I am updating the group to be more about How to be a good Christian. A greater focus on discipleship.

I watched the launch of Artemis II on TV as it lifted off—powerful, intentional, and set on a path toward the moon. Afterward, I went to choir practice, shifting from watching something reach into the heavens to lifting my own voice in worship. And somewhere between those two moments, something settled in my heart. Distance and closeness are not always what they seem. That same week, Passover and Easter aligned. Deliverance and resurrection—God rescuing His people and God redeeming His people—woven together in the same season. It reminded me that God has never been distant. From the beginning, He has been drawing near. Yet I know there are times when I feel far from Him. Not because He moved. But because I did. That spacecraft is traveling an incredible distance, yet it remains connected, guided, and on course. It doesn’t drift aimlessly—it stays aligned with its mission. And I can’t help but see the parallel in my own walk with Christ. I can be surrounded by worship, by truth, by reminders of who God is—and still allow my heart to drift if I’m not intentional. Scripture says, “Draw near to God, and He will draw near to you.” That means closeness with Him is not complicated—it’s chosen. In this season, just after reflecting on the cross and celebrating the empty tomb, I don’t want to simply acknowledge what Jesus did. I want to respond to it. I want to draw closer. Because I’m not just remembering—I’m waiting. Waiting for His return. And I don’t want to be spiritually distant when that day comes. I don’t want to be disconnected or drifting. I want to be near—aligned, focused, and walking closely with Him. Just like that mission had a clear destination, I want my life to have a clear direction: toward Christ. Today, I choose closeness. I choose to stay connected. I choose to draw near. I choose to seek Him intentionally. Because the truth is simple: Jesus is as near as I choose Him to be. Prayer Lord, Thank You for reminding me that You are always near. Thank You for the power of this season—of Passover and Easter—that shows me Your heart to rescue and redeem.

Our newest spring edition. Snapped a quick photo while Mama was out and about.

The wisteria is blooming again. All winter, those vines looked lifeless—twisted, gray, and bare, clinging to trees that seemed to have nothing left to give. If you didn’t know better, you might think they were dead. Forgotten. Finished. But now, almost suddenly, they burst forth. Clusters of deep royal purple spill down like waterfalls of color. What once looked empty is now overflowing. What appeared dead is now undeniably alive. And isn’t that just like what Christ does? There are seasons in our lives where everything feels stripped away. Dreams look dormant. Faith feels quiet. Hope seems buried beneath the cold weight of waiting. From the outside—and sometimes even on the inside—it can feel like nothing is happening. But God is never absent in the barren seasons. Just like the wisteria, something is happening beneath the surface. Jesus said in John 11:25, “I am the resurrection and the life. Anyone who believes in me will live, even after dying.” Rebirth is not just a future promise—it’s a present reality. Through Christ, what feels dead in us can live again. Hearts can be restored. Purpose can be renewed. Joy can return. And just like those vines, new life doesn’t come timidly—it comes abundantly. The beauty of wisteria isn’t just that it blooms. It’s where it blooms. Out of what looked lifeless. Out of what seemed finished. Out of what others might have written off. That’s the Gospel. Jesus didn’t come for the already flourishing—He came for what was broken, lost, and seemingly beyond repair. And through His death and resurrection, He proved that life can spring forth from death in the most unexpected and beautiful ways. So if you’re in a season that feels like winter… hold on. Spring is closer than it seems. God is working in ways you cannot yet see. And when He brings it forth, it will not be small—it will be full, rich, and undeniable. Just like the wisteria. Prayer Lord Jesus, Thank You for being the God of new life. Thank You that even when things in my life feel dry, empty, or broken, You are still at work beneath the surface. Help me to trust You in the waiting seasons, when I cannot see what You are doing.

Key Scripture (NLT): “Be still, and know that I am God!” — Psalm 46:10 The city was alive in a way it hadn’t been in years. As Jesus entered Jerusalem, people lined the streets, waving palm branches, shouting His name, celebrating what they believed would be their moment of deliverance. It looked like a victory parade, full of energy and expectation, and yet beneath the surface, something much deeper was unfolding. Jesus knew what the crowd did not—that this week would not end with a crown of gold, but with a crown of thorns. As the days moved forward, the pace didn’t slow down. He taught in the temple, confronted those who had turned worship into profit, and spoke truth that stirred both hope and anger. Everywhere He went, people were pulling at Him—some desperate to be healed, others desperate to silence Him. The weight of it all pressed in, yet He never seemed rushed in His spirit. Even as everything around Him accelerated, there was a steady surrender within Him. Then came the quiet of the upper room, where He sat with His disciples, breaking bread, knowing it would be His last meal with them before the cross. There was a tenderness in that moment, a pause in the middle of the storm, as He washed their feet and spoke of love, even knowing betrayal was already in motion. And just when it seemed the night could not grow heavier, He walked into the garden, where the noise of the crowds faded and the reality of the cross came into full view. There, in the stillness, He prayed with such intensity that it revealed both His humanity and His complete trust in the Father. And still, the world did not stop moving. Soldiers arrived. Chains were placed on His hands. Accusations were shouted. The crowd that once praised Him now demanded His death. The movement of the week carried Him all the way to the cross, where time itself seemed to pause as He gave His life. Then, after the silence of the tomb, came the morning that changed everything, when the stone was rolled away and the risen King stepped out in victory.