tagalos, or native Tagalog-speaking settlers from Southern Luzon. Historically, Muntinlupa has always been situated in the southernmost part of Metro Manila, bordering the provinces of Laguna and Cavite.

Given its close proximity to Laguna de Bay, it’s no surprise that fishing was the primary livelihood of Muntinlupa’s early settlers. One of the traditional fishing tools they used was the salakab, a dome-shaped fish trap made of woven bamboo designed to catch fish efficiently. Interestingly, the very structure of the Museo ng Muntinlupa was inspired by the shape of the salakab, making the museum itself a tribute to the city’s roots in fishing and aquatic life.

Walking through the museum, I felt a newfound appreciation for my city. There is so much history here—far beyond what most people assume. It’s not just a place tied to the New Bilibid Prison; it’s a place rich with stories of strength, intelligence, and resilience. And I can’t wait to share more of what I learned.

In 1680, Muntinlupa was established as a hacienda by the Augustinian friars, marking the beginning of its transformation into an organized settlement. The Augustinians divided the land into six distinct areas: Girense, Bule, Copang, Alabang, Malosac, Italon, and Muntinlupa. Interestingly, some of these areas—Bule, Cupang, and Alabang—still exist today as barangays of modern-day Muntinlupa.

Due to its fertile soil, Muntinlupa became an ideal location for agriculture. The land was highly suitable for farming, and early settlers cultivated a variety of crops, including palay (rice), mais (corn), algodon (cotton), niyog (coconut), and munggo (mung beans), among others. This agricultural abundance sustained the livelihoods of many locals and contributed to the economic growth of the area.

Beyond its agricultural significance, Muntinlupa also played a role in Philippine history. One of the notable encounters between Filipino revolutionaries and American forces took place here, marking one of the victories of the Filipino forces during the Philippine-American War. It was incredible to learn that the city I have lived in my entire life was once a battleground where Filipinos fought bravely for freedom.

Another fascinating historical artifact that our tour guide showed us was the first tax booklet from World War II. This old document contained the names of Muntinlupa’s early taxpayers during the wartime period. At that time, Muntinlupa was still under the jurisdiction of Provincia de Manila, reflecting its historical ties before becoming an independent city.

As I absorbed all this information, I couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of pride and amazement. I had never realized just how much history was woven into the very place I call home. Muntinlupa is more than just a bustling city—it holds stories of resilience, triumph, and deep-rooted heritage that deserve to be remembered and shared.

The next section of the museum was Talino (Wisdom), where our tour guide introduced us to one of Muntinlupa’s most significant institutions—the Research Institute for Tropical Medicine (RITM). I had heard of RITM before, especially during the pandemic, but I never fully understood its importance until that day.

RITM is a renowned research institution specializing in the study of tropical and infectious diseases. It plays a crucial role in disease prevention and control in the Philippines, conducting medical research and producing essential treatments. But what truly caught my attention was when the guide discussed one of its most fascinating contributions—the Purified Cobra Antivenin (PCAV).

This antivenin is the only known effective antidote for snakebites caused by the Philippine cobra, a highly venomous snake native to the country. Just one bite from this snake can be fatal, as its neurotoxic venom can paralyze the respiratory system in mere minutes. Incredibly, RITM has been the sole producer and distributor of this life-saving cobra antivenom in the Philippines since the 1960s.

Curious about why Muntinlupa, of all places, became home to such a laboratory, I asked the tour guide about it. She explained that Muntinlupa used to have a significant number of snakes, which made it an ideal location for venom research and antivenom production. This made perfect sense—after all, scientific research is often conducted where the problem is most prevalent.

But as we talked about antidotes, a thought came to my mind—a biblical parallel.

Did you know that the true antidote for a snakebite was once described in the Bible? In the Old Testament, when the Israelites were bitten by venomous snakes in the wilderness, God commanded Moses to lift up a bronze serpent on a pole. Anyone who looked at it in faith would be healed (Numbers 21:8-9). This was a foreshadowing of Jesus Christ, who would later say, "Just as Moses lifted up the snake in the wilderness, so the Son of Man must be lifted up, that everyone who believes may have eternal life in Him" (John 3:14-15).

Just as the antivenom neutralizes the deadly effects of a cobra’s bite, Jesus' blood is the antidote to the venom of sin. Sin, like snake venom, brings death—but the blood of Jesus, the Lamb of God, redeems and restores us. That’s why Christ is called the greatest Lamb—because through His sacrifice, we are saved from the eternal consequences of sin.

Muntinlupa was once a stock farm before the land was sold to Filinvest, where some of the city's most well-known commercial establishments now stand—including Festival Mall, Landers, and other major malls in the area. This stock farm, known as the Alabang Stock Farm, was officially established on December 30.

The Alabang Stock Farm played a significant role in livestock breeding and agriculture. It housed horses, cattle, goats, chickens, and pigs, which were carefully crossbred with animals from other regions. The goal was to produce stronger, disease-resistant livestock that could thrive in local conditions. This farm became a major source of high-quality breeds for Filipino farmers, contributing to agricultural advancements in the country.

While exploring this part of the museum, I was struck by one of Jose Rizal’s most famous quotes displayed on the wall:

"To foretell the destiny of a nation, it is necessary to open the book that tells of her past."

This quote resonated deeply with me. It reminded me of the importance of understanding history—not just for knowledge’s sake, but to shape the future. Muntinlupa’s past is often overshadowed by its association with the New Bilibid Prison (NBP), but this city holds so much more than that.

After exploring RITM and the Alabang Stock Farm, we had the opportunity to learn about the history of the New Bilibid Prison. A section of the museum displayed the old prison uniforms, which were black and white striped. This stood in contrast to the present-day uniforms worn by Persons Deprived of Liberty (PDLs), which are now in orange, blue, and brown.

Muntinlupa became home to the New Bilibid Prison because of the severe overcrowding of the Old Bilibid Prison in Manila during the American colonial period. Due to the increasing number of prisoners, authorities decided to transfer the facility to a more spacious area—thus, the New Bilibid Prison was established in Muntinlupa. Over time, this prison became one of the most well-known correctional facilities in the country.

One of the most haunting artifacts in this section of the museum was a replica of the electric chair, or as it was commonly called, "Silya Elektrika." This execution method was adopted from the Americans and was once used for capital punishment in the Philippines. The setup included a red telephone placed beside the chair, symbolizing a crucial last-minute decision. During that time, only the President had the authority to grant clemency or allow the execution to proceed.

Above the electric chair, there was a clock permanently set to 3:00 PM—a chilling detail that drew a parallel to the time of Jesus’ death on the cross. The symbolism was striking, serving as a somber reminder of justice, sacrifice, and the weight of final judgment.

The first recorded execution by electric chair in the Philippines was Baby Ama, a well-known figure in the country’s criminal history. Seeing this part of the museum was chilling, as it was a reminder of how justice was served in the past and how the system has evolved over time.

As I walked through these exhibits, I couldn’t help but reflect on Muntinlupa’s complex and fascinating history. From its beginnings as a hacienda and stock farm to its role in scientific research, agriculture, and correctional facilities, the city holds a deep and layered past. Learning about it firsthand made me appreciate Muntinlupa in a whole new light.

After the Japanese forces in the Philippines formally surrendered on September 3, 1945, Bilibid Prison in Muntinlupa became their detention facility. A total of 138 Japanese soldiers were sentenced to death for war crimes, and 17 of them were executed. Within the New Bilibid Prison (NBP) Reservation Compound, a garden cemetery was established as the final resting place for those who perished.

Despite the horrors and suffering caused by the Japanese occupation, the Japanese prisoners of war detained in Bilibid were treated with remarkable dignity and respect under the supervision of Prison Director Alfredo Bunye. This act of humanity stood in stark contrast to the brutality of war and reflected the Filipino people's capacity for compassion and forgiveness.

As time passed, the Japanese people sought mercy and forgiveness from the Philippine government, appealing for clemency on behalf of their countrymen. These appeals were eventually granted during the administration of President Elpidio Quirino. What made his decision even more profound was that Quirino himself had suffered immense personal loss—his wife and three children were killed by Japanese soldiers during the Battle of Manila.

Yet, in an extraordinary act of grace, President Quirino granted executive clemency to those convicted of war crimes, including 114 Japanese prisoners of war. His decision was a testament to the power of forgiveness, choosing reconciliation over retribution to heal the wounds of the past.

As a gesture of gratitude, Her Majesty Empress Michiko of Japan presented President Quirino with a special apparition symbolizing his wife and three children, honoring his incredible act of mercy and the unbreakable spirit of peace between the two nations.

The final part of our tour was “Buhay” (Life), where the tour guide introduced us to the various industries and factories that have shaped Muntinlupa over the years. One of the most vivid memories from my childhood was the Nescafé factory in Alabang. Every morning, the distinct aroma of freshly brewed coffee would fill the air, drifting through the streets and greeting the early risers. It was a familiar and comforting scent, a nostalgic reminder of simpler times. Sadly, the tour guide mentioned that most of the factories that once thrived in Muntinlupa have now closed, with only Amspec remaining. This company specializes in producing colors and crayons, continuing the city’s legacy of industrial contribution.

Our guide then walked us through the symbolism of Muntinlupa’s official seal, each element representing a key aspect of the city’s identity: The nine stars stand for the nine barangays of Muntinlupa. The city became an independent town in 1917 and officially gained city status in 1995. The words Lakas, Talino, at Buhay (Strength, Wisdom, and Life)—taken from the Muntinlupa March—represent the core values that guide the city towards progress. The bamboo (kawayan) symbolizes the resilience and adaptability of Muntinlupeños in the face of challenges. The Philippine eagle (agila) signifies the city’s ambition to soar high and establish itself as a premier city in the country. And of course, the Philippine flag proudly reflects our national identity and patriotism.

One of the most fascinating facts I learned was that the Muntinlupa city logo was designed by Manuel Amorsolo, the son of National Artist Fernando Amorsolo. This historical connection added even more depth to the city’s emblem.

As we moved on to the final part of the exhibit, we were introduced to the past mayors of Muntinlupa. Each leader played a role in shaping the city, but the one whose story struck me the most was Pedro E. Díaz.

During the Japanese occupation, Pedro E. Díaz was not just a mayor—he was also a guerilla fighter, actively resisting the Japanese forces. His bravery made him a significant figure in Muntinlupa’s history, but it also made him a target. He was abducted during his term, and his body was never recovered. To honor his courage and sacrifice, the Pedro E. Díaz High School in Alabang was named after him, ensuring that his legacy would never be forgotten.

At the end of the tour, I was left in awe of Muntinlupa’s rich history. I realized that my city is far more than just “taga-loob o taga-labas”—a common question people ask because of the presence of Bilibid Prison. Muntinlupa is a city of resilience, bravery, and progress.

1 Samuel 16:1 says:

"The Lord said to Samuel, ‘How long will you mourn for Saul, since I have rejected him as king over Israel? Fill your horn with oil and be on your way; I am sending you to Jesse of Bethlehem. I have chosen one of his sons to be king.’"

This verse is a powerful reminder that while Samuel was still mourning over Saul’s failure, God had already moved forward with His plan. Samuel’s sorrow was understandable—he had anointed Saul as king, invested in him, and had high hopes for his reign. But despite all of that, Saul had failed to obey God, and his time as king had come to an end. Even though Samuel was heartbroken, God was asking him a very important question: "How long will you mourn?"

Perhaps you find yourself in a similar place—not because of someone else’s failure, but because of your own. Maybe you’ve been carrying guilt over a past sin, something you’ve already brought before God, something He has already forgiven. But even though He has wiped the slate clean, you still feel the weight of your mistake. You replay it in your mind, wondering if you could have done things differently. You feel unworthy, ashamed, or even hesitant to move forward because you think you don’t deserve a fresh start.

But here’s the truth: if God has forgiven you, then He has already moved forward. He is not standing in your past, holding your mistakes against you. He is not reminding you of your failures. In fact, He is calling you forward, just as He called Samuel. God didn’t ask Samuel to mourn forever—He told him to fill his horn with oil and go. That was a call to action, a sign that God still had a purpose, that there was more ahead.

God is saying the same thing to you. Yes, it’s important to grieve over sin, to acknowledge where we have fallen short, but we are never meant to stay there. Holding onto guilt when God has already forgiven you is like mourning for Saul when David is already chosen—it keeps you stuck when God is calling you into something greater.

So ask yourself: How long will I keep mourning over something God has already forgiven? If He has declared you free, why stay chained to your past? The enemy wants you to live in shame, but God wants you to live in grace. He is calling you to stand up, to let go of the guilt, and to step forward in the new life He has prepared for you.